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    Seven Days In Linchward Barn
    Seven Days In Linchward Barn
    Seven Days In Linchward Barn
    Ebook56 pages44 minutes

    Seven Days In Linchward Barn

    By JUNAITH ABOOBAKER

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    About this ebook

    Set in the 80s, a young man makes the journey to Britain from Jamaica in search of wealth and his destiny. However, upon arrival, he is shocked and disturbed by the glaring discrimination he encounters. Short and powerfully written, blended with rich Jamaican culture, Seven Days in Linchward Barn illustrates the dehumanising effects of racism, an issue that is still incredibly relevant in modern times.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJUNAITH ABOOBAKER
    Release dateNov 27, 2023
    ISBN9798215116555
    Seven Days In Linchward Barn
    Author

    JUNAITH ABOOBAKER

    Junaith Aboobaker, born in Kerala, India, is the author of three novels, a short story collection and a poetry collection. His short stories have been published in online and print media. His work is highly acclaimed in the Malayalam literary community for its rich imagery, unique narrative style, and politically significant subject. His first novel, Ponon Gombe, is set in Africa. It follows the life of a Muslim man and his inability to readjust to society post-incarceration. It highlights the physical and psychological trauma he endures during his confinement under the CIA.  His second novel, titled Saharaaveeyem, deals with Morocco's history and politics. Both books deal with highly controversial topics, and his stories and the portrayal of his protagonists are compelling.

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      Book preview

      Seven Days In Linchward Barn - JUNAITH ABOOBAKER

      When you start fearing of death, you start dying, but won’t die until death wishes so.

      © Junaith Aboobaker. All rights reserved.

      This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      DAY SIX – THE RIOT

      Today, for the first time, I stepped out of the room.  Shivering in fear, I cursed myself for even being here, as if this was the only place that existed on Earth.  The whole world was open to me, I could go anywhere I wanted.  But here I was, facing a ferocious crowd and nervous, prepared cops.

      The tension had been mounting at Linchward Barn for the last few days.  All this started with the arrest of Mr Cripple for surreptitiously pilfering or carjacking.  I didn’t know, I didn’t remember his name or what he might have done but, that's what I heard.  My headache was killing me.  The only thing I could recollect was that he had been running like a wounded animal.  Or was that just a fleeting thought I had had a moment before?  Yes: now I recalled that he and his mother were living next to my room.

      The street looked like Dante's Inferno.  My path was blocked, but unlike Dante, there was no Virgil to guide me.  I left myself to fate.  Cops were megaphoning orders, Linchward residents shouted above that. It was all gibberish to me.

      The road was full of broken appliances, stones, and pieces of bricks which had been thrown from the apartments aimed at the cops.  The metal rail of Linchward bridge road was bent in several places.  The mob kept hitting the rail with whatever they could grab, making a deafening noise.  Most of the men carried baseball bats, metal pipes ad concrete bricks.  Some even had machetes in their hands.  The metallic sound was making a ringing noise in my ear, and slowly, it started to absorb into the fissures of my three-pound organ. The sun reflected off of one of the machetes. I blinked for a moment, just for a moment, or so I thought.  Dante started echoing in my brain, Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate: relinquish all hope, ye who enter.

      The mob had reached its boiling point and burst out, megaphone and loud hailers amalgamated, and then all hell broke loose.  Someone fired a gun, but I couldn't tell whether it was by the cops or the mob.  I saw someone approaching me like a roaring chainsaw with red dust cloud surrounding it.  No, it wasn't dust, and it wasn't a chainsaw. 'It' was a cop, and the blood was spilt! The riot had broken out!

      I couldn't move and stood there like an effigy, fully prepared to be destroyed in the riot.  The policeman lurched towards me, his blue overalls dripping blood.  He tried to grab me with his fingerless palms.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out except some gurgling sounds.  His head bent into my chest, and we both fell onto the street.  My hand grazed something as I lay him down, a kitchen knife, buried up to the hilt, protruding from his neck! I wasn't sure what I was doing, and as an intense response to stress, I pulled out the impaled knife.  Blood poured profusely, as if from a fire hose.

      The weather changed

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