Night of horror

It was a night to remember, much more than a campfire in the countryside.

Our friend’s father had ensured a full-on traditional celebration for her birthday party. I don’t know how banned drugs made an appearance, and soon the party was going from whacky to wild to uncontrollable. And then, the unspeakable crime happened.

The girl raped and killed to prevent her from spilling the beans, was a classmate, not a distant character in a news story we see on TV. It was too gruesome, and too real to leave us in shock. Some were yet to come out of their stupor to know what had happened.

Then, I saw the wheelchair abandoned near a statue and our friend’s Dad was nowhere to be seen. Was he really physically challenged as we had assumed, or was it a cover-up?

Pieces of the story were falling in place, but we were still in enemy territory. I desperately hunt for my phone, to find the pictures and videos clicked. It was the only clue, but my phone was nowhere to be found.

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