- May 4, 2021
- 3,339
It was an ordinary day, nothing out of the ordinary for communal living in one of Thailand's many communes in the confederation. A young man who was hardworking was walking home from a nearby communal dining center where members of his commune dine communally. The sky was getting dark, and he felt as if someone was behind him.
A tremor of certainty infiltrates the dark public road, and the laborer feels it breathing down his neck. Public gardens were dark and reached out to encircle the asphalt pathway like thin, bony fingers. His boots sounded wildly off the pavement as he walked swiftly.
A blow struck him in the back with a sudden whoosh of escaping air. He doubled up, dinner party bag dropping from his hand, contents spilling down the spotless walkway. Peripheral vision registered metal, hard, and fast-moving objects. Pain flared, searing, burning pain below his ribcage.
A wet, torn gasp was torn from his mouth as he wheezed. The attacker stumbled, a dark shape blurring into the approaching night. The laborer's eyes lost their focus, the mutual tranquility of the night destroyed in violence, and he collapsed onto the cold ground beside the wreckage of his shared meal.
Later, the corpse of the murdered young worker was discovered by a neighborhood policeman who had gone to the site of the crime the previous night. The reported case of murder was made known to the nearby security agency of the Community Assembly after verification. After she had barricaded the neighborhood, she formally notified some of the surrounding houses that it was a dead body, thus calling upon a public audience to view the body and partake in a line of conjecture.
Officer Anya Sharma, her dark blue uniform a practical one for the darkness that is coming, motions to the body next to the overturned meal, a mortuary circle. "Comrades," she says in a gruff voice despite the gruesome find, "we have discovered Sahai Boonchai, dead." Elder Comrade Wei nods slowly, ponderously, recognizing the body, his face creased with worry lines emanating from tired eyes.
"Boonchai?" Sahai Jira's younger voice summons, his tone cutting with hurt. The room is ringed with pulsing green fluorescent police barricade tape streaming like an ugly, otherworldly wreath. Suspicion feeds on suspicion, and fear mars the mutually achieved serenity as rumor feasts on the gathered rabble. What wicked hand or what other agency could so act on a co-worker in their jointly achieved reality? Suspense and unanswered hangings fill.
Within minutes, one facilitator of the Community Assembly came and found the scene of the crime, ordering the deployment of the detective team from the local police station. He described the investigative procedure to the community members and encouraged them to keep getting information through the right channel.
When Detective Sahai Kriang arrives, his immaculately clean uniform stands in stark contrast to the dismal backdrop. He arrives with the subdued poise of a predator, is wiry, and has eyes that bore deep into everything and everyone without exception. Officer Sharma approaches him and provides a quick briefing, looking for concise and sharp questions. The facilitator nods silently in recognition of the process by agreeing on Kriang's arrival judgment.
Kriang. Kneels down beside the body, his eyes devouring the plate of food he lies amidst, the spreading of the black stain outward in contagion-like fanning. In confirmation of the knowledge of low murmur of work motivation, he let out a low sigh, "Boonchai." Elder Wei, who stands next to him, clasps his hands together in supplication, his face contorted in a grimace. Mourning expression. Grieving expression. This space, in which the silence of common darkness is shattered, is ringed by the fluorescent tape, that green soldier wheeling in the face of coming gloaming.
Meanwhile, while all this was happening, Officer Anya conducted standard communal interview procedures with each member of the community who lived in the vicinity of the crime scene. She was able to interview and offer condolences to the family and friends of Boonchai and was able to verify that the victim was a very friendly and social individual. She witnessed Kriang's use of general forensic methods on occasion in the interim.
Dark red blooms on the clothing as Detective Kriang inspects the rip in Boonchai's shirt. Rice, dried fish, strewn all over the floor—speaks volumes in silence of purpose broken. Officer Anya's face is a mask of professional sympathy, and her voice a low murmur as she copes with weeping neighbors. The nodding head of the facilitator indicates towards the cordon as she maintains a silent conversation with Kriang to make sure that the process is attuned to the people's fears. It's such a despicable act that it feels an otherworldly dissonance, a foreign toxin infecting their very air they breathe in, and it chills the comrades gathered there. Why this evil, archaic cause, and which of them so malicious?
A tremor of certainty infiltrates the dark public road, and the laborer feels it breathing down his neck. Public gardens were dark and reached out to encircle the asphalt pathway like thin, bony fingers. His boots sounded wildly off the pavement as he walked swiftly.
A blow struck him in the back with a sudden whoosh of escaping air. He doubled up, dinner party bag dropping from his hand, contents spilling down the spotless walkway. Peripheral vision registered metal, hard, and fast-moving objects. Pain flared, searing, burning pain below his ribcage.
A wet, torn gasp was torn from his mouth as he wheezed. The attacker stumbled, a dark shape blurring into the approaching night. The laborer's eyes lost their focus, the mutual tranquility of the night destroyed in violence, and he collapsed onto the cold ground beside the wreckage of his shared meal.
Later, the corpse of the murdered young worker was discovered by a neighborhood policeman who had gone to the site of the crime the previous night. The reported case of murder was made known to the nearby security agency of the Community Assembly after verification. After she had barricaded the neighborhood, she formally notified some of the surrounding houses that it was a dead body, thus calling upon a public audience to view the body and partake in a line of conjecture.
Officer Anya Sharma, her dark blue uniform a practical one for the darkness that is coming, motions to the body next to the overturned meal, a mortuary circle. "Comrades," she says in a gruff voice despite the gruesome find, "we have discovered Sahai Boonchai, dead." Elder Comrade Wei nods slowly, ponderously, recognizing the body, his face creased with worry lines emanating from tired eyes.
"Boonchai?" Sahai Jira's younger voice summons, his tone cutting with hurt. The room is ringed with pulsing green fluorescent police barricade tape streaming like an ugly, otherworldly wreath. Suspicion feeds on suspicion, and fear mars the mutually achieved serenity as rumor feasts on the gathered rabble. What wicked hand or what other agency could so act on a co-worker in their jointly achieved reality? Suspense and unanswered hangings fill.
Within minutes, one facilitator of the Community Assembly came and found the scene of the crime, ordering the deployment of the detective team from the local police station. He described the investigative procedure to the community members and encouraged them to keep getting information through the right channel.
When Detective Sahai Kriang arrives, his immaculately clean uniform stands in stark contrast to the dismal backdrop. He arrives with the subdued poise of a predator, is wiry, and has eyes that bore deep into everything and everyone without exception. Officer Sharma approaches him and provides a quick briefing, looking for concise and sharp questions. The facilitator nods silently in recognition of the process by agreeing on Kriang's arrival judgment.
Kriang. Kneels down beside the body, his eyes devouring the plate of food he lies amidst, the spreading of the black stain outward in contagion-like fanning. In confirmation of the knowledge of low murmur of work motivation, he let out a low sigh, "Boonchai." Elder Wei, who stands next to him, clasps his hands together in supplication, his face contorted in a grimace. Mourning expression. Grieving expression. This space, in which the silence of common darkness is shattered, is ringed by the fluorescent tape, that green soldier wheeling in the face of coming gloaming.
Meanwhile, while all this was happening, Officer Anya conducted standard communal interview procedures with each member of the community who lived in the vicinity of the crime scene. She was able to interview and offer condolences to the family and friends of Boonchai and was able to verify that the victim was a very friendly and social individual. She witnessed Kriang's use of general forensic methods on occasion in the interim.
Dark red blooms on the clothing as Detective Kriang inspects the rip in Boonchai's shirt. Rice, dried fish, strewn all over the floor—speaks volumes in silence of purpose broken. Officer Anya's face is a mask of professional sympathy, and her voice a low murmur as she copes with weeping neighbors. The nodding head of the facilitator indicates towards the cordon as she maintains a silent conversation with Kriang to make sure that the process is attuned to the people's fears. It's such a despicable act that it feels an otherworldly dissonance, a foreign toxin infecting their very air they breathe in, and it chills the comrades gathered there. Why this evil, archaic cause, and which of them so malicious?
