Freeman - By Fatima Syeda

Written By: Fatima Syeda

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Fatima Syeda, writing as Freeman, presents "Freeman," a compelling short story that delves into the complex world of crime, redemption, and the quest for freedom. This narrative captures the essence of a hitman's internal struggle as he navigates the treacherous path between loyalty and liberation. Syeda's work stands as a thought-provoking exploration of the human condition, where choices and consequences are intricately interwoven.

About the Work

"Freeman" is a captivating exploration of moral conflict and personal freedom. The narrative's mood is tense and introspective, as the protagonist battles inner demons and external threats. Syeda employs vivid imagery to portray the protagonist's tumultuous journey, weaving a tale of survival and redemption. The story's poignant message about the cost of freedom and the power of human connection resonates deeply, leaving readers contemplating the choices we make and their lasting impacts.

Freeman

Original Submission by Fatima Syeda

Freeman

‘I didn’t know whether to hug him or punch him’

Neither optimism nor hope could dissolve the barricade fencing my life. Not after the 98th life spills beneath. Another thickset will decompose, be eaten or be found and investigated; not my perimeter of concern. I have to run. It would take 26 minutes for the audience to realise their mental dictator hasn’t come to humor them. And perhaps another 26 days later it will be announced Mr. Speaker sold fetuses for experimentation to the man I work for. Acknowledging that information is enough for me to end myself.

Tomorrow will be my final kill. Maybe the final kill for every underling. 100 kills would’ve sounded cleaner, but can you really choose everything in life? A hitman could never.

I’ll be free from all of this tomorrow is what I remind myself with. However, freeing myself is a dreadful image.

Long ago, like 5 years ago, I unfortunately, unwillingly became a hitman to keep away my beloved brother, Lucas's atrocities from executing both him and me. Unfortunately again, my brother’s in prison, I think. It’s upsetting to not eat french fries for that many years. He also worked under my boss whose name I can’t know, but I just refer to him as Trent, because he looks like a Trent. Lucas was strangely greedy to the point he attempted to rob the robber. But you can’t deceive the deceiver by stealing some smuggled gold for yourself. It just allows you to be framed for one of Trent’s crimes if not death.

I just hope I can kill the killer.

Moments like these are where I’m grateful for the experience. Security shifts at 7:12pm every alternate Tuesday of every 3rd week for the main enterance of the spiraling, 6km underground doomhole, allowing a 2 minute window. However, it’s only every half an hour that the next threshold will go through security shift rotation. By the 3rd hour, I’m only halfway with a little G19 damp in sweat from my back under my jacket. It’s the first weapon I received from Trent, and he’ll be bound to remember it again. With all reluctancy I had accepted the fate of stopping beating hearts that challenged Trent. I couldn’t imagine that this would make me lose all freedom, from having to relocate every week, never attending public gatherings, showing my face, eating at restaurants,more examples. I even miss grocery shopping at times. Society may lack freedom in everything, work, decisions, opinions and most importantly time; but not more than me.

I assume it’s 12:42 am as I’ve trespassed 11 openings, in different manners of disguise. Security isn’t that advanced, no one attempts anything because they fear those with power. I too am rethinking of what the next hour could hold. Every section between every opening is different, this one is very dark, haunting and witchy. My surroundings exclaim of rituals. I can feel tingles under my skin, my chest feels hollow, my throat feels clenched and I’m swimming in my own sweat. If I get caught right now, it would most definitely be the stench of nerves. It’s alright, I breathe. I will be free, so many lackeys will.

I can see Trent through the glass pane besides the wooden carving overflowed sliding door; I’m so close. This isn’t a beautiful sight. Slouched on his couch with liquor pouring through his obese body after assaulting too many women and children for his own amusement. The room seems condensing in alcoholic odor. Even after two 15 minute shift changes in front of his sanctum, I cannot move willingly, my body won’t listen. I promise myself to move on the count of 21, the amount of flowers I will pick after this.

For now, I pick up my pistol and prepare to win my life back.

Between Trent’s eye brows is the glisten of silver which should ideally follow by a fearful expression. He slowly places his wine glass down which creates the only prominent sound in the last couple of hours. Trent sneers amused and questions insultingly, “ Now who on Earth are you?”

His voice echoes in my ear drums and my heart hammers nauseously in my ribcage whilst my fingers can barely keep from letting the gun slip. As each second ticks on the wall-mounted clock, I can feel myself getting warmer and internally suffocating. I’m a coward. I cannot reply with words without my voice shaking so I bring the exit of the gun to touch his tanned skin. Trent scoffs and asks for my name. My arm is about to tremble and my knees weakened by the powerful presence in front. Stupidly enough, I cough out, “Francis.”

“Francis, you are an idiot,” He says with a wheeze and a cough. “Hear that siren, they’re coming to get me. Now they’ll get both of us.”

Trent’s manic words ring in my ears and I might puke as my stomach drops. The words don’t register at first, but realisation slowly sprinkles upon me.

“What?” I whisper out and tears glaze my eyes. Trent mutters something which I can’t comprehend with my eardrums pulsing so loud. This deceiver could be just messing with me, but in a situation like this my body reacts quicker than I can comprehend. My fingers slip on the trigger.

Every muscle and organ is paralyzed. I do not breathe. I stare at the hole plunged in Trent’s forehead. Whether authorities were coming or not for him, they certainly are now after the gunshot. I tremble violently in my fixed position and my airflow comes back in sharp gasps until the door behind me is dismantled, sending me into another shock. Everything happened so fast paced, contrasting from the hours before. I had killed the killer without achieving my purpose.

After merciless trials humiliatingly inspected by the public, I was congratulated with my prison sentence. Thankfully, not all my crimes were investigated so my sentencing was shorter than it should’ve been. If I was Trent, I would’ve easily been out of this place within hours with all that money, power and connections. Whatever freedom I had before was certainly gone, for years to come. My eyes would pace around grey walls until my hair turned white. Hopelessly, I continue walking down the aisle of cells and I’m glad not every inmate stares. I’m also dreading meeting my cellmate. I station myself on the cold floor, head resting on my palm, inhaling and exhaling whilst my eyes wonder at the emptiness of my new surroundings.

Not long after, another man is thrown into the cell. He seems naturally drunk with spikey hair and broad shoulders. He curses at the guard before turning around. My eyes widen and so do the familiar heterochromic eyes before me.

It was my brother.

My eyes could be betraying me but with the mutual reaction I assumed not. I did not know whether to hug him or punch him. His lunatic eyes beamed before he jumped onto me in joyful laughter.

“I knew you’d end up here!” He exclaimed.

Waiting for freedom will be exhilarating. But it may be worth it with him. We’ll enjoy french fries outside; away from Trent.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating the diverse voices and talents in the literary world. This competition invites writers to share their unique stories and poems, fostering a global community of creatives. Participants have the opportunity to express their artistry and engage with a wide audience, making it a cornerstone event for emerging and established writers alike.

Thank you, Fatima Syeda, for sharing your powerful short story "Freeman" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your narrative invites readers into a world of complexity and emotion, where the quest for freedom and redemption takes center stage. We appreciate your contribution and look forward to seeing more of your thought-provoking work in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.