A Short Story by Eka Arifin: One Sunday Morning

A Short Story by Eka Arifin

It was the beautiful Sunday morning. The sun brightened softly. The song of birds was breaking the silent around me. A fresh perfect green leaf which was floating from the tree laid in wet ground. If I could smell it, it would smell so aromatic and refreshing. But, I could not, because there was a big glass window separated me from the garden outside.

Shan Breakfast was the best breakfast restaurant in my city; the restaurant where I always have my breakfast, especially on Sunday morning. As usual I sat in one of the seat near window. After I ordered my breakfast I checked my reflection in the window. I touched my new haircut which was blonde and very short. When my order came, a chicken omelet and a cup of black coffee, someone who sat in a seat not far from me was coughing. I put my glasses in my face and glanced to him and I could see a middle aged man wore a black T-shirt was drinking his coffee to soothe his cough and then continued to eat his breakfast, a thick sandwiches with a lot of vegetables, and I guessed the sandwiches was without meat. I swallowed my spittle, that sandwiches looked disgusting for me. I backed to my omelet. I cut the omelet into the small pieces and took one of them to my mouth. I guessed the taste of my omelet contrasted with the taste of the disgusting sandwiches which was eaten by the man who wore a black T-shirt. The taste of my omelet was so perfect, the mix of seasoning and the egg tasted so delicious and the chicken was tender and tasted so spicy. Once again I glanced to see that man, but I could not see him. A waiter stood beside him blocked him from my stare. I saw that man ready to leave, and the disgusting sandwiches in his right hand, I turned my face to my omelet to prevent me vomited my meal out. Suddenly, I heard someone screamed behind me. I looked around to look for the source of the noise. I found a young girl; her face was pale and frightened. She stared to someone who lay in the floor. Someone with black T-shirt and his disgusting sandwiches fell not far from him.

The panic atmosphere increased in the restaurant. Some of the visitors of the restaurant did a preparation to leave the restaurant. According to my experience, if a kind of this case happened nobody was allowed to leave the place where the case occurred. So without waited for a long time I talked to the whole people in the restaurant.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Nobody is allowed to leave the restaurant, before police come and check this case”, I heard my voice quivered, honestly I was nervous. In the same time I saw an old man tried to touch the body of the man.

“Don’t do that Sir! Cover your hands first!”, I told him. He only nodded his head and took out his handkerchief; he touched the artery and checked the pulse.

“He still alive!”, said the old man.

I walked toward to the body that lay in the floor. The man foamed at the mouth; his face was blue and looked so pain. I guessed he must be poisoned.

“Mr. Shan”, I talked to the owner of the restaurant, “Call ambulance! And has anybody called police?”, I shouted to the whole of restaurant.

“Yes, I have. Police will come soon!”, A young man in the corner answered.

“Thanks. I need curdle milk; I guess this man is poisoned”, I heard some people mumbled around me. One of the waitress of restaurant gave me a glass of curdle milk. With my hand which was covered by my handkerchief I tried to pour the curdle milk as much as possible to the man’s mouth.

The ambulance arrived a second after the police. They cured the man effectively. A police officer came to me and introduced himself as Mr. Potter.

“Do you know this man?”, He asked me. His deep voice a little bit frightened me.

“No Sir. I don’t know him”, I answered him clearly.

“Your idea to pour the curdle milk is good. You are right that he is poisoned, especially by arsenic.”

I do not know what to say. I just nodded my head as a sign that I understood.

“We will check the kitchen where the food has made. And who has prepared the food for him!”, Mr. Potter explained to me.

“You will not find the poison in any food in this restaurant”, I said spontaneous.

Mr. Potter showed a wrinkled face. “Why?”, He asked me suspiciously.

“Err… Because he ate a half of his sandwiches. If the sandwiches are poisoned by arsenic since the first time, he would fall as soon as he ate his sandwiches, not after he paid waiter and then ready to leave the restaurant with the sandwiches in his right hand.” I explained.

Mr. Shan, the owner of the restaurant came toward us.

“Sir, we all who work in this restaurant know Mr. Nickleby very well. He always has his breakfast in this restaurant. And he always orders the same menu every day, vegetable sandwiches. That’s why we allow him to take the sandwiches by himself.”

Mr. Potter thought seriously, his face became more wrinkle.

A younger police reported to Mr. Potter that the team did not find any poison in the kitchen, the places where the poison found only in the sandwiches and in Mr. Nickleby’s right hand.

“One victim, no proof, and no suspect”, Mr. Potter mumbled to himself.

In the same time I saw a middle aged woman entered the restaurant. Mr. Shan recognized her as Mrs. Nickleby. She seemed so old that she could be. There were black rounds around her eyes. She did not cry. But she looked so sad and fragile. Most of people in the restaurant tried to give her their sympathy. But I remained in my place.

It had been more than an hour since the case was investigated. The body of Mr. Nickleby itself had been taken to hospital. Almost most of the visitors of the restaurant started to worry. They worried about their job, their appointment and so on. I thought seriously in my seat, drank my cold black coffee and suddenly I remembered a silly thing. Actually it would not become a silly thing in ordinary situation, but at that time, when people worried about the case, about their appointment and job. I worried about the payment of my breakfast. I took my wallet from my pocket, and suddenly it reminded me to something. I stood from my seat and walked toward to Mr. Potter.

“Mr. Potter would you like to check the hand of the waiter who received the payment from Mr. Nickleby. I guess you will find the poison in there!” without asked me, he did what I said.

Not more than five minutes a young thin police with his nervous face, reported to Mr. Potter that what I had said was true. The waiter was embarrassed when he knew that the police found the arsenic in his hand. I felt so guilty when I looked his face. The police almost confiscated him, but I stopped them.

“He did not do that, he did not kill Mr. Nickleby. He only received the money which had been smeared by arsenic!” I explained. “That’s why Mr. Nickleby fell after he did the payment.”

Once again police did the arsenic test. They found the arsenic in the money which had been given by Mr. Nickleby and also in all of the money in his wallet.

Mr. Potter and I were looking each other for a while. And together we turned our focus to Mrs. Nickleby who was sitting in one of the seat bar of the restaurant. She turned her face to avoid our stares to her. Mr. Potter walked toward her, suddenly she cried, the first cry that I saw since she found that her husband was poisoned. She had an expression of submission when police did the arsenic test in her hand. And a minute after that she was taken by the police out from the restaurant followed by most of the visitors of the restaurant.


I sat alone in my room, my fingers ready in my laptop’s keyboard, ready to write everything that had happened in the morning of that day. Suddenly I smiled to myself, and I praised myself for everything that I had done. I was so proud with my perfect plan. I was true that Mrs. Nickleby would kill her husband who had married her for twenty years. I knew exactly that Mrs. Nickleby was a kind of fragile woman, with a thin and nervous face. She was so paranoia. She told me she worried that her husband would leave her for another woman because she was not young anymore. She also told me that in every our meeting session she would not allow a kind of this thing happened to her. If she could not get her husband nobody also. As her psychiatrist, was easy to me to influence her mind. Just whispered that I had saw her husband on one Sunday morning had had breakfast with a young girl in the restaurant where her husband always has his breakfast. She would do what I guessed she would do. And I was true. I did it to support my theory, which I would put to my book, that the human’s brain was a chain of fragile system; the easiest system to be penetrated and pirated in this world. I saw my reflection in my room window. Once again I smiled to myself, should I put the name of the beauty parlor, which had helped me to chance my appearance so Mrs. Nickleby could not recognize me in the restaurant, in my book’s ‘thanks to’ page. I smiled again and decided I should not.


Two months after the case. I published my book. Appropriate with my plan. The book became the best seller. So I should not do my resentful job as a psychiatrist anymore.



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Eka Arifin
A Professional Ghostwriter | Freelance Blogger | Personal Assistant in a Plantation Company | Struggling to be a Novelist | The #1 Fans of Arctic Monkeys | Who Calls Herself an Amateur Musician Who Cannot Live Without Books | Currently Living in the Deep of Borneo and Married a Nice Guy ^^

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