‘Mr. Roger Lynnch’ is a fictional story. Any resemblance is unintentional and purely coincidental.
Waking up abnormally early, Roger Lynnch made his way to the kitchen, scratching his ear. As he switched on the coffee machine, he daydreamed about how he was going to meet his daughter after six months today. He’d only met her twice before- once when he held the beautiful baby girl on his arms as she shivered and cried her tiny eyes out, and once when she was coming back from a play date. She had looked so adorable, the six year old little pumpkin. With the tiny pigtails and the blue flowy skirt with the white polka dot little tee, she looked like a little butterfly.
Today he would see her again. The only reason he regretted the divorce was because of his beautiful daughter. It was easier to be divorced with him in one country and his ex-wife being in another. But his daughter was who he missed.
The machine coughed up empty and he realized he was all out of coffee beans. “Time to get dressed and get coffee on the way then”, he decided.
All the while, he had a hop in his step, a smile on his face. Life was good.
Reaching the coffee place, he ran inside. He decided he was feeling a little bold today and wanted to get one of those black,strong coffees. God knows he hated black coffee. But, he wanted to try something new. He was going to see his daughter. His ex-wife was trying new things. He would too. If not now, when?
He would decide not to ruin his tastebuds, pick the mocha latte and move out, to not waste more time.
He would call his ex-wife to go wait at the café at the airport instead of getting a cab.
In the next few minutes, he would reach the airport, meet and pick up his little girl and his ex-wife and they would be on their way back to his place. As easy as that.
He would take longer to decide the kind of black coffee he wanted, then he would contemplate if he actually wanted it. He would while away time at the coffee store unaware that right at this minute, foreign terrorist groups were getting off at the same airport as was his little girl and his ex-wife.
He would be entirely ignorant of the fact that his girl’s carry-on would be the one in which they would slip the compact but lethal grenades, because she happened to be sitting idle at the airport.
He would be heedless of the painful realization that the little girl would suddenly find the bag too heavy to move ahead, and would trip and fall, her mother looking on alarmingly as the grenades topple out of her bag.
He would be oblivious to the circumstance that the security wouldn’t reach on time and the terrorist group would shoot his little girl in anger and dismay, snatch the grenades and bomb the place, along with few other choice spots of the city.
He would not realize that this act would cause worldwide upheaval and would, in fact, turn his and our utopia into a horrid dystopia.
As he stood there, choosing one of the alternatives, Mr. Roger Lynnch hadn’t realized that he had, in a span of few minutes, transformed into Mr. Roger Lynnch-pin*.
*I’ve used a bit of wordplay on the word Linchpin, which means an event that, if allowed to happen, would trigger a series of events ending in a catastrophe.