The dark, stormy nights in those stories are a load of bull. Those people know nothing at all, writing as if they knew how terrifying being in that situation would be. Flashes of lightning don't even come close. No one can comprehend the night that fell so sweetly, that night when the sun's rays painfully wrinkled themselves into oblivion, and darkness fell ever so heavily on the wretched land. The land breathed fitfully with every passing minute, as if in the throes of death. Nature seemed to wilt along with it, with a searing breath that seemed to burn its vessels. And the torture of the land was to continue. With that night, there was never any light again.
***
.
A man looked up from his novel, feeling the clammy wind heat up his cheeks. He muttered, and began to drag an overcoat over his frail frame. Shuffling wearily towards the balcony outside his room, he saw it. A blood-red expanse filled the overhanging space where the sky once was. Wispy clouds of green floated as if in a trance, not knowing where the hot wind would blow them. The moon was absent, and so were the stars. It wasn't quite dark, yet it was. A soft rumbling was heard, and in the distance, he saw the fierce dancing of orange streaks of lightning behind a red curtain. The makings of some strange storm, on this strange night.
.
***
.
An old couple were rudely disturbed by the urgent barking of their dog. It was hard enough listening to the radio with their poor hearing . But to them, the barking seemed more like the braying of a dying donkey. Strange, the old man thought, and creaked his way downstairs to calm it down. It was painful, the rheumatism must be acting up, he thought. Cursing the weather, he peered from the stairs, to locate Patty. But there was no Patty, and there was no downstairs. Murky water flooded the entire ground level of their beach villa. Sea foam clung on to the sides of the furniture that were still above water. He finally made out the vague silhouette of the dog bobbing up and down in those waters, trying to get itself up onto the antique cabinet that held all their china. The waters swelled every so often, threatening to swallow Patty. He breathed heavily, frowning a frown of frustration, shock, and despair. Oh no, their china.
.
***
.
Mrini wondered where all the river water had gone to. Part of her daily morning routine, she and a few other women would fetch water from the river for the tribe, a chore that would take two hours each day. But now, all that was left was a muddy stream; that would not do. She, being the chieftain's daughter, led the group downstream to where the water collected into a lake. The trek downhill was treacherous, but for the survival of the tribe, it had to be made. The pitchers were to be left with those who stayed behind, while three women followed her down. It took them nearly an hour, but they finally made it. But it had been a trip made in vain. Dead fish, even kinds that she had never seen before, adorned the shores of the lake, floating upside down as if in a parade of morbid fashion. The dour stench that the brownish waters produced hurt their nostrils and stung their eyes. Mrini wondered how they would be able to survive that day.
.
***
.
"Okay. It's alright, it's alright, we're just g'na lift you up one by one. It's alright, don't cry, just hold on tight to this rope here, it's very safe. See? There, you'll be fine, believe me, everything's g'na be alright okay?" He flashed a smile at her, a smile that conveyed anxiety yet reassured, a smile that tried its best to help and to comfort. They were standing on top of the roof of a house, with three other children and two worried parents; their house. Tom pulled on the rope thrice, and the signal saw the six-year-old girl ascending upwards to safety. He looked around. The sea had swallowed up the sidewalks, roads, cars and lawns, and soon, the houses would be next. All of the residents had already climbed up to their rooftops, waiting to be rescued. They looked like people on little boats, huddled together as if they were in some imaginary storm. But it wasn't raining at all. Everything looked calm and peaceful, but for the people. Tom understood why, and knew that the rescue team had to be quicker, for all their sakes.
.
***
.
Tom woke up. What a nightmare it had been for him. His job had enough occupational hazards, and now this. Shrugging off the chills that came along with it, he quickly tugged the covers over him. He needed to be up again in about two more hours. Duty calls.
.
The frail man woke up. He had fell asleep at his reading again. He made a mental note to himself to stop reading those books with doomsday scenarios. The world was bad enough, he sighed a thought, looking at the paper losses scribbled on a smart leather notebook beside him.
.
The old man woke up. He quickly hobbled along the porch and back into the house. Ah, the china was still there. Patty? Where's Patty? Ah, there you are. Good girl. These afternoon naps gave him weird dreams.
.
Mrini woke up. In her humble abode, she stared up at the browned ceiling. Visions as vivid as this do not come along that often, she thought to herself. In the morning, she knew she must consult the village elders about this. Perhaps it was a sign.
.
Perhaps.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment