In the mist of getting lost
Syed Nusaiba Morshed :
I open my eyes giddily to feel the soft wind brush against my bare alabaster skin, but the road is rough.
My white trainers are unfathomably struggling to maintain balance as the friction holds them, rumbles of shiny speared stones jolt together. So far yet to close that the slightest mismatch maneuver can lead to dangerous consequences in a jiff.
Just a few inches from my back leg, crimson red blood swirls down my sock covering it like a thick bed of blood bath. Yet the distant groans of the cumulous clouds and the lightening sky ablaze a sense of serenity that is unusually pleasing.
As I run tirelessly, droplets of sweat flickers everywhere, the ache starts to hold even heavier than before as the thought of making it out alive to see my family perpetuates me to continue.
The grass on either side is floating with gerberas and blue Leilani, spreading a smell of sweet honey. As I faintly make it to the highway, cars with fuming engines and failed brakes lodge with gasoline being sucked by the parched ground. The city center won’t be too far from here, approximately 6 kilometers but something is eerie.
I stood still unable to comprehend the set of situation. And as I turn around, a short middle-aged woman with arm amputated and a pale face sprints with all her strength from a tin structured garage named as ‘901 Tactical Service Workshop’ as a towering figure chases her with a razor sharp chainsaw.
Apprehending the terror, I expeditiously get into the car, start the engine and somewhat manage to drive at insane speed. The unambiguous road, pedal shifting, gear change, witnessing what’s happening around is intriguing enough to send chill down my spine.
Finally, as I make it to the city center, rain starts pouring down like cats and dogs. Tress sways like it’s about to be uprooted and winds from all direction jolt to create greater rumpus. The dynamic apartment, sky scrapers and stores are looted and no electricity available, leaving behind dead silence and the earthy petrichor.
The city stands still, no one to narrate what is happening. Switching lanes, I see wild animals and birds lay dead on the street and finally when I make it to home, I capture the main door open and see my three cats feeding on my mum, dad and my sister.
(Nusaiba is a student, BAF Shaheen English Medium College).
