Omens

The beach looks enchanted by moonlight.

The girl walks alone along the shore. She is dressed in a brilliant white shalwar kameez with a grey wool shawl draped around her shoulders for warmth. Her sandals hang loosely by the straps from one hand and the surf plays coolly around her feet.

Nothing can be heard except for the soothing sounds of the sea. Nothing can be seen except for miles of moonlit beach.

The wind carries a faint hint of rose essence, the kind her grandmother always wore. She closes her eyes and fills her lungs with the clean, perfumed air.

The beach sparkles like a million diamonds that somehow stay just ahead of her. She walks a bit faster and then breaks into a merry run, trying to catch up with the elusive diamonds. But the sparkling sand always turns plain white when it comes near her feet.

She stops, laughing and out of breath. The smell of roses seems stronger now.

She spots something up ahead, a dark patch in the sand. As she gets closer she sees that it is a drawing of a valentine heart pierced by an arrow. She looks around to see if she can spot the artist. Although the drawing looks fresh its creator is nowhere to be seen.

The smell of roses is much stronger here, almost to the point of being unpleasant. And it seems to be mixed with something else ... something she cannot identify.

She looks at the drawing again. Something about it tugs at her heart strings. The heart looks forlorn, almost sickened, and the arrow appears to be wicked and barbed. Also, when she looks closer, she sees that it is more than just a set of outlines in the sand. The borders are a deep dark rusty color, almost like dried blood.

The drawing appears menacing in the moonlight. In the center of the heart, in a sickly hand, are scrawled the initials: F.J.

She shivers and pulls her shawl tighter around her. It seems to have gotten much colder since she's been standing here. She suddenly becomes aware of silence, the complete absence of any noise on the beach. She looks towards the sea, but it is not there. Where there was gently rolling water there is now only wet sand, moss and sea weed, and fish flopping around in death.

She is scared now, and to make matters worse, it seems to be getting darker. She looks up in time to see a large cloud covering the moon.

The beach is engulfed in darkness. She cannot even make out the drawing now. An icy breeze gusts around her. For some reason, she feels the chill the most around her ankles and her neck.

The smell is now definitely unpleasant. Sickly sweet, and yet tinged with something sour ... it is so overpowering that she has difficulty breathing.

She suddenly becomes aware of a low distant roar. It seems to grow steadily louder. The moon plays hide and seek with her, darting in and out of the clouds, alternately illuminating and darkening the beach.

Very frightened now, she once again looks sea-ward. In the brief moments of illumination she can almost make something out on the horizon. As the roar gets louder she can see it better, like a black wall against the far sky.

She retreats, her heart thudding so hard she is afraid it will burst out of her chest. She cannot take her eyes away from what is looming before her.

The moon finally gets clear of the clouds and she gets her first good look at the source of the roar. A huge wall of water rises before her, stretching as far up as she can see, as far up as the moon.

The roar is deafening. The rotting smell is overpowering. The sight of the huge wave takes her sanity away. It is almost upon her, seemingly poised to sweep her away, along with everything else around. She screams...

********************

Darkness and silence.

A sharp whisper in her ear: “Wake up!”

Sara opened her eyes and beheld her ceiling fan. She was used to the fan being the first thing she saw every morning, its blades whirring fast enough to form a flickering white disc, the sound of the blades chopping the air blending in the with the gentle hum of the air conditioner.

Today, the fan was absolutely still, and the world was silent. The room was bathed in the early morning glow and the air was stiflingly hot.

Something else was off too. It took Sara a few moments to realize that she was on the floor. It pressed hard into her back and she could feel the cold tiles against her ankles. Somewhere in the night she had fallen out of bed – strange that the fall hadn’t woken her.

Simba padded up to her and hopped onto her chest.
“Good morning!” said Sara, stroking his ear. “Did you push me out of bed last night?”

Simba appeared to be bored with the conversation and curled up into a ball on her stomach.

Sara giggled and absent-mindedly stroked Simba, enjoying the deep rumbling purr he made.

“My own private massage cushion,” she murmured. “Off with you now. Some of us have to work for a living.”

Simba hopped off in a huff as Sara slowly sat up, every joint aching in protest. Why did she feel so stiff? Her tongue felt thick and cottony and stuck to the roof of her mouth. And what was that acrid taste at the back of her throat?

She was completely drenched and the room smelled sourly of stale sweat.

She got up and went to the window. The sky was only just turning golden in the east, but the world outside still seemed to be asleep. Simba hopped onto the windowsill and began to lick his paws.

Sara started to stroke him again as she surveyed the scene. Something was still off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The house cook and the gardener were both tinkering with the generator to one side of the driveway. In the surrounding houses, people were slowly stirring to life. She could make out the roar of distant generators – that meant this was a widespread blackout.

“Where are all the birds, Simba?” she said softly.

Sara had lived in Karachi all her life, and while power outages were the norm, she couldn’t remember a morning when the air had not been filled with bird chatter. Today, the birds were not only silent, but nowhere to be seen. Even the sky was empty of the crows that were always darting about, and the eagles that soared above them.

Suddenly, Sara remembered her nightmare. It came flooding back to her in each and every detail. She shivered, but then shook it off.

“You probably ate them all, didn’t you, fatso!” She gave Simba an affectionate squeeze and went to begin her morning routine.

As she brushed her teeth, she realized that there had been one more thing bothering her. There had been no breeze whatsoever – not a blade of grass had moved. For Karachi, this was very unusual.