ultramisoramen-blog

[ultramisoramen-blog]

I don’t read enough books to draft this short story that was my dream.

The car sputtered over and over again, no matter how many times I tried to turn the key over. Great. Dead battery. I had recently changed the battery not too long ago and it carved my wallet about 200 dollars deeper. Accepting the fact, I let out a sigh of exasperation, picked up the phone and called my car insurance.

Hang on a minute, why does the operator speak in a different accent? The intonations are similar to that of Malaysia or Singapore people. I thought this company was proudly Australian? Confused, I looked up and the setting was immediately upon me. The sweat started to bead on my arms and forehead and the feeling of humidity hit. Chirps from birds sitting atop trees that surrounded the street corner. The scent of coffee from the opposite cafe drifted across the footpath and into my nose. This place definitely feels like Malaysia. A red sedan was parked behind me and an inspector was hunched over the windscreen ready to issue a ticket. Shoulder length hair and freckles on her mildly chiselled face. Her uniform was ironed well and free of crinkles. it was quite apparent that she took this job seriously. Who takes inspecting seriously? As she approached my car, I felt a sense of dread as I was already going broke. Surely I can get away with a ticket if I just talk my way out of this. 10 steps towards me later and she looked up.

Sadbh! My primary school friend. We caught up and talked about how I got there. I cannot recall.

Next thing I knew, a group of mysterious figures came running frantically from the corner and stopped in the middle of the road huddled in a tight-knit circle resembling a shape no bigger than an igloo. Black shawls covered their faces with laces that run along the top portion of the shawl dangled down to their eyebrows. Complimenting their head garment, they wore black overalls that covered their body from head to toe. Strange that they had open toe sandals though. As they piled and huddled, one of them stood up. 

Boom.

A flash of white light and yellow flames. Everyone screamed and shouted in fear and terror at the spot where they blew up. Blood splattered everywhere. I blinked and realised I was already getting the heck out of there. I was running along through a wide alley with two wooden fences flanking the sides. Thoughts were racing through my head but I immediately concluded that they were definitely a terrorist organisation. I never thought that I’d have such a close encounter as I’ve only seen them on TV while the 6pm news is broadcasting.

I and a few others ran to the nearby park that had an octagonal gazebo. Trees were as green as the grass. Surrounding the structure was walls completed with windows on each side so people can peer out and enjoy the view. The flow of human traffic was governed by a narrow door on one side as well. We slammed the door shut and cowered in fear. A few minutes later, more lackeys of the same terrorist group started walking towards us from a distance. They were easily distinguishable because of how they dressed as they definitely matched the ones on the street corner. I could also tell that had every intention to kill us. Footsteps stopped right outside the walls and I could hear murmurs just outside. They spoke in a different language but when they finally decided on the method to kill us, they reverted to English. Lethal sleep gas. That’s how I’m going to die. At least I will die peacefully. The window glass shattered from the force of the gas canisters and green smog started spewing out with a loud hiss. 

...

Wait. I’m alive? How?

I wasn’t the only one. 4 other heads popped up like ostriches that had buried their hand in the sand for too long. The others didn’t make it. Did the gas run out of its potency? We were staring at each other with confusion for what felt like an eternity until we heard them come back. Somehow, we were all thinking the same thing and dropped dead like how the toys in Toy Story stop animating when they hear a living person come. We were playing dead. A lackey opened the gazebo door, pushing one of the dead bodies aside, and started patrolling the inside. I could tell from the sounds he makes while he walks that he was proud to be working as a terrorist. He was checking to see if we were dead. To see if the gas did its job. Now, this has to be the biggest coincidence but his random checks led him to only kick the people that were already dead. My heart was racing and I swear it was loud enough that he could hear. His feet grazed past my shoulders and it took every ounce of my strength and courage to not yelp. And my gosh does he not wash his feet? In the same foreign language as before, he reported to his superior and the group shuffled away.

“How are we still alive?” We kept asking each other. Regardless, it was time to get out of there. We wandered around the deserted streets and stumbled upon a house with the front door left ajar. “Hello?!” We shouted, to no answer. The house echoed for a second too long. No one was home. We searched the house for answers and I found a switch underneath the kitchen drawer which opened a door. Behind the creaking door was a set of wooden stairs that led down. We entered the dimly lit basement and locked up the place as best as we could. Blue tinted lights that flickered ever so often while the buzz from the vintage stereo trying to pick up a broadcast signal. The sudden vibes of a post-apocalyptic setting took over. Guns were sitting on wooden racks over by the corner with the minibar. This was definitely the Safe House. 

Weeks passed and we were all well acquainted with one other. I don’t remember the details of each individual but they all seem nice, rational and calm. And then there’s the paranoid Barbara. Barbara was always on edge and there was no way to calm her down. As good as she was with rationing supplies, she would always bring up the worst possible scenarios. “What if they come back?” “What if we are the only ones left?” Even after discussing it multiple times. I thought we were managing pretty well and we're getting comfortable with one another.

One day, Barbara runs in shouting at us. “Is that blood on your face?”, one of us asked. Turns out, she had to kill one of them as she was outside fetching supplies.

We’ve been found. She was followed. We are screwed.

The moment she opened her mouth, blood splattered everywhere. A bullet that penetrated the rear of her skull barely reach the front and dented her front as if they were a single devil’s horn. No time to cower, I gathered the group and led them out the back door before they could get to us. We had to run.