Gasping for air, Zain made his way through a tight corridor. The walls of the corridor were built with the old red clay bricks. Some set well in those walls for years. Others loose and brittle, crumbled and crashed onto the makeshift plywood floor. The floor, dusty and filth ridden, at least where ever there was one. Zain established that what he was making his way through was an old and abandoned building trying to escape. What or who, he was unsure just yet. A brief moment of wonderment struck as Zain tried to recall the events of the past.
It was as if he was born into a state of confusion and predicament. Zero meter; the state of the fare meter which the taxi drivers referred to at the start of the journey, was a suitable analogy for his state of consciousness. It was like a mild epileptic shock that stops all of us from sleeping. The fear of the sudden fall that marks the start of our ritualistic nocturnal drift.
Hmmm... What exactly have I gotten myself into? - As he tried to recall, he soon realised how meagre the resource of time was. Behind him, at the far end of the corridor darkness grew. Shadows or a play of mind. An angry mob perhaps? He wondered. It was difficult to tell in such a frantic moment. The intimidation grew.
Having no clue of where and how he had come to be, he sprinted aimlessly in the opposite direction. He took a sharp turn into another corridor onto the right with the hope that it may lead somewhere. Exhaustion took its toll as sweat beaded through his skin. He wiped his face and realised that he had a bandage wrapped around his forehead. In that brief moment, the dried blood on the wrap indicated that he had had it on for a while. Considering the situation, any further pondering was unfeasible.
A door! Yes! he exclaimed knowing he should be able to lock himself in a room at least. He let his momentum push the door open, only for him to be greeted by a 60 feet drop. There he stood, shivering yet sweating, on what appeared to be a high floor of a dated ruin. He held before him a sight of a dumping ground that the building now stood on. In the split few seconds Zain mused how the building would've once served as a residential block, thriving with life. That, however, was no longer the case. The building was abandoned and had been partly torn down at some point in time. “Practically used as a trash can for the rest of the district." Zain wondered. He then realised that he didn't even know which district of the city he was in. Kolachi was a huge city, with many districts. Some of which, Zain had only ever heard of. As he came to terms with his fluctuating amnesia, he turned around to evaluate the situation.
Bemusement befell as there in that deserted space there was no sign of life. Apart from him, there was neither no person nor a mob. No shadows, no darkness. Only him and his trails of dust. Breathing a little sigh of relief, Zain, assumed it all may just have been in his head. He was having difficulty remembering things after all. Either way he had a bit of a break, so he relaxed. The sun scorched through the broken ceiling windows of the building and illuminated the floating specks of dust. His exhalations disturbed the air around him and as he observed dust particles react, a vague face materialised. Formed itself out of thin air. It was her!
Taken off guard, he slipped the slip he shouldn't have and sat the seat he wouldn't have; front row, centre, gold class. As they say, one's entire life flashes before their eyes just before death and here Zain only needed to remember but a few short instances to satisfy his curiosity. Yes, he was witnessing a theatrical summary of his own life as he fell freely to embrace the earth. He fell elegantly to the score of Bach's Double. Time stood still for him then. For the first time in a while he felt that he did not have to calculate an outcome or plan a journey. He was at peace. “A time for reflection” said his inner voice as he thought of his favourite pass time and the amnesia faded.
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