Blue Death: Egypt Under Attack

Gulls, Lots of Gulls

I barely slept last night after Dad had left me with a turbulent ocean of thoughts in my mind. Dad's version of the new era is totally different from mine. I won't live in the city I grew up in. I won't graduate from college because simply I'm not going to attend one; at least for a while until we are done with the Invaders, or they are done with us. If the Invaders are planning to escalate things up, I'll have more than college to worry about, then.

Can it be possible that Dad's wrong about the Aliens? I desperately try to find another explanation for yesterday's events, but his theory so far is the best I can get. What kind of friendly people who would turn all our devices off? This is just war harbingers, and that's why Dad believes we are in great danger. That's why he insists that we must abandon the city.

I can't help thinking of our ark; a 1958 Mercedes 230. The pride of German industry belongs to my late Grandpa-my mother's father-who refused to sell it for any reason. "That car was destined to be spared for a day like that," Dad told me last night. I believe in destiny, but I'm not sure about Dad's idea. "If I remember correctly, there were no electronic components in cars at that time." What if he remembered wrong?

Dad's awake, I hear his footsteps. Usually, I don't wake up before 11 AM during summer break, he knows this fact. But we are in a desperate situation that requires desperate measures...like waking me up with the first sunlight.

The door creaks when Dad slowly pushes it open. I raise my head to show him I'm awake already. "Am I moving now?" I yawn.

"It's about time, soldier." He gives me a faint smile.

"Don't you want to come with me?"

"I'm not done with your mother yet," he sighs. "She doesn't want to leave her house. Eventually, she'll come around, but that will take some time."

Mom is not an outgoing person at all. The fourth day of any trip we make outside Alexandria is a damn hell to her, and consequently to us-Dad, me and my sister-and she spends the last three days complaining of not feeling well. "Take me home, Yousry," she asks Dad. "You will never understand because you were not born here1," she always tells him. Well, I was born here, like her, yet I don't suffer from the same symptoms of severe homesickness when we travel.

In one word, convincing Mom to leave Alexandria forever will take ages of arguments and debates. Good luck, Dad.

"We don't know when the Invaders' next strike is," he tells me, "Maybe it's one hour later. Maybe it's next week. But it's soon. And that's why we can't afford to waste time. Do you understand the situation, Ali?"

I nod. His last question makes me really feel like a soldier. Perhaps, he's now feeling he's a Navy Commodore, like the good old days.

"I have a question, sir." I raise my hand.

"Sure." He puts his hands on his waist. We both are enjoying this.

"About the Grandpa's Mercedes, sir; was it working before the EMP in the first place?"

* * * *

Today I'm a six year-old boy.

I don't remember the last time I rode a bicycle. Those are the pedals where I'm supposed to place my feet. My hands on the handlebars, checking that the brakes are smooth. My forefinger pushing the bell lever. RING RING RING, and yet I'm not moving. The two men standing on the opposite side of the street stare at me like: what the heck is wrong with this lunatic?

"Please, Mr. Ali, take care of it."

Shaaban, the doorman of our building, is worried about his bicycle. I can't blame the poor guy who watches me mess with his ride. If it's up to him, he would never let me take it, but he wouldn't dare to say no to Commodore Yousry.