(18+ suggested)
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I stood leaning over the railings of our balcony, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, watching a storm come alive.
The clouds were black and heavy with rain and the gloomy day came alive with flashes of lightning and booming thunder. The wind blew softly at first and then with a ferocity that sent people scurrying into their homes to avoid the impending rain. Plastic covers and dry leaves whipped about in a mad dance and as far as I could see was a writhing, rolling mass of sea. The crashing of waves mixed with the cacophony of other sounds was music to my ears.
I loved storms. The sheer drama, the raw beauty of them.
"Mish come inside, its going to rain" my mother calls from behind me as she quickly pulls down clothes drying on the clothesline.
"Amma can you please please please make some pakoras?" I turn around and put on my best puppy dog face.
"Why don't you make them yourself?" Mom says, raising an eyebrow.
I groan, "I'll definitely mess up. And even if I don't they'll never taste as good as yours! Please ma..."
"Nuh-uh. You can make them yourself. I'll instruct you." I groan and we continue to argue as the storm rages on.
Bang bang bang!
I jump up at the sound of someone banging at our front door.
Bang bang!
"Who is it?" I yell, getting up from the sofa to open the door, "mom? I think the door bell is not working again."
Bang bang! bang!
"Coming! coming!" I mutter under my breath, hurrying towards the door and then stop to look through the peep hole.
There's a man lying on the floor, curled into a ball with one arm stretched out.
Bang!
I gasp and pull the door open, yelling for my mother.
It's our neighbour.
I think he's having a heart attack but then notice he's coughing blood and his face is a bright red from lack of oxygen. For a moment I think he's choking and I begin to panic.
His bloodshot eyes meet mine and he gestures towards his flat. I don't understand what he's trying to say but I assume he wants me to go there.
"Oh my God! What happened!" Mom rushes down to kneel next to the him.
"Mom I'll go check who's at his place." I say and run towards his flat. My legs tremble as I push open the door and enter inside. And as soon as I do, I am assaulted by a ghastly smell.
Lightening flashes and deep rumble follows.
Further in, I see a 7-8 year old boy, sitting in the middle of the living room floor but he doesn't look at me when I enter the house. The air I inside is stifling and the stench makes me want to gag. I want to cover my nose but restrain myself, not wanting to look rude.
Angry torrents of rain lash against the windows.
"Hey," I call out to him, "Where's your mom?" I walk over to where he's sitting trying hard to smile and look non-threatening. Something about this boy and this place is making me nervous. I feel goosebumps rise on my arms but I ignore my unease and look intently at the boy, still waiting for an answer.
I feel impatient to leave, edgy even, but I can't leave without finding his mother, so, I give his bony shoulder a small shake and he turns to look at me with disturbing empty eyes.
