Revving up its engine, a driverless ambulance drove straight into my living room. The wall around it collapsed. The ambulance showed no love, and nobody saw its elusive driver. It exhaled black claustrophobic smoke. Its mission was unknown. The mysterious ambulance had a sheen, a well-maintained look as it drove into homes, parks, restaurants, roads excepted. The state police looked for its maker who drove it with a remote device, experimenting perhaps. This maker had too much power, too little control; it caused disquiet in the neighborhood; fractured arms, defaced noses and mouths without brakes. Did its zealous maker forget to install them?
***
It felt unsafe during the war. We walked our walks with my beautiful young mother, father, my sister, myself, and an uncle who walked with us. Years later, when my mother passed away, I lived in a different town. At midnight, I saw her tall shadow before my bed and felt her fingers running through my hair that was annoyingly wet; her last signatures were etched as remembrance into its fresh wetness then.
***
The womb was the baby’s new home. Mum vomited all day long. It took its calcium from Mum’s bones, iron from Mum’s blood. Mum began to lose her teeth and hair because the baby couldn’t stop. The baby was Mum’s most loved as Mum was to the baby. While Mum’s vital signs declined, the baby vamped.
***
Borers were eating up the trees. It took millions of years for these to grow to full size. Now the borers’ infestation took over. It happened in many countries, however. One was at war with its neighboring state killing children in thousands. This indefatigable offender never paused or listened to reason but kept its eyes in the crosshairs. Unstoppable borers were making an ingress, too; they found their way through to the harvest and the produce. Victory was within striking distance but no one saw the predators, coming through the war ate the trees inside out into gaping craters.
***
Rain’s intensity brought the afternoon its unique beauty. White geese flew across the backdrop of translucent grey-white clouds. A poet sat conjuring words, as magic was born. Only the rains could bring on such flawless lyrics into her words. Only the rains could inspire her to this end of a masterpiece of limitless words dribbling; however, the pen was also shriveling, fingers dragging it across whose magic was gradually waning.
Mehreen Ahmed is a Bangladeshi-born Australian novelist. She has published 10 books to date with works in Litro, BlazeVox, and Chiron Review. Her novels have been acclaimed by Midwest Book Review and Drunken Druid Editor’s Choice, her shorts have won contests, Pushcart, James Tait, and five Best of the Net nominations. You can find her on X at https://twitter.com/Ahmed2Mehreen and Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/mehreen.ahmed.3551/.