Blink by Clair Wright


Thousands of miles above, the satellite registered a smooth stretch of land, like a scar.
The previous day’s image showed a close tapestry of streets and buildings, each tiny square representing a building, a home.
Now, through the dust, it was flat and featureless as a desert. 

Hundreds of miles away, seismic monitors recorded a huge spike, followed by a series of peaks like a mountain range. Computers processed data on the tectonic shifts which had caused this once-in-a-generation geological event.

In distant towns, pictures fell off walls. Cups rattled in cupboards. Car alarms burst into a pointless, tuneless dawn chorus and sleepy people stumbled out of bed to find their keys.

On the morning news, over coffee and cornflakes, we watched grey figures poke amongst the flattened remains of their homes. Women with silent toddlers on their hips dragged out anything which might be useable – a dented pan, a grimy blanket, a single shoe.  

In the television studio, experts pointed to the satellite images, and the seismic spikes and peaks.  They marked the epi-centre on the map, and defined the areas of greatest impact. Across the bottom of the screen flashed a number to donate to the disaster appeal, between the football scores and the lottery numbers. 



The cameraman wiped the film of dust from his lens and turned back to the reporter, standing in front of a toppled apartment block. Curtains fluttered at gaping, lopsided windows. A group of rescue workers, caked in dirt and sweat, dug through heaps of rubble. The diesel engine of a JCB rumbled as it pushed at lumps of concrete and buckled girdlers. 

The reporter coughed to clear the dust from his throat.

A shout, and the rescue workers clambered towards a man crouched amongst the crumpled concrete, peering at a screen.  The reporter followed, the camera close behind. The men crowded around, the reporter leaned in closer; the camera focussed on the grainy image on the monitor.

Dust, darkness, silence.  Then a gasp, a sob, as the screen flickered with the slow, living blink of an eye.

Comments

  1. Powerful writing. Disaster haunts us, happens in the blink of an eye.

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  2. Thank you Andrew! I have a memory of seeing something like it on a news report as a child - a camera probing the rubble after an earthquake and capturing the blink of an eye.

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  3. Such a well-crafted account of natural disaster! Thank you for sharing this stunning flash fiction, Clair.

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