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.
Powerful writing. Disaster haunts us, happens in the blink of an eye.
ReplyDeleteThank 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.
ReplyDeleteSuch a well-crafted account of natural disaster! Thank you for sharing this stunning flash fiction, Clair.
ReplyDelete