Abduction

• Nicole Edwards
• Short Story
• 2017

Abduction

The day the flood came was a suitable one; clouds as far as the eye could see, a light dusting of rain falling upon the pastures and fields; the usual affair. This one particular man, of the middle variation in age, thought it prudent on this particular day to visit the city. He was not exactly sure why, but it seemed the appropriate thing to do. How very wrong he was.

This man’s nostrils were certainly not accustomed to the pungent city smells issuing from the many buildings around him. The atmosphere was polluted with the thick, billowing smog bursting out from disproportionately large chimneys, like a dancing wildfire without the flames. This, of course, is a silly metaphor for the appearance of smog, for smog cannot be without some source of flame or extreme heat; but it is the chosen one nonetheless. That is, after all, exactly what it looked like. As his downcast eyes glanced furtively around at his unfamiliar surroundings, he caught a whiff of something familiar, something that stood out among the many filthy smells like a clown at a funeral. The smell of an incoming storm.

Worry flashed through the man’s memory, processed by his subconsciousness faster than the most technologically advanced supercomputer. The flood had hit 23 years ago, sending what seemed like the entire country into panic and peril. But the most peril had been applied to him.

On that day, painstakingly similar to this one, he had rushed home to find water pushing the barriers that were his floorboards. Slamming doors everywhere, he had rushed inside to find water seeping relentlessly to cover the mangy carpet. Ankle deep in that freezing liquid, he had attempted to stem the flow; but to no avail. Sprinting through the house, he had heard what sounded like footsteps behind him, but foolishly dismissed it as an effect of the raging waters. As his pursuer crept closer and closer, the man had a sudden impulse to turn around. But he was too late. As an impenetrable hessian sack was thrown over his aching head, he had begun to peruse the shelves of his thoughts, realising only then the source of those earlier heard footsteps. His abductor.

Now, back in the current time, we move to a scene of great sadness. Creeping shadows in tiny, cramped alleyways. The man who has been the subject of this story walking not entirely free of burden, but convinced of his safety. Rain pouring down on the heads of those walking the streets, making their way back to their safe, comfortable homes. And as this one particular man felt the same impulse he had felt all those 23 years ago, his heart filled with dread, as a thick, impenetrable hessian bag was thrown over his head, and he was resigned to the cool bliss of sleep.