Lost and found

Have you ever found something that you’ve lost, something precious and valuable to you, something which you’ve given up hope of ever finding again? If you are like me who tries to keep track of each and every small piece of junk that belongs to you, a lost item, however worthless it seems, is a cause of sleepless nights, a ceaseless frown on your brow, making you lost in thoughts when more important things are happening around you. People often ask, is something wrong, what’s on your mind, what’s bothering you…and words to that effect. And what could you say, my favorite shirt is lost in the black hole of the washerwoman’s laundry pile? I lent my beautiful shoes to a friend and it’s been six months and she has no intention of returning it and I don’t want to ruin a friendship over a pair of shoes but I wish I could wear those shoes just one more time before their lifetime is over? Nobody wants to listen to those sad little stories that don’t affect them directly. We live in a busy, selfish world.

So there you are, occupying that small space, seemingly happy with your daily routine, a fake smile pasted on your face, but with that niggling thought always present at the back your mind: where are you, will I ever find you again, I have a wedding to attend tomorrow and nothing to wear. You spend days sulking, moping around, uncommunicative, and needlessly worrying over something that is beyond your control. People whisper and tiptoe around you. But suddenly one day it comes back to you, it gets returned, or it was hidden in a small corner all the time. You know the feeling of relief and happiness that floods you, no more waiting, no more wondering where it might be and who it might be with, it has come back to you and you couldn’t ask for more. You may even feel like calling your friends and neighbors together and saying “Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.”

The virus infected zombies came, leaping over cars and scaling the walls with a frightful nimbleness. Hungry for blood, they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. Their equally mad dogs came on their heels, barking with a ferocity that reminds one of hell hounds. I sat there mesmerized, immobile, waiting with fearsome anticipation for them to break through the windows, through the skylight and the ceiling. The bombs planted around the building had been detonated, the floodlights had been turned on, but still they came, hundreds of them, hairless and half naked, their green veins clearly showing through their cadaverous skin, their mouths open from which came forth terrifying screams, their blackened teeth horribly disgusting. The doctor locked himself inside the basement examining room with the thick glass door, and sensing this, the zombies came down the steps and gathered near the door, all the time emitting those horrendous screams. They tried to force the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. The leader of the group then threw himself at the door, hitting it hard with his head. Not a crack. Frustrated, he launched another attack; still no crack.

Earlier, in a behavioral note the doctor mentioned that the zombies had completely lost all human reasoning, and I wondered what intelligence was working in them now that told them the glass door will break if you hit it hard enough. The leader had not given up his assault, and his perseverance was showing some results. There was a small crack. Knowing that it was only a matter of minutes before he succeeded, and urged on by the smell of blood and human stench, he increased the intensity of his attacks. The door cracked slightly open, and for the last time the leader gathered all his strength and energy, and hurled himself forward. I stopped breathing.

Boom!

The door flew open, and I executed a squatting high jump on my bed. I knocked over the laptop, and fell down on the bed screaming in terror. My two inmates who came into the room looked at me like I had suddenly blown a few fuses and lost a few nuts. When I had settled down and quieted down a bit they asked me the question they had in mind.

“Where does the sun rise?”

“In the east.”

Eyes rolled, foreheads were slapped.

The question was rephrased.

“In this building, which side is east?”

I was flattered they had come all the way from the next room to ask me this obviously important life-threatening question, never mind that they had interrupted me in the middle of a movie that I was so engrossed in. So I abandoned all previously executed actions, and concentrated hard trying to figure out which side is east. I thought about the mornings, when the sun comes charging through the windows, and decided that that direction was east.

“This side is east,” I pointed towards the window.

“Then where is south?”

Some people are so dumb. I faced the window, and explained, “Front is east, back is west, left is north, right is south.”

They seemed satisfied with my answer. But I then had a question for them. “Why this sudden interest in geography?”

“My mother said if you sleep facing south you’ll develop insomnia.”

Ok.

They left, and I resumed watching the movie.

The zombies had already broken down the door, and the doctor had blown himself up along with them. There was nothing left but smoke.