Leavened

| Chapter 9 |

It was as if the entirety of Missouri had encountered an alien invasion. After the riotous incident, everywhere had dissolved into silence. Even the busiest cafès had become so empty - without its buzzing clients on their computers, sipping iced tea and devouring hamburgers. The streets, desolate and isolated, swallowed the bravery of its owners.

Here, around the corners of the town, where usually quietness was its norm, it gave an awkward flare of eagerness and curiosity of foreigners to visit. On the news last night, the Indian, in her slurred words and careful diction, said that there was an arrival of a selected few from Africa and the Caribbean. Just as I was curling myself to sleep, a video clip of them showed up on the screen. A detailed man in a kaftan, two robust men in slim-fitted pants, a young couple -man and man- trolleyed their luggages and then, an aged male struggled his way down the airplane, smiling and stroking his back in pain. By the other side of the airport, a tent was built to accommodate those waiting on their flights because, apparently, the airport was filled to the brim as it was during summer. Just behind the breastfeeding mothers and impatient men were medical care providers injecting some people. As the presenter roamed around the airport reporting footages of the people and the situation ongoing, discussing with different people, the Hindu woman fell on her knees, then face down on the floor and clasping unto her belly which spilled out deep red blood. The whold scenario took a very different turn. Legs scampering all over place. Heads sheltering. Infants yelling in agony as syringes dangled from the shoulders.

But one thing remained the same for a few seconds.

The smile on the old man's face did not vanish, instead it brightened, as though he was told his diagnosis of contracting AIDS was false. His hair danced in the air, dropping strands of white hairs on his face. Also, the video recording kept viewing the distress scene and the old, unbothered man. Jr had landed safely on the ground by time the ambulances came in. Five or so men rushed out from the ambulances, in gloves and boots, and laid the already-bloated presenter and a few others on the stretcher. Few minutes later, the scene became quite decent. Apart from the blood stains on the interlocked floors and screeching noises here and there, it was almost as if nothing disheartening had happened.

On the lighter mood of this scenario were the alien men. All blacks and one white. But in all sincerity, he wasn't all that white, just brownish white. Almost white but then the African or perhaps Asian blood overtook the whiteness in him. His dress portrayed otherwise. Native and international in nature. Upper body enveloped in embroidered, sleeveless blouse and legs clad with ash trouser, and on his feet, he had on flops.

I relaxed on the cold wall. The news went on and on until the skies went darker. I kept watching, like I was awaiting a specific information. I forced myself to fall asleep, but the face of Indian woman would suddenly pop up in my dream. It was like I could see her in reality, really close-up and personal. I battled with that until the lights went off. My knees pulled up against my chest and head upon my palms which rested on my knees, I rocked forward and backward in despair. I had figured that danger was near. The doom was bound and I wasn't going to escape it.

The next day. I was now sitting at the bar near the train station. I made three orders but I was barely satisfied. I was staring at the piling trash by the pavement. After finishing the third cup, I picked up the newspaper by the stand. I didn't plan on reading it, only to keep my mind pre-occupied. I relaxed into the chair and slipped my eyes across the top stories. It was still revolving around the speculations that a state-wide jeopardy was peeping. I tossed it over, called the waiter and paid the bill. Once I stepped out of the bar, a disturbing urge to take the left turn poked me. Despite resisting, little did I know, I was taking a shorter route to the road I was avoiding. I stumbled upon an almost delabitated post office. Just as I moved closer, a jolly Christmas song was playing. I understood it could be a trap, but I didn't mind anyways. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and carefully studied the environment. Cautiously, I lifted a foot a time and frequently glancing behind me in case death was stalking.

Eventually, I crossed to the other side of the building. In this area, the wood had been infested. Web and dirt tangled by the door knob. Quietly I twisted the knob and my head in pure tensed fear. I didn't go in. I hadn't prepared my obituary. Once, i heard a noise. I did not ignore it but I didn't act on it. I lowered myself from the stairs and left the door open. Twice, the noise came again. This wasn't fear. It was terror. I snapped my eyes above the first floor. Just somewhere in the middle of the second floor, a dim light flickered. At the sight of this, I tumbled over the dry leaves and wet ground. As I tried to get myself up, my ID card dropped from my bag. Again, a sound like a mowing machine came up. It was coming from where I ought to find safety. So, I ran into the building and slammed the door. The sound drew nearer as I scampered around. I hesitated going upstairs. It was a huge risk. The Christmas sweetheart song began. I was really confused at what was going on.

The mowing sound had stopped at this time. I squatted behind a desk for a while. When everywhere had gotten less disturbing, I found my way back to the entrance of the bar, panting and regurgitating the coffee that swam in my bowel. I peeped into the bar, scooping my palms the glass as I struggled to see from the tinted glass. I could see the waiter that served me smiling and cleaning the counter top. Sweat dripped off his hair, his apron slightly tied above his waist line and i couldn't just believe what had happened. His smile remained and he raised his hand. Was he waving at me? I was in sheer disbelief. I always came here for the warm coffee, and him. I waved back. He chuckled and went into the room behind him. I stood upright and began to head towards home.

As I journeyed further, I took one more look behind me. It was peujout 505. Red and bright. The car sped beside me. I had just seen his green eyes and elf ears. By the passenger's seat sat a mower. I stood in denial and but I was remembered the danger waiting patiently for this town and me.

JNS. 5678.

Slight constipation and conspiracies spiralled down my spine. Love lingered. Danger waited.

I continued to stare at the number plate and as smoke puffed out from the exhaust, I vomited cold coffee. It didn't just end there. It had only begun.