He saw the crack of a lightning in a distance as the strong breeze messed up his hair. He looked down. The apartment parking lot somehow felt too far away. The Proton Sagas and Wiras were all nicely lined up in an almost artistic collage of sorts with the different colors appearing and disappearing with every flicker of the street lamp.
He could smell the rain in the air. Thunder rolled somewhere in the heavens and startled him. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths to calm his racing heartbeat. His temples threatened to burst behind his closed eyelids. He could feel the beads of sweat on his palms turn ice cold. His stomach grumbled; he did not have his dinner.
The sound of a horn could be heard breaking the silent coldness of the night. He painstakingly pried his eyes open. A grey school bus rumbled up to his apartment. From where he was, he could see the rusty top of the bus. Grey and rust colored. Almost like it was tossed into the sea for many years then brought out to collect dust from a Kalimantan forest fire. The rumbling of the rickety choke of an engine came to a sudden backfire and died right next to more grey busses. The Protons were no longer there.
He heard a bird chirp above him. He looked up at the flying creature. A thin yellow line marked the trail of the bird’s flight. The heavens rumbled again. He blinked. The bird vanished. The thin yellow line started broaden. It looked almost like a tear, a crack in the sky maybe. Yellow blinded him. It was almost as if a single ray of concentrated sunlight poured from heaven’s crack.
His left leg shot out. He stepped away from the ledge. He fell.
Ahmad woke up screaming. Three nights in a row he had that same dream. His heart was pounding.
What did it mean?
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