(pictures generated using GeminiAI)[geminiai.com]
I had planned it to be a restful day today. Just me, at home resting and listening to Bruno Mars Lazy Song.
Everything was going fine at first, from snacking on junks, binge-watching TV shows, and dipping myself in the bathtub, until it all fell apart.
First was the smell of smoke, faint but sour, and painful to my eyes, as if someone had been burning something just outside the window. I was sitting on my couch, headphones still around my neck, scrolling through Netflix when the smell hit. I shoved it off as my neighbors were burning their trash. Then I heard another one, a slight shuffle behind the living room door. It was almost quiet, as if whatever it was was being careful yet consistent.
I froze. My fingers stiffened around my remote as I reduced the volume of the TV. I listened and it was gone. I told myself it was nothing. Maybe a raccoon had dropped a nut while running past. My neighborhood is filled with them.
But then came another sound, a soft creak on the floorboard this time just at my porch. Louder and closer now. I shot to my feet immediately. I can feel it, someone was inside my compound.
My heart hammered so hard I thought it would burst my ribs. My apartment was usually a sanctuary of quietness and peace. But suddenly, it felt tiny, like I was suffocating. I looked through the gap between the door and the floor, and shadows were pooling in the corners. I could feel them pressing forward against the door. I wanted to run, to call for help, maybe 911 but I needed to be sure it was an intruder. But how was I going to do that when I'm scared to my bones
I quickly grabbed my phone and dialed the only number I knew would help me. 911. “Hello? Please, please…” I yelled immediately and I heard a voice from the other side. I was shaking so badly I barely recognized it was an automated voice.
“Hello, thank you for calling with VeriPhone,” a calm, distant female voice said. “Before we proceed, please ensure your NIN is linked to your line. If you have not yet registered…”
“No! Listen!” I shouted. “My life is in danger. Someone is in my apartment! I need to make this call!. I cried.
The voice paused, as if weighing my panic, then resumed as if I hadn’t spoken. “For uninterrupted service, it is important that your NIN is registered. Enter your NIN…”
I hung up. It was useless trying to call. That voice meant only one thing, help wasn't coming. I haven't registered my NIN to my line just as the government had asked, so I couldn't make calls.
I needed to do something. To save my life. I ran to the window, peering out into the alley below. It was quiet, dark, and weirdly calm. I thought of breaking the window to escape, but I could sense him, the shadow moving just past the edge of my security light. It felt as if he was patient and waiting for me to make a move. My chest heaved, my palms slick with sweat. I wanted to scream but it would only reveal my location. I wanted to run, but I was trapped, pinned by the absurdity of a system that prioritized NIN numbers over lives.
I thought of the kitchen phone at the. It was connected to my neighbors. I could call them and they will help me. I dropped to the floor, sliding along the wall to the kitchen. My hands found the phone but it was dead.
I was sweating. I held my breath. I tried to think. I needed to defend myself if help wasn't coming. Every second stretched into a minute. Every tick of the clock was like eternity. Outside, the shuffle became heavier, a footstep that did not belong.
I picked up my kitchen knife and crawled to the door carefully. I was going to attack first before the intruder got into my apartment. At the roor, I stood up and gripped the knife, fingers trembling, heart thundering, legs ready to collapse.
Then I burst open, yelling “Stop! Don’t—” I swung the knife blindly. But there was nothing there other than my neighbor's dog trying to dig at my porch. It saw me and sat down obediently like I had ordered it to.
"Buster?" I hid the knife immediately. "What are you doing here?" I asked, kneeling to pet it. "How did you get past the door?"
Then it occurred to me that I had been fidgeting because of a dog. I laughed, the kind that comes after fear has drained out of the body and left you weak.
"Come on. Let me take you home," I took Buster by the collar and walked him back down the porch through the alley, my legs still shaking. His owner was on the phone when she opened up, complaining loudly about the poor network and missed calls.
"I know, right?" I replied, recalling my experience earlier.
She hadn’t even noticed he was gone. She thanked me, embarrassed, and dragged him inside.
I got back home and locked my door. Then I sat on the floor for a long time. Bruno Mars was still playing. I turned it off.
I felt like a fool.
