THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAIL

She sits outdoor, in a pavement café, the table still wet from the dawn dew. The heat of the coffee, cupped in her palms, seeps into her fingers, her wrists, and gently prickles the skin along the length of her slender arms. She breathes in the heady aroma of the decoction, eyes closed, and her lips sip the drink like a child, the warmth searing a fine line down her throat.. The clouds part and the first rays of the day cuddle her in a shroud of orange, seemingly igniting her luxuriantly tousled hair into an incandescent blaze, and her assorted ear and nose studs into glowing embers of myriad hues.

For a moment, a lost tune from a forgotten past resonates within her mouth and oozes to her ears, and she is pleasantly surprised. She arranges a pile of coins on her table for the coffee and tip, not daring to take out the currency note in her purse, which is her last.

She gets up, strangely buoyed, picks up her bulging, hastily packed suitcase and crosses the road. A red and blue 10-wheeled truck, ASLAM CARGO emblazoned on its side, traveling at a modest 50 Km/hr, but with enough momentum to tear the turret off a battle tank, speeds toward her; Only when it is a few feet from her does she notice the looming ten feet high monster metal frontage. She loses precious seconds faltering this way and that, undecided as to run across or back. It is too late now. She drops the suitcase and her hands draw up to her face, mouth and eyes contorting in an agonized silent scream. Death is a moment away, when..

Time and Movement freezes.

The truck is now a giant frozen blur of steel, speed and menace, inches from her face. The waiter at the café, eyes startled wide, with the dropped coffee cup mid-air between hand and pavement.. A frail beggar, almost naked, bent to retrieve a scrap of paper.. A stray kitten pursuing a yellowish grey autumn leaf swept by the wind onto the road.. Both cat and leaf now motionless on tar, as if in a still photograph.. All immobilized in mid-act.

She tears herself away from this anomalous tableau, blinking her eyes to make sure this is all real. If it is a dream, then awake she must, and soon.. It is no longer dreamlike. The faint smell of baked coffee beans from the café is still in the air. The throbbing pain where her falling suitcase scraped her shin seems real enough..

And then, there is Him..

tobecont.