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Karachi’s Consumed
Hasan Muzaffer
There was a brush of black leather on my knuckles. Hot, like fe-
ver; slick, like skin after a night sweat. I feel a tremor run down
my spine, but it’s not the chill of night that elicits it. You and I
dance in an island of light amidst a sea of dark. The wind sighs
in my ears as you move around me. I spin on my toes in the
hopes I can keep you in my sights. Quick, like labored breath-
ing; elusive, like a reprieve from the pain.
Darling, your wings may not be as bright as a butterfly’s, but
they’re twice as durable. Your ears adapted for hearing echoes,
beady black eyes full of nocturnal hysteria. Your friends swarm
around us and I feel like I am the center of your world. But you
begin to pull away. I run after them, keeping my eyes in the sky
as they all depart. The ground disappears beneath my feet and I
feel the cold muck of the fish pond swallow me.
I pull myself out of the algae infested waters and retreat in-
doors. My uncle asks me what I was up to, and told him I was
chasing bats. It was humorous to him. “You know, I’ve heard of
people chasing butterflies, but not bats.” He proceeds to tell me
of the bad rap they get for being disease carriers.
My mind was set then. Butterflies were always going to
be boring to me. Bats were so much more intriguing. Because I
soon find myself in front of a TV set watching a news anchor
with a pink hijab. Something about the rise of sectarian vio-
lence in a city not too far from here…. My uncle and mother
meet in the hallway outside and speak of things too insignificant
for me to remember, but in that same string of trivialities, he
mentions that there has been an outbreak of brain eating amoe-
bas in the slums. Something about dirty drinking water….
That kernel of information stuck in my mind. He had
spoken so dismissively of it, as if it were a common occurrence.
Maybe it was a common occurrence here in this world. The
night turned to day and I found myself exploring the nooks
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