As they both drifted into a deep slumber, it felt as though the wheels of time had suddenly begun to spin at a frantic pace. The old clock standing in the heart of the city—though surrounded now by heaps of refuse and ruins—had not forgotten its duty to inform humanity of the hour. While everyone was shrouded in sleep, its hands seemed to race like mad.
Slowly, the pitch-black sky began to pale. The swirling layers of smoke and clouds started to retreat, as if a new pulse of life was awakening within the bosom of the heavens. But was that faint light enough?
No. And so, the intensity of the light continued to grow. Wiping away the smoky sky and the remnants of the clouds, the sun descended upon this earth with all its might. Today's sunlight felt even more piercing than before—instead of merely providing light, it seemed like a hungry, raging monster come to devour the world.
...
The window of the small room on the roof of that five-story building remained open, just as it was. Through that path, an uninvited guest invaded the room—the searing light of the sun. A flash of brilliance fell directly upon our little Surjo. His sleeping posture was bizarre; his body was coiled exactly like a snake. His waist was twisted to one side, one arm was flung over his head, and the other was pinned beneath his own body. Under his own weight, he had practically buried his arm alive; the blood flow had ceased, and by now, the limb had likely turned numb and died.
And Tara?
She was perfectly composed. Lying completely straight, she held both her hands close to her chest, just as a quiet and polite girl sleeps. Looking at her, it was clear that before drifting off, she had ensured her body wouldn't move an inch—so as not to disturb Surjo's sleep.
However, eventually, that defiant light surpassed Surjo and crashed onto Tara's face. The heated touch of dawn seemed to stroke her sleeping face with a gentle caress.
Tara opened her eyelids softly. As the intense flash of sunlight pierced her eyes like fire, she frowned and turned over. Then, leaning on her hands, she somehow pulled her body up from the bed.
Her hair was disheveled, spreading over her shoulders, her eyes still clouded with the haze of sleep. In this era of destruction, washing one's face with fresh water in the morning was a sky-high luxury; thus, people of this time started their lazy mornings by simply rubbing their eyes with both hands. Tara did exactly that.
Leaving the bed, as her feet touched the floor, an icy sensation spread from her soles through her body. She stood up. Then, with slow steps, she headed outside the room—in search of a sliver of fresh morning air.
As she went, she pulled a rubber band from her trouser pocket. Biting it between her teeth, she took both hands behind her head. With gentle fingers, she began to gather her hair into a neat shape. When all her hair was in her palm, she brought one hand forward, pulled the rubber band from between her teeth, and took it back again. With practiced skill, she tied her hair into a ponytail.
The morning sun seemed to hold a bit of extra sweetness today, just for Tara. The crisp chill of winter and the mild warmth of the sun blended into a strange shiver that raced through her body. Tara closed her eyes and enjoyed that comforting sensation with her entire being.
Walking along, she stood at the very edge of the roof. Peering down from there, her heart gave a sudden thud. Massive structures all around—standing like giants. Some were slightly tilted, some were broken and limping. The color of every building was now dark and burnt copper. It looked as if the licking flames of a devastating fire had scorched everything.
Directly opposite the building she stood on were the marks of a massive wreckage. It wasn't just a few isolated buildings, but rather what was once an elite 'Society.' A place where the city's wealthy used to lounge in their luxurious apartments.
And the surprising thing was, the building on whose roof Tara now stood was the smallest and likely the oldest structure of this vast society. Amidst the glamorous edifices, it was a tiny existence that, despite being a victim of neglect, had somehow managed to keep its life flickering till today.
Just as Tara was finding peace in the outside silence, she heard a horrific scream!
"AAH! What happened to me!!!" —a thunderous shout. Tara was so startled by the intensity of the sound that she instinctively stepped back a few paces. Her heart hammered. But when she listened closely, the voice felt familiar.
Surjo!
'What happened? Why is he screaming so loud?' Worried, Tara thought to herself, 'Is he in some kind of danger?' Without another moment's hesitation, she ran toward the small room. Peering inside the door, her eyes widened at what she saw.
Surjo had sat up in bed. His back was turned to Tara. He was clutching one wrist with his other hand, trying to do something strange. When the sound of Tara's footsteps reached his ears, he turned his head quickly.
"Tara! Look what happened to me!!" Surjo was in a tearful, pathetic state. However, there was more snot running down his nose than tears from his eyes. Taking a massive breath to pull the snot back in, he looked at Tara.
He lifted his numb arm with his other hand and released it mid-air. To his utter shock—the arm didn't drop with a thud; it stayed put, perfectly normal.
Seeing this, Surjo fell into a state of extreme confusion. The face that was breaking down in tears just a moment ago instantly shifted into an expression of profound amazement. "Why didn't it fall!" He tried moving his hand again. He found he could move it perfectly well. No numbness, no pain—the arm had become as alive as before.
Surjo was still sitting on the bed, his eyes round as saucers. He stared at his right hand with a look of pure disbelief.
...
The incident had occurred just a few minutes prior. When Surjo woke from his slumber and opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was a strange void. His right arm! It was as if it didn't exist. He tried to move it, tried with all his might to curl his fingers. But nothing happened. The arm felt like stone.
Panicked, Surjo grabbed his numb right arm with his left hand. Then he hoisted it forcefully upward.
Reaching mid-air, he suddenly let go with his left hand.
Thud!
The right arm slapped lifelessly onto the bed. Surjo's heart skipped a beat. He felt as if all the strength, all the life inside his arm, had left him forever. He would never be able to move this hand again. The horrific thought crushed Surjo's chest. He could no longer restrain himself and broke into a loud wail.
Not for a second did it occur to him that because he had slept coiled upon this arm all night, the blood circulation had stopped, making the limb merely temporarily numb. His mind held only the horror of a crippled future.
...
But now... now that he raised his hand in front of Tara and let go, it didn't fall. it remained steady. Surjo didn't understand what magic had occurred, but his crying ceased instantly.
In front of Tara, his 'Heroic' image—his 'Heroism'—vanished in a heartbeat. In its place, a strange, awkward silence settled over the room.
Surjo wiped his nose with one hand and looked at Tara. Tara said nothing; she just stared at Surjo fixedly. In her eyes was a peculiar expression of mixed wonder and amusement.
Inside the room, the situation was bizarre. Surjo's tear-stained face, Tara's mute gaze, and the 'dead' arm suddenly coming back to life—it all felt like a scene from a strange movie.
Tara's right eye flickered slightly, and the next moment, she burst into a gut-wrenching laugh. "Hahahahahahahaha..."
***
Surjo and Tara were now walking through the heart of the city. If one could even call these ruins a city. However, compared to the area where Surjo usually lived, the environment here was quite different—one could even say it was somewhat improved.
The horrific claws of war seemed to have retracted slightly from here. People weren't just fighting to survive; they had begun to live in a somewhat organized manner. Amidst the ruins by the roadside were small shops and workplaces. People were working bone-breaking shifts, and in exchange, they managed at least one meal a day. Though there were burn marks on the walls, that primitive fear in people's eyes had faded significantly here.
As he walked, Surjo laughed to himself every now and then. Amidst his conversation with Tara, the strange incident of the 'dead arm' from this morning kept returning to his mind. Just as he was grinning to himself, puffing out his cheeks at his own foolishness, a coarse but familiar voice reached his ears.
"Hey, my dear boy, come here a moment!"
An old woman. She was pushing a dilapidated little handcart. The moment she saw Surjo, she signaled him from a distance. Without a second thought, Surjo forgot about Tara in an instant and bolted toward the woman.
Tara was left completely bewildered. She had never seen this side of Surjo before—rushing toward someone like a child the moment he saw them. Well, he is a child, after all.
A hint of doubt nagged at her; she felt somewhat unsettled. Seeing Surjo run off, Tara felt afraid to stand there alone. So, without a second thought, she too began to run after Surjo.