Inspired by Franz Kafka
Upon reaching the concourse level, a security guard stepped out in front of us and said, quite calmly: “Where are you going?” Confused, but aware that I could not waste time with confusion, I quickly replied, “What in the heavens do you mean? The adjacent building is on fire! We are evacuating!” “Oh, that was just an accident”, replied the guard, “the other building is secured. Please, go back to your office”. I turned around and saw that the people who were with me had already started pacing back up the stairs, as if the guards’ words were absolutely final and could not be questioned. “Wait!” I cried, “Up those stairs is certain death!” There was no response to my plea, not even the turn of a head, so I spun around again to face the guard, who had been joined at his side by a colleague. I noticed that both guards were now holding weapons, which were pointed down at the floor, and I suddenly felt less confident about putting up any more resistance.
I looked around and saw other groups of evacuees listening to the words of other guards’, who were presumably passing on the same good news that they could all return safely to their offices. Inexplicably, the majority of people seemed to be content with the guards’ words and, despite the obvious chaos surrounding them, began making back towards the stairs, leaving only the odd dissenter who, like myself, remained standing in disbelief. Outside I could see workers from the adjacent building hitting the ground with such speed that it left nothing of their being save for a circular dark stain on the concrete. Quickly remembering the effort it had taken just to get to this point – the kicking down of doors, the breathless struggle of smoke filled corridors, the cries of hysterical people – I turned for the final time towards the guards and, following the basic instinct of survival, stormed between the two.
Once safely past the threshold I looked back at the guards expecting some kind of consequence for my actions. Surprisingly, none was forthcoming as the guards simply glanced at me, then at each other, let out a small laugh and, noticing a new group of people approaching from my original direction, went back about their business. I carried on down a small flight of stairs and reached the ground floor reception area of the building. This area was in complete disorder and was seemingly the base camp for all the different departments of the emergency services and governing authorities. Down here, every official appeared to be arguing with another official and I expected to be apprehended at any moment, like I was a convict trying to escape a prison. Instead, I went almost completely unnoticed, only attracting the briefest side glances from the lower officials, who were not engaged in argument. I got the impression that in less urgent times these lower officials may have made my presence known to their superiors. As it was, I was free to force my way through the crowd towards the beckoning doors of freedom.
Once outside I caught the gaze of an old man who was standing across the street. The man looked disturbingly familiar, like an old lost relative, but due to the falling debris and dust I could not discern who it was he resembled. He had an air of uncommon worry and, although I cannot explain how, was apparently motioning me to look skyward through his eyes alone. I looked up and was astonished to find a human being, a male judging by the suit, hurtling down towards me following Newton’s Second Law of Motion. As he came closer I recognised the man as a member of my party who had abandoned me on the concourse level, opting instead to travel back upstairs under the order of the guard. Eventually he was close enough for me to perceive the look in his eye. The last thing I remember thinking was how; in birth, the first faces we see are overwhelmed with joy, whereas, in death, the last faces we see are filled with despair. I looked for the old man again, perhaps in desperation, but he had mysteriously disappeared and I was left, along with the man above my head, to get on with the business of dying.
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