I woke up that morning to the familiar sound of rainfall hammering against the windows. It had been raining non-stop for days, and there was a muddy smell in the air. I went to my living room window and looked out, expecting to see a drenched city escape but Instead I saw something apocalyptic. A vast grey pall spread over everything, blotting out the sun and drenching everything underneath it. The rain did not let up for hours, relentless and overwhelming in its force. In time, people began appearing on the streets, drenched and bedraggled. They appeared as if they had been drowned or washed away by some great flood – an eerie sight in a city that normally bustles with life. There was a sense of dread in the air – something unprecedented had happened here and no one knew what it might bring next. The following days were even worse – death stalked the city like a spectre, claiming victims by the dozen.
Hospitals were overwhelmed with injured people who could not be saved; traffic was at a standstill as bodies were left scattered on roadsides; food became scarce as people scrambled to hoard what little they could find; panic began to set in as reports of sudden sicknesses circulated unchecked; all semblance of normality vanished under an oppressive darkness that seemed determined to wipe Balochistan clean entirely..
And then, after what felt like an eternity, the rains stopped. The grey pall dissipated and sunlight once again shone down upon a devastated city. People emerged from their shelters, their eyes filled with trauma but also stories of survival; they told of encounters with disfigured corpses or fleeing packs of infected animals that seemed intent on massacring them all. It was a time of nightmares – a time when everything went wrong and no one knew what would happen next..
