Immovable Object

Good day, my readers. I hereby present to you the field note of the location I visit more often than I can count, which has witnessed more disasters than it can withstand. Why this place, you ask? I don’t know either. But let's keep this a little secret between us, as what I share with you is the topography of a secret landmark no one is supposed to know about.

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Entry no. XXX - The zombie hoard migration

I enjoyed this event the most because, unlike aliens or dinosaurs, zombies hold no mass and no aviation advantage. They wander in the street. They get stuck at doorframes. They carry no stench of rotting flesh, making the whole ordeal surprisingly hygienic. They can’t even look up to see me leaning over the railing of the rooftop. I am watching them from the huge balcony, the one we use to hang clothes. You can see the three-way street from here. You can see everyone, but everyone can see you. I hate that exposure. As I am pretty sure the neighbor on the third floor across the street can memorize my laundry schedule too.

But exposure is overrated in the migration, as zombies are stupid. They only follow the ground floor pattern, shuffling over faded chalk drawings on the pavement. They can't open doors, climb up stairs, or reach the lower rooftop of the building next to mine. Even so, I would prefer not to go down to the ground floor at this time. Better not touch the underground well. The well is not safe during the migration event. I just know that. I also am not touching the sky window either. I don't want to know if something is touching the rope.

The house holds itself well during any disaster, just like any other house in the neighborhood. Its existence is a fortress, a magnet that keeps pulling me back. And I let it be.

Entry no.Xxxx - The dinosaur parade

One of my favorite events, yet unfortunately, I can't watch it from the rooftop as the flying type can snatch me away. There is too much open space there. So I retreat to the fortress on the second floor. A prison with viewing windows, safe enough that no beast can break through, visible enough that I can witness the whole mess. I open all the curtains, from the front door leading to the balcony, to the two windows in the main room, and last but not least, the high window above the sink outside. The sky window remains closed. I don't want anything to peek down to my current floor. I can look down, though. The zombie migration is over, and I'm sure nothing is tugging on the sky window rope.

I rinse my face at the sink, and when I look up, the Brachiosaurus's long neck is looming over the high window. It breathes heavily against the glass, but no condensation forms. It tries to squeeze in but can't because the window bars are too close together. It gives up and walks away, its heavy footsteps stomping on the lower rooftops. I run through the hallway, pass the now-still rope, the stairs, and open the door to the room.

Marching through the two side windows is a horde of dinosaurs of different species. The T-Rex’s foot stomp makes a trembling sound, echoing through the iron window sill, yet I feel no vibrations in the floorboards beneath my feet. I peek closer and come eye-to-eye with a Velociraptor parading next to it. I can hear the entire building shaking, yet the seemingly flimsy rooftop never breaks under that weight. Turning my eyes to the balcony, a Pterodactyl spreads its wings on the railing, its beak tapping politely at the glass door, the only thing that prevents it from breaking through. They all can, but they don't. Between the beast's wings, I can see the light from the third-floor windows of the house across the street, always on despite all the chaos.

Entry no. xxxxx - Alien invasion

The aliens are both smart and have an aviation advantage, and it requires me to move around, which I hate. I'm back on the rooftop, standing over the ceiling, navigating the UFO movements in the clear sky. I can't stay in the room, as they can scan the building and vaporize me with a single beam. I have their movement patterns written down in my field notebook: when they rotate, when they scan, when they attack. The only way to evade that is to move to the nearby roofs when the waves scan and stay there until the attack phase ends.

I hop down to the neighbor's top roof, a wavy one that slopes slightly toward the drain pipe. While jumping mid-air, I caught a glimpse of what is inside the third floor of the house across the street. The light is on even when it is "sunny"—though the sun here offers absolutely no warmth—and a shadow recedes toward the dark side of the room where my eyesight can't reach. I am tempted to look the other way, toward the west, to the other side of the city, where the church bell rings. But I have to focus; the attack comes from the east.

When it ends, I jump down to the smaller rooftop balcony that holds the water filter tank. Next to an abandoned, sun-bleached plastic toy crown, the sky window is open. I remember closing it before the attack. I am manually closing it, quickly, without looking down at the ground floor.

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I have survived three disasters. The house stands through all three. It always stands. Like it is always meant to be. I'm not so sure about myself. I need to explore what is out there. The distant church bell in the west is calling me. Maybe I will find the answer to whatever is pulling the rope there.