The sun decided to conceal themselves behind a thick gray cloud that evening. The wind forces themselves in every armpit of leaves and branches. Lamps were clacking. Every light being was dancing between folds of the gust. All the machines went silent. Damp air brushes the asphalt across our home. We just woke up. “Ayang, we haven’t bought anything yet,” my girl said in her sleepy voice. I was alert, Nyepi is going to be rough without rations, “We need to get out!”

“Right now?”

Darkness swallows the streets whole. Water falls, slapping our faces, backs, and asses. Shivering, the wet cold air stuck through fabrics, fills up my pores. My teeths were clacking. I am trying to fight the wind and the rain to maintain my bike’s balance. My inner balance? Not so much. My girl shouted the grocery list at me, “We have to take cash out first!”

All the ATMs are dead. Fuck. Now all the streets are barred.

Sands grind the right side of our faces. Every grain of salt water and sand trying to find a way into every fold of our existence, while I am fighting the wind and the rain to maintain my bike’s balance. My inner balance? Not so much. We only have so and so for a pound of chicken flesh and some spices. We still have a bottle of soy sauce back home.

The rain starts to caress, gently. We are soaked. My girl is cutting the onions. Semur ayam kecap is coming. I am watching Gilmore Girls to maintain my inner balance. My bike’s balance? It’s up to a standard.

This flash fiction was a 20-minutes-and-so work from Tempakultura Writer’s Club, March 13th 2024 edition. The prompt was pathetic fallacy. And I still have no idea if I am doing this right.