The Scent of Blood
Echoes of Fear
Denzil, a bank clerk whose life was a monotonous rhythm of fluorescent lights and repetitive transactions, craved a break. Today, instead of his usual refuge — the tea stall and his solitary cigarette — he decided to explore the bustling market hall that sprawled behind the bank. As he delved deeper into the maze-like alleys, the midday heat intensified, the city’s clamour fading into a distant hum. An unfamiliar scent, earthy, mineral, and metallic, began to permeate the air, mingling with the usual aroma of spices and sweat. Then, a low, guttural sound shuddered through the market like a collective animal fear.
Denzil rounded a corner and stumbled upon a sight that would forever shatter his complacency.
A monstrous concrete and steel structure loomed before him; its walls stained a sickly red darkened brown. From within, a cacophony of sounds assaulted his senses: the frantic bleating of sheep and the chillingly efficient clang of metal against metal. A burly man, oblivious to the turmoil raging within Denzil, gestured towards the structure. “That’s the slaughterhouse, bhai. Brings in paisa for Dubai people,” he said, his voice thick with an Urdu accent.
But money meant nothing to Denzil now. He saw the terror mirrored in the vast, panicked eyes of the animals — a fear that reflected his growing unease. He imagined the cold, metallic grip of the unseen instruments, the agonising screams swallowed by the concrete walls. The stench of blood seemed to hang heavy in the air, adding to the growing unease in his stomach.
The image of the slaughterhouse haunted him for days. He saw the camel, its eyes filled with a desperate plea, being led towards its inevitable fate. He saw the blood staining the slaughterman’s dishdasha and the concrete floor and heard the low, guttural prayers recited as the animal’s life was brutally extinguished. He saw thick red blood sprouting from the camel’s neck like a water tap. The heat of the midday sun seemed to amplify the sounds, making the scene even more vivid in his mind.
Nightmares plagued him. Endless rows of terrified eyes, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth, the echoes of screams that refused to fade. He woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, the memory of the slaughterhouse a suffocating weight on his chest.
The complacency of his mundane existence was shattered. Once a predictable tapestry of routines, the world now revealed a terrifying underbelly. Denzil, forever altered by the horrors he had witnessed, retreated into himself. His laughter was replaced by a quiet sadness that lingered, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the brutality that lurked beneath the surface of the world he thought he knew. The experience also impacted his demeanour. He withdrew from conversations, his appetite diminished, and a constant unease settled over him.
