The universe wants to play with you (part 33)

My dearest Hawthorn, I offer you my humblest apologies for my disappearance for the last 15 months. Time has treated me badly and I often had no idea when I was. One of the reasons for not writing is I was travelling around the parts of Europe that were previously part of the Soviet Empire, looking for something or someone, I wasn't sure. Still not sure now.

As often seems to happen to me, I briefly spent some time in prison. On this occasion, it was three months in Shumen, Bulgaria. I still have no idea what law I was supposed to have transgressed but I was eventually escorted to the border at Ostrov and released. When I got back to Bucharest, there were two letters from you - six months between them. Unfortunately, Spinoza had chewed them beyond recognition. I don't think Cosmina had been feeding her regularly.

Anyway, my reason for writing is that I should be in Dunedin in about two weeks. I will be working as a barman on a cruise ship that will be docking at Port Chalmers on the 17th March. I am coming ESPECIALLY to see you as I have IMPORTANT information to tell you. Hopefully, my arrival won't be too late as what I have to say is URGENT. If you get this letter before you see me, I advise you to leave until I arrive. Things are going to be really dangerous. You must go to Mrs Rees in Middlemarch. It will be safer and she will expect you.

Take care

Love

Adam
Paris

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Wellington 23.23

Darkness is the absence of light, silence is the absence of noise, death is the absence of life.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder unless it doesn't.

Switched off into darkness - as quick as that.

The cutting out of engines came straight after.
Panic in Police HQ. Especially when back up generators won't start, radios don't work and no-one knows what the fuck is going on.
We've got to do something.


An hour passes, power doesn't return, engines don't start, no emergency reports on radio or tv in Wellington anyway.

Tinkling, smashing sound of windows breaking.
We've got to do something.

Good natured looting is taking place around the city.

Neighbours sharing trolleys laden with booty.

A group of about 30 are pushing their way home, drinking beer, wine and champagne, torches lighting their way. They hear a whirring sound in the distance, angry bees buzzing towards them or a mass march of hairdressers brandishing hairdryers and not afraid to use them.

It gets louder but still no sign of anything coming down the long road down the hill so they resume walking until one of them shouts.

Four lights are coming towards them, accompanied by reflective jackets; as their eyes adjust to the sight, the crowd burst out laughing as they see two electric golf carts, occupied by four cops,  putter painfully in their direction.

We've got to do something.

First one, then the other, slowly stops. One over enthusiastic cop begins to run, torch light swinging wildly, until she trips and falls to the ground to the sound of cheering.

.....................................................................................................................................................................
Despite some concern, the sun does rise, not needing any manmade power. Police and the NZ defence force are drafted in, using bigger, and better charge, electric vehicles. Streets swarming with people-the only way to find out what is going on, even just rumours- queues outside the closed shops.

The Tourism Minister was abroad, so another third-rater took over, the nearest to Palmerston North where power and cars worked.
We've got to do something.

But what...