After The Day

After The Day
By Carnotaur

I awoke from my slumber as I do almost every night. Not from any noise, nor shaking that interrupted my mind’s rest, but from a mere unknown reason. I do this often, and do not ponder why. Usually, there is silence in the dimly-lit room, but occasionally I heard the ending of a audible short story, likely mysterious or macabre, that I found some hours, or merely minutes before. I may have only started it twenty minutes ago, but I awaken, and it feels as if some many hours have passed. On other times, music echos against my walls, just soft enough to help me off to sleep, but just as heavy to entertain my ears. When I regain my soul, I am more than not drawn to exit my residence, and venture down stairs. I have done this many times, all at different places, all times and weather. I prefer to hear the rain, and a distant rumbling of thunder. Other times, like now, the air conditioner is breezing, cooling the room, but hardly doing it’s job on me. And so, I do the same routine. I make my way down stairs, my thoughts mostly vacant. I feel an urge to find the restroom, but my attention is caught by light movement outside my windows; outside, in that umbra world, that I will not enter, but observe. I look out, seeing my neighbor’s house, their back porch light still on, though they never actually go out there at night. ‘Burning electricity,’ I think, but I don’t pay much mind anyhow. The lights shone into my face, but they don’t pain them. The wind is blowing, but the sky is clear, perhaps a storm is coming over the mountain range? I then turn to my door, looking through the eye hole: little can be seen, only two dots of illumination, which are undoubtedly my other neighborhood fellow’s (who are not fellows in truth) porch lights. They look like eyes, or ominous headlights. I know by observation, they are motion-sensing. So, something disturbed them. Perhaps a tree branch, less likely an animal, and maybe even a person. Ah, but never rule out the possibility of some mysterious fiend, which you imagine, lurking about. Not a vampire, not a ghost, living dead, or killer, just an unknown, an unknown being, that could be a ghoul, or a unintelligent plant. But perhaps the plants are the fiend. I turn away, and find the restroom. Turn on the light, and look at myself in the mirror. Observe in the glass, the other person, who just observed nothing outside, pointlessly look into the mirror, to do aid in nothing. Some time later, I come back out, and head to the back door, sliding glass in type, covered by plastic blinds. I part them. Outside, the yard is empty, just the plants bristling from the breeze of night. I check not for signs of a storm, but look into the lights, not too far out, of industry. Past the fences, men likely are working, keeping the world alive, and here I am, not sleeping. I feel a deeply feeling, looking out at the lifeless night, letting thoughts come to my mind. Thoughts of the cold, cosmic mysteries, and apocalypse. Yes, catastrophic doom. I wonder if while I had been sleeping, the world had changed in some form, but I am ignorant of this. There is no way to tell, unless I leave the residence of myself, yet I am unwilling. Could the human race be nearly extinct? Has war been declared? Or has something else occurred? No matter, I decide.

Soon, I leave the window, and make it to the couch, wandering the black living room. Only a slight thirst taints me, and no hunger is about. I sit down on my couch, wondering what to do, and I play some more music. I choose Saint Vitus. I am in the mood for some slow, heavy, and ultimately sludgy sounds to listen to. The act is done. The night is creepy, I feel no terror or fear however. But I am bored. I decide to write this, and I watch my fingers type up a story still unfolding... I need to get back to sleep. I’ll deal with the world tomorrow.

I chuckled at how foolish I am. Why would I wonder if anything had gone wrong? I have been here for weeks now, and haven’t seen a single person. Nearly all people died far away in time. My neighbors are gone now, and those lights have stayed on for a while now. No one was working, there was no one working. Who am I writing this for anyhow? I actually don’t know. The internet is gone, and the electricity will last some time, people, including myself, have solar panels. I listen to the voices of likely deceased men, and now start to hear the rain. I love the rain, it helps me forget. The world outside goes on, and I just remain here. I won’t starve for a while, there is plenty of food in other houses. I am not entirely sure what happened. The TV is out, no channels broadcasting, and the radio is just static. My CDs will keep me company, and my books will reside here. I do not worry completely. There are no dead bodies in these houses or in streets; there are no remains. People simply vanished, but I assume they died. There was not rapture of souls, because I am sure there would be others. But I am alone, not feeling all bad. I was never a misanthropist, but surely not a socialite. People angered me, but also made me feel ever well. I must make due with what is. One day, I will travel through the streets. My car is fine, and everyone else’s is too. There is hardly destruction anywhere, though I haven’t been out much. I did see a car crash. The wreck was also many wrecks. Hundreds of vehicles on the road, left empty smashed terribly or hit by another light enough. Life is new, and also old, because I am now living like people isolated from history past. I write this, wondering why, but content with my destiny... I think I’ll be alright, there’s really nothing to be afraid of, not even solitude.