I found this journal a few hours ago in the middle of the street. All those entries make an interesting story (certainly a very imaginative one), so I decided to share it online. I named the story itself after an old episode of the Twilight Zone, mainly because that's what it reminded me of.
It was funny, though. After I finished copying the contents of the book, I put it on my shelf. Like five minutes later, I came across a typo and wanted to know if it was in the original version, so I went to the shelf, but the book was gone.
I haven't been able to find it since.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
And When The Sky Was Opened
And so we come to now. I'm writing this in an attempt to keep some sort of record. A record of a world that no longer exists. A person who no longer exists, who can no longer remember their own name.
Perhaps someone will find this. Perhaps it will slip through a crack in reality and someone will take the time to read it. I can only hope this will happen or else this world will disappear and no one will ever know about it. No one will ever know about Megan and Richard and my mom and my dad and me.
Perhaps I will see my life flash before my eyes as my memory and all traces of my existence is wiped clean. The book I read last week, Thanksgiving with my sister, last summer break, last year, my years at college. Learning history in high school, cleaning the garage out with my sister, yard sales and breakfasts and painting the house and breaking the same window twice. My memories unraveling like yarn.
Or perhaps I won't even notice anything. Perhaps I'll merely start writing a new sentence and then disap
Perhaps someone will find this. Perhaps it will slip through a crack in reality and someone will take the time to read it. I can only hope this will happen or else this world will disappear and no one will ever know about it. No one will ever know about Megan and Richard and my mom and my dad and me.
Perhaps I will see my life flash before my eyes as my memory and all traces of my existence is wiped clean. The book I read last week, Thanksgiving with my sister, last summer break, last year, my years at college. Learning history in high school, cleaning the garage out with my sister, yard sales and breakfasts and painting the house and breaking the same window twice. My memories unraveling like yarn.
Or perhaps I won't even notice anything. Perhaps I'll merely start writing a new sentence and then disap
Judgment Night
All the television channels were blank. The same with my books -- every page blank. At least I won't run out of notebooks to write in.
The sun had set and I idly wondered if perhaps the sun had disappeared below the horizon. I looked up and couldn't see the moon, but I didn't know if that was because it was supposed to be a new moon or if the sun was no longer there.
I figured it didn't matter.
I stepped outside. The night was cold and I shivered in my jacket. There were no cars around anymore, so I walked to the middle of the street and stood there and looked up.
Above me was the vault of heaven itself. The panoply of stars.
I waited. I looked back and saw my apartment building was no longer there. There was just long rows of grass. As I looked around, I noticed this was no longer any apartment buildings or coffee shops or gas stations. I was surrounded by fields of grass.
I looked up and saw the stars, unobstructed by smog or clouds. They shone brightly in the sky and then, one by one, winked out of existence.
The sun had set and I idly wondered if perhaps the sun had disappeared below the horizon. I looked up and couldn't see the moon, but I didn't know if that was because it was supposed to be a new moon or if the sun was no longer there.
I figured it didn't matter.
I stepped outside. The night was cold and I shivered in my jacket. There were no cars around anymore, so I walked to the middle of the street and stood there and looked up.
Above me was the vault of heaven itself. The panoply of stars.
I waited. I looked back and saw my apartment building was no longer there. There was just long rows of grass. As I looked around, I noticed this was no longer any apartment buildings or coffee shops or gas stations. I was surrounded by fields of grass.
I looked up and saw the stars, unobstructed by smog or clouds. They shone brightly in the sky and then, one by one, winked out of existence.
Perchance to Dream
I tried calling my sister again, but an automated voice said that the number I had dialed was no longer in service. My brother still wasn't answering his phone, but I could still get his voice mail. I left a message saying I loved him.
On the bus ride home, I fell asleep and had a dream. I dreamed that it was Christmas and we were all gathered around piles of food, so much food we couldn't even begin to eat it all. And my brother and my sister and my mom and dad were there and we were all smiling and happy. My dad began to cut the turkey, but the knife slipped and cut his hand. I rushed over to him with a napkin, but he said, "Don't worry, honey. Look." He showed me his hand. The cut was big, but it didn't bleed. I looked at the cut and it opened up and beyond it was a vast whiteness. And then I was falling into the whiteness and I couldn't stop.
When I woke up, I was lying on the ground in the middle of the street. Apparently, the bus had ceased to exist in the middle of the bus ride.
I stood up and started walking.
On the bus ride home, I fell asleep and had a dream. I dreamed that it was Christmas and we were all gathered around piles of food, so much food we couldn't even begin to eat it all. And my brother and my sister and my mom and dad were there and we were all smiling and happy. My dad began to cut the turkey, but the knife slipped and cut his hand. I rushed over to him with a napkin, but he said, "Don't worry, honey. Look." He showed me his hand. The cut was big, but it didn't bleed. I looked at the cut and it opened up and beyond it was a vast whiteness. And then I was falling into the whiteness and I couldn't stop.
When I woke up, I was lying on the ground in the middle of the street. Apparently, the bus had ceased to exist in the middle of the bus ride.
I stood up and started walking.
Time Enough at Last
I called my sister to see if she was still there. She was. We chatted and I asked her how we were brought up without any parents. She grew quiet and I knew she was trying to remember. It was the same with Rich -- a memory that should be there, that you just know you knew, but now you can't recall.
I told her to forget about it. I told her I was just joking. I told her I loved her.
I called my brother, but he didn't answer.
As I walked down the street of my hometown, I started to notice that it was more than just people that had disappeared. Houses were gone, buildings were gone. The movie theater where we had watched so many movies at was a parking lot. I walked into the library and noticed that the shelves were only half-filled. Maybe the authors of those books never existed now. Maybe the architects or the people who repaired the houses or bought the movie theater no longer existed. Maybe the disappearances were finally beginning to ripple across the world.
I wondered what that meant for me. No parents. Would I disappear, too? Would there be a white light and then I would be gone?
Would it hurt?
I told her to forget about it. I told her I was just joking. I told her I loved her.
I called my brother, but he didn't answer.
As I walked down the street of my hometown, I started to notice that it was more than just people that had disappeared. Houses were gone, buildings were gone. The movie theater where we had watched so many movies at was a parking lot. I walked into the library and noticed that the shelves were only half-filled. Maybe the authors of those books never existed now. Maybe the architects or the people who repaired the houses or bought the movie theater no longer existed. Maybe the disappearances were finally beginning to ripple across the world.
I wondered what that meant for me. No parents. Would I disappear, too? Would there be a white light and then I would be gone?
Would it hurt?
The Lonely
The next day, my boss called to ask where I was. I lied and said I was sick. If the world was ending, I wasn't going into work.
Instead, I went to my parents' house. My mom was a teacher and she had this week off for Christmas, but she must have been out running errands. Instead, I found my dad upstairs in his workshop. I knocked and he nearly cut off his finger. "Sorry, Dad," I said.
"That's okay," he said. "I'm always glad to see you. I didn't think it would be until Saturday, though."
"I was just lonely," I said. "No one to talk to."
"You can always call me, you know" my dad said.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said. "You and mom."
He looked up from his work table. "Who?" he asked.
I rushed out of the room. I checked every picture I could find. Me, my brother, my sister, my dad.
My mom was gone. How was that even possible? How could I exist if she didn't? As I felt myself begin to cry, the sound of the workshop above gradually stopped. I looked up and then down at the picture. Me, my brother, and my sister.
My mom and dad no longer existed.
Instead, I went to my parents' house. My mom was a teacher and she had this week off for Christmas, but she must have been out running errands. Instead, I found my dad upstairs in his workshop. I knocked and he nearly cut off his finger. "Sorry, Dad," I said.
"That's okay," he said. "I'm always glad to see you. I didn't think it would be until Saturday, though."
"I was just lonely," I said. "No one to talk to."
"You can always call me, you know" my dad said.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said. "You and mom."
He looked up from his work table. "Who?" he asked.
I rushed out of the room. I checked every picture I could find. Me, my brother, my sister, my dad.
My mom was gone. How was that even possible? How could I exist if she didn't? As I felt myself begin to cry, the sound of the workshop above gradually stopped. I looked up and then down at the picture. Me, my brother, and my sister.
My mom and dad no longer existed.
Escape Clause
Work on Monday was weird. Not only was Megan not there, but there were other coworkers missing. Missing and unremembered. We went from having forty employees to having twenty-two.
I worked in the Accounting Department. Usually, we had three people working there, but without Megan, it was just two. It was hard, but I could handle it. But Rich, my supervisor, didn't look well. He looked like he was trying to remember something, but couldn't.
One of the coworkers that had gone missing was his friend. They always went on break at the same time, smoking out in the cold. His friend would walk into the Accounting Department with a grin and then would bump fists and walk outside together.
He looked at the door, like he was expecting something to happen, then shook his head. "I hate it here," I heard him whisper. He worked throughout his break.
Finally, at the end of the day, I saw him staring at the door, again expecting some non-existent person to walk through. When no one did, he stood up and opened the door and walked through.
"Rich," I said, going through the door to try to talk to him. Perhaps, with some coaxing, he could remember like I did. I went to where he had last been, but he was gone. I asked my boss if she had seen Rich, but when she asked who that was, I knew I was too late.
Rich was gone and forgotten.
I worked in the Accounting Department. Usually, we had three people working there, but without Megan, it was just two. It was hard, but I could handle it. But Rich, my supervisor, didn't look well. He looked like he was trying to remember something, but couldn't.
One of the coworkers that had gone missing was his friend. They always went on break at the same time, smoking out in the cold. His friend would walk into the Accounting Department with a grin and then would bump fists and walk outside together.
He looked at the door, like he was expecting something to happen, then shook his head. "I hate it here," I heard him whisper. He worked throughout his break.
Finally, at the end of the day, I saw him staring at the door, again expecting some non-existent person to walk through. When no one did, he stood up and opened the door and walked through.
"Rich," I said, going through the door to try to talk to him. Perhaps, with some coaxing, he could remember like I did. I went to where he had last been, but he was gone. I asked my boss if she had seen Rich, but when she asked who that was, I knew I was too late.
Rich was gone and forgotten.
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