chazz
2008-12-27, 01:47
It was thirty minutes into the man’s daily drive to work when he first became aware that he had been alone on the road all morning and London, which is usually a fairly busy city, had become suddenly and abruptly, unpopulated. He was the type of man who lived in a constant dull haze of apprehensive thought, and minor details such as being the last human left on earth, often passed the man by.
After checking with himself that it was not in fact a) Christmas b) cup final day or c) a dream, he continued onto work quite uneasy with himself and unsure of what action to take. After driving into a dull business park somewhere in the misty countryside, just outside of a town, he buzzed himself into an office where, for a while, he expected that there was certainly a surprise birthday party waiting in ambush but this thought soon dissipated into more familiar anxieties as 1) it was not his birthday and 2) no one liked him. “There probably all dead!” he thought with uncharacteristically optimistic gusto. “But not the receptionist, She’s defiantly still alive waiting somewhere for me to come and rescue her and help her repopulate the earth” he added as an afterthought.
His usual productivity had been significantly reduced by the strange events (or lack of events) that morning. He realised this barraging of strange lack of events was not going to subside by the afternoon and thus his productivity was destined to decrease further. The man walked to his bosses’ desk, told the empty boss shaped impression in the chair that he was frightfully ill and must return home. He headed back via the supermarket, his head cushioned with a vague sense of déjà vu.
His car reflected back at him on the vast plane of glass that fronted the new supermarket. He noted to himself to complain to the council about this monstrosity of a supermarket and how it suffocates local trade and then stepped out of the car, passed through a seam of chill outside air and into the shop.
Pushing a wonky trolley round, the man chuckled as he reminded himself of the crazies who hung out at the station, trolleys full to the brim with junk, babbling about end times and political conspiracy.
The fresh meat counter buzzed in a pulsating swarm of flies and squirming larvae, a feast of green and fuzzy meat. “That’s odd” he murmured. The state of degradation that he found the meat in was truly an indication of how long this day had been. Although bemused at the speed of rot, the man did not let his experience at the fresh meat counter effect the enjoyment of the shopping. The man glided the trolley into the clothing section and set about replacing his sweaty and ripped suit. He thought it Strange how such wear and tear can occur in just a few hours of use. Standing in front of a mirror he noticed a thick brown beard had placed itself onto his gaunt, cream face. “Has this day really been that long?” “How long have I been doing this for?” His white name tag from work, still attached to his chest, imprinted the name Robert deep into his eyes. He mouthed his own name syllable by syllable but the shape and sound of the word felt meaningless and distant.
The outside sky appeared to burn with golden hues of orange and brown as the man called Robert held two bottles of brandy over his eyes like glasses and stared at the sun until it hurt. He had forgotten where his car was parked and hoped that drinking excessively would either help him to remember where his car was parked or help him to forget that he had forgotten where his car was parked. It did neither.
Buy the time he had walked home it was night and the odd silence that washed over the darkened land proved a constant reminder to the man that he was alone. He probably needed a constant reminder. Walking over the pile of unclean dishes that had amassed at the front gate he stepped through the doorway where a door used to be and went to lie down. He dipped his foot into a feverish dream but jolted back to alertness when he remembered to set the alarm for work. He couldn’t afford to be late, especially with his ever decreasing productivity. He then lay there, eyes open, in the dark and waited for another day to arrive.
After checking with himself that it was not in fact a) Christmas b) cup final day or c) a dream, he continued onto work quite uneasy with himself and unsure of what action to take. After driving into a dull business park somewhere in the misty countryside, just outside of a town, he buzzed himself into an office where, for a while, he expected that there was certainly a surprise birthday party waiting in ambush but this thought soon dissipated into more familiar anxieties as 1) it was not his birthday and 2) no one liked him. “There probably all dead!” he thought with uncharacteristically optimistic gusto. “But not the receptionist, She’s defiantly still alive waiting somewhere for me to come and rescue her and help her repopulate the earth” he added as an afterthought.
His usual productivity had been significantly reduced by the strange events (or lack of events) that morning. He realised this barraging of strange lack of events was not going to subside by the afternoon and thus his productivity was destined to decrease further. The man walked to his bosses’ desk, told the empty boss shaped impression in the chair that he was frightfully ill and must return home. He headed back via the supermarket, his head cushioned with a vague sense of déjà vu.
His car reflected back at him on the vast plane of glass that fronted the new supermarket. He noted to himself to complain to the council about this monstrosity of a supermarket and how it suffocates local trade and then stepped out of the car, passed through a seam of chill outside air and into the shop.
Pushing a wonky trolley round, the man chuckled as he reminded himself of the crazies who hung out at the station, trolleys full to the brim with junk, babbling about end times and political conspiracy.
The fresh meat counter buzzed in a pulsating swarm of flies and squirming larvae, a feast of green and fuzzy meat. “That’s odd” he murmured. The state of degradation that he found the meat in was truly an indication of how long this day had been. Although bemused at the speed of rot, the man did not let his experience at the fresh meat counter effect the enjoyment of the shopping. The man glided the trolley into the clothing section and set about replacing his sweaty and ripped suit. He thought it Strange how such wear and tear can occur in just a few hours of use. Standing in front of a mirror he noticed a thick brown beard had placed itself onto his gaunt, cream face. “Has this day really been that long?” “How long have I been doing this for?” His white name tag from work, still attached to his chest, imprinted the name Robert deep into his eyes. He mouthed his own name syllable by syllable but the shape and sound of the word felt meaningless and distant.
The outside sky appeared to burn with golden hues of orange and brown as the man called Robert held two bottles of brandy over his eyes like glasses and stared at the sun until it hurt. He had forgotten where his car was parked and hoped that drinking excessively would either help him to remember where his car was parked or help him to forget that he had forgotten where his car was parked. It did neither.
Buy the time he had walked home it was night and the odd silence that washed over the darkened land proved a constant reminder to the man that he was alone. He probably needed a constant reminder. Walking over the pile of unclean dishes that had amassed at the front gate he stepped through the doorway where a door used to be and went to lie down. He dipped his foot into a feverish dream but jolted back to alertness when he remembered to set the alarm for work. He couldn’t afford to be late, especially with his ever decreasing productivity. He then lay there, eyes open, in the dark and waited for another day to arrive.