So then I looked out of our bedroom window upon a world that was… well, not new exactly, but a slightly different one to the one we had yesterday. At least, that is what we normally presume. After all, a morning is a lot like the ones before and – we suppose – much like the ones to come, considering the vagaries of weather and season, of course.
Even when I managed to emerge from the bathroom and make my way down the stairs I did not think much had changed, even though there was something not right about the morning. I stopped on the verge of the kitchen door, wondering if I’d made a mistake and today was a Bank Holiday, when I realised what I’d noticed was how quiet it was out there. Ours is not a busy road, leading from nowhere to nowhere, only more of the same houses on the same housing estate. But, usually, there was some activity on a working week morning, no matter how desultory.
‘Quiet… too damn quiet,’ I muttered, making a note to myself to Google – once and for all – what film that quote was from.
The kitchen looked normal… well, normal for our kitchen, which at this time in the morning usually resembles the aftermath of an explosion in a busy restaurant.
The kettle didn’t boil and the radio didn’t work, though.
I assumed a power cut… again.
I trudged upstairs to tell the wife… she wasn’t there.
Nor were the kids.
Later, nor was anyone on the street… all the houses were empty and there was no-one on-line, and even with the remaining battery power in my laptop could I find anyone, or anything on-line… not even Google.
It was then I realised I was truly alone.
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