Connor Vail Part One

The strangest thing about the start of the apocalypse was that I didn't notice it had happened for the first four hours.

ONE

It started with the morning poop, then coffee and eggs, then my butt found its indent on the couch. Don't judge, it's Thursday, my day off and if single-player video games are how I want to spend my down time, then who cares if I built a model of my childhood home in Minecraft for hours?

Right, the apocalypse. The first thing that caught me off guard were the cars in the neighbors driveway. I saw them out the kitchen window while my coffee was brewing and my eggs were frying. They were pristine, and not just pristine, they were parked in such a way that every angle lined up with the driveway and the garage door perfectly. It was as if Mr. Monk had parked them himself.

The rumble in my stomach pulled me away from this site and the mess of my own home grounded me back into my own business. The business of a day off, rest, relaxation, and currently... Terror.

TWO

I am currently looking out of my back window and trying to keep my coffee and eggs from coming back up. Everything, and I mean everything, is perfect. There isn't a single weed in my yard, not a speck of dust on my porch, not even a cloud in the sky.

Oh wait, one is rolling in right now, and yep! Have you ever seen a perfect cloud before? Well I have now. Somehow perfectly symmetrical and billowy, and white. Not a sign of a storm in site. Couldn't really, storm that is, it would mess up the perfect grass. The grass, that's what is really turning my stomach. Every blade is straight as an arrow and completely even. Like perfect toothbrush bristles.

Everything is so unnatural, actually unnatural doesn't cut it, more like manufactured. But how? How could anything be manufactured so perfectly? It is truly freaking me out I... I...

"Pull it together," I say to myself as a pull myself from the sliding door and sit with my back to the wall, "You have just been playing Minecraft too long, it's messing with your head."

After a few deep breaths I begin to convince myself that its all in my head. It has to be right? How on Earth could it look like that outside? It wasn't like that when I came home. I don't remember anything in the news about perfectly shaped clouds. Didn't hear a small army of grass combers working in the back yard.

"Mehh," I say with a shiver, "That grass, wait, the news?"

Jumping to my feet I switch the TV from my game of blocks and to the local news.

THREE

So, I am back in bed. Under the covers too. Turns out I am scared enough to turn back into the five year-old version of myself. Which is strange because that was the version of myself who ran around the home I just modeled in Minecraft.

Could I just stay here? In bed? Would that be so bad? I wanted to be alone anyways, right? I live alone. All of my friends and girlfriends came to the conclusion that I want to be alone, before they left me that way. This, this could be a good thing.

"Right?" I say to my sheets, "I want to be alone..."

Then why did I get so scared when I couldn't reach anyone? No one. I tried every channel I could stomach trying. After flipping through over a hundred channels of "No Signal" I gave up on the TV. After that I tried every number in my phone and not a single person picked up. Not that the phone didn't connect, because it did, and it rang for the right amount of times before going to voice-mail. It's just that not a soul answered.

The internet is what sent me for my sheet fort... It felt like I was in the middle of a loud crowd and then everyone, suddenly, went silent. Not a single post for hours. Nothing, for hours. The internet really is like a boisterous crowd, or rather was, and now they are all silent, and still, and...

"Am I alone?"

FOUR

I'm not sure how long I stared at my sheets, not sure if I want to know, but now I am on my feet and doing something. Something smart? I don't know, probably not, but I have to do it. I have to go outside.

Everything in here is exactly how I remember it. I checked every drawer and cabinet. Under every couch, chair, bed, and table. All of the dirt is there. The dust bunnies, stains, and caked on grime all there, down to the holes in my socks. In here is normal, out there its...

The kitchen is where I found the gloves, I woke up in my jeans and long sleeve shirt, and I got the katana from the back of my closet. Does it make me feel cool? Yes. Is it useful? Probably not. I bought it online for fifteen bucks and the only sort of sharp part is the tip. Looking at the sword wearily I say, "I hope I don't have to use you."

In my head I finish the thought, because I don't know how.

FIVE

Telling your heart to beat slower is a feudal task, but that is what I am doing right now. I am antisocial by nature, but not agoraphobic, at least I think that's what it's called when you are afraid to leave your home. Although I guess I have it at the moment.

Now that I am thinking about phobias, that grass is reminding me of the weird phobia people have with the holes in people's hands. It's like a fear of patterns? I would Google it, but the internet is its own source of anxiety now.

"Oh good," I say to myself in short breaths, "I can't breath now."

Standing at my door, I try to keep myself from hyperventilating with a katana in my gloved hands.

"Pull it together," Where did that resolve come from? "You can do this. It might be a dream, or... Who knows that the hell is going on outside, but Conner Vail..."

"It is time to go outside."