Chapter 10: The End of Days

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

I’m not sure where to start. I just came home and found Tim’s computer open. I was expecting it to be a sea of browser windows, like it usually is. There’s always some half-finished Photoshop project he’s been working on (which usually involves one of the kids being placed in some questionable situation), spreadsheets, some indecipherable string of HTML code or Javascript, or whatever that stuff is that he does. Sometimes there’s an odd music project, but mostly it’s funny picture aggregators from across the internet, and a celebrity gossip site or two; and always a half-watched episode of some obscure British comedy on Netflix.

Tim has a bad habit of getting through about ten minutes of a BBC sitcom while he’s lying in bed trying to fall asleep. Just as he’s about to nod off, he closes the laptop without stopping the streaming video. It’s always jarring when you go to open the computer to check your email in the morning and suddenly there’s some English schoolmarm character yelling at you with an old Laugh In-type laugh track screaming in the background. I’m sure Tim thinks it’s funny. Then again, there’s not a whole lot he doesn’t think is funny, especially unexpected things. But, only when they happen to other people.

This time there is nothing. The computer is just sitting here. The only window open on the computer was a Word document with the above quote from Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Oh, I just realized something. I should explain that this is Bonnie. I was gone for a couple of days for a work conference.

So, any way, back to the story. It was strange enough that Tim’s computer was empty. But even stranger still is that the entire house is empty. I guess I should have mentioned that, too. I don’t mean like Tim and the kids aren’t here. That wouldn’t be so strange. He’s always taking them places, like the library, the zoo, the movie store to pick out age inappropriate DVDs. I don’t even mean that the furniture is gone. I mean that there’s literally nothing here. To say that there was not even paint left on the walls would be an accurate statement, because there are NO walls. There is nothing. An empty black void. Nothing. Except this computer. And this quote.

[Just then, the Photoshop icon begins nervously bouncing in the lower portion of the computer screen, as if to say I’m here! I’m here! Choose me! Choose me! A clue! A clue!]

That’s weird. I wonder if Adobe is prompting me for a software update to protect against unknown vulnerabilities. I should probably click on it and find out. It’s so rare that Adobe prompts me for anything, so I assume when they do it must be really serious. I click on the icon and two images open onto the screen.

I have nothing but questions. What are my children doing riding those creatures? Is this some sort of sick joke? Where is my couch? Where is my floor? Where are my children? Where are Cormac's clothes? And where in the Sam Hill is Tim?!

…

Just then there was a knock at the front door. What looked like a telegraph cable with the word “Urgent” stamped on its top was slid underneath the sill. But, since there was no floor for it to come to rest on, it took a downward trajectory and dropped like the wayward feather of a passing goose.

Bonnie watched the piece of paper float farther and farther into the abysmal chasm, which she now realized extended throughout all sides of her, wondering the entire time a) what was the “Urgent” message that was now drifting into oblivion, and b) is the USPS really in such shambles that people have reverted to sending telegrams?

She wanted answers. And she wanted them now.