Forgotten

I woke up with the midday sun passing through the cracks between the curtains. The unfinished face on the canvas stared at me with those big black eyes that I've been dreaming of since I understood what dreaming was. A girl with caramel hair and an indescribable smile. I could never say if she was happy, sad or just sarcastically staring at me.

The cold made me shiver. I didn't want to wake up and think about cleaning up the dirt from the previous day, let alone finishing the canvas that would mean most of my final grade.

I slid out of bed using my blanket as a cape and walked out slowly down the stairs. The house was empty, my roommate would always leave early and come back late, so the silence fit well with the environment. It always did.

I looked at the clock on the top of the fridge. It was little over past two, and for a few moments, I wandered around trying to figure out what to do on that Saturday afternoon. Through the backdoor glass, I could see the backyard covered by leaves, all so perfectly framed. The scenery caught my attention, the golden autumn leaves covering the grass were beautiful ...

My housemate wouldn’t allow us to appreciate that sort of messy landscape, she did not know how to appreciate the beauty in chaos. I could already hear the argument she would have with the gardener for letting leaves touch the lawn.

I quickly got over the reverie and opened the computer on the kitchen counter to check my emails and messages: nothing new, so I started procrastinating on my cell phone. I closed all the apps and opened them up again, there was no way nothing had happened since I had gone to sleep.

I walked over to my router at the living room, sure there was something wrong with the wi-fi, but the colorful lights were there, blinking as usual. I refreshed the page once again, closed and opened the apps. The logical conclusion was that my phone was the problem.

Jumping over the steps, I got back in my room and changed into some outside clothes (which were basically an old pair of jeans and an oversized vintage shirt). My blood was low on caffeine and I craved something covered by chocolate. I grabbed my jacket and keys from the kitchen table and left the house.

As I opened the door, I felt the butterflies (the bad kind which feels like they are eating you from the inside). The sight of the empty street made my heart hurt as if a black whole was growing up there. I took the phone out of my pocket and checked out the time. 2h37 pm. It was impossible there was not a living soul on the streets by that time. Not a yoga mom in her incredible leggings, or a delivery boy in his bike getting pizza for someone’s late lunch, not even a nice old lady with purple hair taking a power walk.

It was bizarre, in the most frightening way possible.

Step by step, I began to feel this mass of pure panic growing inside me. No sound, no one walking down the streets. The cars were parked as if everyone were at home gathered in a curfew that I was not warned about.

I walked to the house next door. My neighbor, Mrs. Løgstrup, was better informed of the world news than me. I rang her bell, once, twice, ten, thirty times, before ringing three more (just to be sure).

I tried the next house, (as I almost grew up living on that street, I knew some people there), at least one person would answer the door. I rang Mr. Jorn's bell, he wasn’t the “outdoor type” (aside from his sunday walk to the grocery store). I rang one, two, three, knocked on the door, called for him, and screamed for him to please show up.

Nothing.

Next (by that step, everything escalated very quickly). In a matter of minutes, I was running and knocking and screaming at random house doors. I only stopped when I was four blocks away. I decided to go back, regroup (my mind).

At home I took a little breath, in……… out……… in…….. Out……. The key! I opened the little box by the door where I kept the key to Mrs. Løgstrup's house. Since I was a little girl I watered her plants when she went on vacations to visit her grandchildren in the South.

I hesitantly opened the door, there was a weird feeling inside me.

“Mrs. Løgstrup?” -- I called for her and prayed to hear her sweet voice so that everything would be fine.

The house was in perfect condition. Tidy books, washed dishes, well-made bed. I've never seen that place like that. I left the house wishing I had never entered. Who would fix everything before disappearing? Or why would they leave without taking anything, without warning, without a simple request for "Please water my plants"?

I stopped in the middle of the street and screamed like a kid throwing a tantrum (seemed just right). My voice echoed distantly. I didn't know if I expected anyone to respond, but it felt good to vent my frustration.

It was time to try another house, this time with no key. I jumped the sidewall and went around to the back door. Breaking the small glass window made me feel like a criminal, especially when I unlocked the door with my hand from inside. The place was just as tidy as Mrs. Løgstrup's.

I don't know how many portions I hit that day, how many neat houses I found, but it felt like playing a sadistic game of hiding and seek with the whole point was to test my sanity. Maybe a version of Saw with less blood and, hopefully, less death.

The sun went down and I still wandered through streets I had never been before and entered houses I had no idea who belonged to.

“Nobody …” I mumbled walking along the sidewalk.

Madness was beginning to overtake my mind, and so did my first theories.

I sat in the middle of the street looking at the most distant thing I could see. I had this little hope someone would show up waving, or maybe something would move on the horizon.

There was not much to say or to think. I couldn't say it was an apocalypse or that people died from a virus. What kind of virus makes beds and disappears with the bodies.

Everyone was gone, they left me behind.

Or everything was just a dream. Soon I would wake up safe in my bed to the sound of Lucy fighting with the gardener about the leaves -- while the half-finished painting would slowly bring me up. I slapped my face. Nothing. I hit again harder on a second try... Nothing.

... it wasn't a dream, I knew it wasn't (and my face was hurting for no reason).

The temperature dropped, my nails started to turn purple, my lips were probably in worse condition. I hide my hands in my pockets to get the gloves I always left there. I pulled them out, and a small piece of paper fell to the ground. I took out the strange black business card with large gold letters. I had no idea where it came from. I read it out loud -- for the sake of hearing something beside the deafening silence.

"The answers are lost in silence -Å".