Fourteen Days(7)

Those were the days. Good times.

When his sandwich had been consumed and the movie had well-and-truly begun, his eyelids started to feel heavy. He fought off sleep, but it was no use. Within thirty seconds he had passed out.

He awoke to the sound of the end-credits rolling. Grouchy and disoriented, he ran a hand over his face, picked up the remote control, and turned the television off.

The house was eerily silent. He sat thinking of nothing—not even work. His mind was blank as the after-effects of his doze took over. Just as the thought of moving off the couch popped into his head, a horrid screeching noise made him jump up in fright.

What the—

It was the smoke detector. He leapt up and raced to the hallway where it was attached to the ceiling, terrified that he had left something burning. Failing to see any smoke, he darted into the kitchen. That room was clear of smoke too. He was baffled. He hadn’t used any gas outlets all day.

Scrunching his face up as the sound pierced his ears, he returned to the hallway to switch the smoke detector off. Just as he reached the stairs, the wailing ceased. His eardrums rang like they did after a night out, and once again the house was silent.

He stared up at the smoke detector, shaking his head in puzzlement. Cheap piece of crap.

Now he was awake.



As 4:00 p.m. approached, he filled the day with pointless tasks. He rearranged his clothes drawer to make more room; he cleaned the bathroom—including the dreaded shower, which he despised due to his stomach-churning hatred of drain-hair; he sat in the garden, reading one of Nicky’s gossip magazines; he even tidied the awful mess in the cupboard under the stairs.

But nothing distracted his mind from TSH Computers. It had almost been two days and Richard was still in the dark about the website. And not a word from Leah since yesterday. He couldn’t quite decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way the suspense was killing him. He had picked up the phone and dialed the office on no less than six occasions, always pushing the ‘cancel’ button just before the calls went through. Each time he shook his head in disbelief and wondered how he ever became such a sad workaholic.



Richard was sitting in the living room, staring at the clock. It read 4:49 p.m. He had almost finished his magazine and had considered starting another one, but gave up on the idea when his eyes began to ache. He longed for Nicky to return home. Boredom and loneliness had well and truly consumed him, and he needed a distraction to draw him away from the telephone.

Watching the clock, he played with his cell phone, deleting unwanted numbers. He couldn’t quite believe how many pointless numbers he had saved over the years, and how many he had no idea who they belonged to. Almost at the end of the list, the sound of the front door opening distracted him from his task. Finally. He dropped the phone onto the couch and left the living room to greet his wife.

The hallway was deserted.

“Nic?” he called out, frowning in bewilderment. He walked to the front door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. “Nic?” he called out again, this time directing his cry upstairs. There was no response. Standing in confusion, he stared at the front door.

He looked at the cream-painted wall separating him and his neighbor, Ilene. Cardboard walls.

He then retreated back to the couch in the living room. Picking up his cell phone, he began texting one of his college friends, Simon, to fill him in on the events of Monday. He knew he wouldn’t get an instant response due to Simon’s driving job, but there was always a chance, always hope that he was on a break, or finished early. As the text message disappeared across the airwaves, he stared at his phone’s home-screen, waiting for that faithful beep sound. Nothing. Giving up on Simon, he scrolled through the list of other friends. Selecting Neil, he sent the exact same message, and just like Simon, there was no reply.

Is everyone working but me? Am I the only one left in the world? Has the apocalypse come and taken everyone?

He sat in silence, waiting for someone to call or text, but all he could hear was the sound of the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. As the minutes of emptiness rolled on, the ticking got louder. And louder. Until he felt like smashing it into a million pieces.

The noise of the front door opening startled him. He got up from the couch and stepped back into the hallway. Nicky was standing holding a stack of heavy folders against her chest. “Give us a hand,” she said. “They weigh a ton.”

“Did you just come through the front door a minute ago, and then back out again?” he asked, taking the folders from her.