"In the Quiet of Morning"

  I love a challenge.  Give me a topic and a word limit and my mind start reeling.  To write within the confines of 250 words – as in this case – and to hit the mark dead on fills me with schpilcus, man. What doesn’t thrill me is responding to the submission challenge (an April 4th deadline) and seeing the listing repeated, each time with a new deadline (and of course more reading fees) until this morning when they (and no, I’m not naming the magazine) passed on the story – with a note encouraging me to submit more – no, I think I’m good thanks.  But the good news is, now, I get to post it here – so find a spare 250 seconds and take a gander at a few words. Enjoy.


                                                “In the Quiet of Morning”  

                                                                by 

                                                   James Patrick Lockett   

                                                                                   

            Adam sat up and stretched, then shuffled into the bathroom. Had his bladder not been demanding attention, he might have noticed the flashing 00:00 of the clock. The first clue that something was off -- besides the water. Flushing the toilet, he remembered the notice -- WATER SERVICE WILL BE INTERUPTED TOMORROW.  Adam had filled water jugs last night, while prepping his morning coffee. All he’d have to do was light the burner.

            While waiting, he poured a bowl of Sugar Frosted Flavor Bombs, but without milk, Adam was reduced to breakfast, popcorn style - popping each bomb into his mouth - as he fiddled with the radio. Nothing! He spun the dial top to bottom. What they call it in the radio biz, dead air? He gave the radio a healthy smack, the tiny red light stared back in defiance.

            Adam slid open the glass door and stepped outside.  He closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun. It was -- he wanted to say, perfect -- but something was definitely off. There was no sound. No distant sirens. No garbage trucks. No traffic --there was always traffic.  Standing there, literally listening to nothing, it dawned on him. This was it. The brand-new normal, just as promised.  He took a deep breath, as if he were the last man - the only man on Earth.  Then he remembered. He remembered everything. She was due any minute and Eve wouldn’t be late --there was no traffic.

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