I Wake

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I wake up at five-thirty. I dress and run for an hour. I return and wash and again dress. I eat breakfast. This morning it is orange juice and toast. I consider a banana but decide against it, the bunch I purchased is still not quite ripe. I consider myself in the mirror before I leave and adjust my hair, my tie, my coat.

It is cold and as I walk to the subway, I regret leaving my scarf behind. The cold is temporary and not worth the time to return home to retrieve.

The train is crowded. Halfway to my destination I give my seat to an older woman. She does not thank me. A young person bumps into me. I check for my wallet and watch. Both are still there.

Work is like any other day. I consider the text given to me, edit out inconsistencies, errors, stylistic frivolities. I return the work to its author.

Lunch is a salad with chicken. I consider an apple in a basket next to the register. It is too expensive. I decide to buy a number of apples next time I go to the grocery.

I sit alone.

After lunch I edit. There is a meeting where co-workers offer ideas about new products. I have no ideas. I wonder why I am at the meeting. The man next to me fidgets with his phone. I see the screen. It displays that someone in his family is ill.

I lean over and whisper to him. “You should go home.”

“Can’t,” he replies, “I have too much work to do.”

“I’ll take care of it. Go home.”

I am thanked.

I complete my work. I stay late. I complete his work. It is dark when I leave.

The subway is not crowded.

I return home. The door is ajar. I pause, then enter. There is a man in my house. He is armed. He demands my wallet, keys.

I refuse. He moves to strike me. I disarm him. I disable him. I restrain him.

The police arrive ten minutes later.

The man is taken away. I am asked for my statement.

I thank the police.

I prepare and finish my evening meal. I consider the banana. They are still unripe.

I contact my alarm service and have the codes changed. I bar my door. The locks are broken.

I wash, dress for sleep. I watch the evening news.

I sleep.

I wake at five-thirty. The clock is dark. The lights do not work. The phone has no dialtone. My cellular phone has no service. I plan to call the electric and phone companies when I arrive at work.

I dress. I run for an hour. I note that the streets are silent. There are no car horns.

I return. Wash, dress. Breakfast this morning is disrupted. The refrigerator is warm. The eggs and milk are spoiled. I make a note to call the repairman and go to the grocery. Breakfast is an unripe banana.

I regard myself in the mirror before leaving. I adjust my hair, my tie, my coat. I take my scarf and my hat.

I wait on the platform for ten minutes. I check my watch.

There is a notice on a nearby column. A directive for evacuation.

The date is incorrect. It reads two days have passed during the night. I check my watch. It reads the correct date.

I find a newspaper stand nearby. The newspapers are thin. They contain only instructions for evacuation. There are articles about the arrival.

I exit the subway. There is a star ship in the sky. I cannot see the sun.

My cellular has no signal.

I follow the instructions for evacuation. I will not be able to make it to work.