Just the sound of my keyboard tapping. That’s all I hear now.
The white noise of the chatter on the radio stopped about forty five minutes ago I’m guessing, leaving nothing but the hiss of the speakers for a brief while. That was until the electricity went out, the lights flickered, sputtered out, my computer charger light went out shortly afterwards, leaving me alone with the glow of the screen for as long as the battery lasts now.
This isn’t going to be any ordinary outage of power, this is something that my home and the whole grid will not recovery from, there will be no flickering back to life, no returning to all the clocks in the house to reset them when their displays return and flash, demanding attention.
There is no need to reset their time, there is no time to reset.
And on you go, all of you, upstairs, the floor above me, on another level, sleeping, on another plain of existence now and for always.
For I have decided that I will not wake you.
You will be left to sleep, to rest, to dream on, always.
You have been my strength, my loves, my hopes and dreams. If I can do one thing for you it is this, it is to leave you be, to let you dream on, hopeful that your dreams be untroubled.
I thought it ironic that, only an hour ago I had thought of sleep myself, of following on behind you.
If I had, then maybe I would also be sleeping now, dreaming through this – one extended dream – infinite.
But I chose to stay up, just a few more pages I’d promised myself, just a little more before bed.
The radio had only been on quietly in the background but, as the news reports began to come in, the volume seemed to grow louder in the room without me going anywhere near the dial – as though the intensity of the situation, the racing developments, were controlling the very volume that I heard them at.
With each report the news grew more and more grim.
I lost track quickly, as did the reporters, as to who had reacted to who, which country had set the dark wheels in motion, who was to blame.
There was no getting away from it now.
The skies above were fast filling with weapons of war, the day we’d all feared had come and it had come in the middle of our night.
So, sleep on my precious family.
I will write a little more tonight, until the battery dies out on this machine.
Then I shall, if able, climb the stairs and sleep beside you.
But I will not wake you.
In hope that we will be together again in the next chapter.