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Be Careful What You Wish For Chpt 1.
Chapter 1:
When Alan woke up, it felt like any other Tuesday. His alarm clock buzzed at 6:30 AM, dragging him out of a dream he couldn't quite remember. The sunlight filtered through his curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. He stretched, yawned, and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. A quick glance at the screen told him everything was as it should be. Messages from work, a reminder for an afternoon meeting, and the usual weather update—clear skies.
He rolled out of bed, padded to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face. In the mirror, his reflection stared back, groggy but familiar. He brushed his teeth, showered, and dressed in his usual attire: a white button-down and slacks. The routine was comforting, like a song he'd memorized long ago.
The house was quiet as he made his way to the kitchen. The coffee machine hummed, filling the air with the rich scent of brewing coffee. Alan grabbed a mug, poured himself a cup, and sat by the window overlooking his quiet suburban street. Everything seemed…still.
No cars passed by. No distant hum of lawnmowers or the early risers jogging with their dogs. The silence was thick, unsettling. But Alan shrugged it off—maybe the neighbors were sleeping in for once.
After finishing his coffee, he grabbed his briefcase and stepped outside, locking the door behind him. The usual sounds of the morning commute were conspicuously absent. No engines starting, no children waiting for the school bus. Alan looked up and down the street.
Empty.
He frowned. Not a single person in sight. The air was cool, crisp, and unnervingly quiet. He walked down the path to his car but paused at the end of the driveway. He stared at the neighbor’s house across the street, their curtains drawn, no lights on inside. The Smiths always left early for work. Where were they?
Alan walked over to their front door and knocked. No answer. He rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing.
The unease growing in his gut bloomed into a gnawing anxiety. He crossed the street to the next house, the Johnsons'. The same silence greeted him. He knocked louder. The door swung open with a creak, and his heart skipped. He called out, stepping inside cautiously.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
Silence.
The living room was untouched—no signs of struggle, no mess, just…empty. Like they had vanished.
Panic clawed at his throat as Alan rushed outside, glancing down the street, hoping for any sign of life. He began to walk, his pace quickening as he moved through the neighborhood. Each house he passed stood still, lifeless, their occupants seemingly erased from existence.
He reached the town square, usually bustling with morning activity. The coffee shop where he bought his latte was dark. The grocery store doors were ajar, but no one was inside. Every single shop, every building, empty.
Alan’s breathing grew ragged as the realization crept over him like ice. There was no one. He was alone. Not just alone in his neighborhood—completely, utterly alone.
He kept walking, hoping to see someone, anyone. Maybe a car would drive by, a jogger would turn the corner. But the farther he went, the more the silence pressed down on him.
The sun climbed higher, casting long shadows as he wandered the empty streets. Hours passed, or maybe it was only minutes. Time had lost its meaning. Alan found himself standing in the middle of the road, looking up at the sky. His chest tightened with a primal fear, one that screamed of isolation, of a reality too horrifying to accept.
Was he…was he the last person alive?
He shouted, his voice echoing off the empty buildings. “Is anyone there?!”
Nothing.
The only sound was the wind, a soft whisper through the desolate streets.
He collapsed onto a bench, staring blankly ahead, his mind racing. What had happened? Where had everyone gone? A virus? An invasion? Some catastrophic event while he slept, leaving him untouched, but alone?
His breath came in shallow gasps. He tried to think rationally, but the weight of it all crushed him. The world, once so familiar and predictable, had turned into a vast, empty tomb.
Alan stood up again, determined to find answers. He wandered to the edge of town, past the rows of silent houses and abandoned cars. As he reached the outskirts, he looked back one last time at the town he had known all his life.
It was as though the world had been hit by some invisible calamity, leaving everything in place but stealing the people. He was alone, walking through a ghost town that had once thrived with life.
The horizon stretched out before him, endless and unforgiving. Alan began walking toward it, unsure of where he was going. But as the silence closed in, a chilling thought gnawed at the back of his mind:
Maybe there was no one left to find.
© Brian C. Jobe
When Alan woke up, it felt like any other Tuesday. His alarm clock buzzed at 6:30 AM, dragging him out of a dream he couldn't quite remember. The sunlight filtered through his curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. He stretched, yawned, and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. A quick glance at the screen told him everything was as it should be. Messages from work, a reminder for an afternoon meeting, and the usual weather update—clear skies.
He rolled out of bed, padded to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face. In the mirror, his reflection stared back, groggy but familiar. He brushed his teeth, showered, and dressed in his usual attire: a white button-down and slacks. The routine was comforting, like a song he'd memorized long ago.
The house was quiet as he made his way to the kitchen. The coffee machine hummed, filling the air with the rich scent of brewing coffee. Alan grabbed a mug, poured himself a cup, and sat by the window overlooking his quiet suburban street. Everything seemed…still.
No cars passed by. No distant hum of lawnmowers or the early risers jogging with their dogs. The silence was thick, unsettling. But Alan shrugged it off—maybe the neighbors were sleeping in for once.
After finishing his coffee, he grabbed his briefcase and stepped outside, locking the door behind him. The usual sounds of the morning commute were conspicuously absent. No engines starting, no children waiting for the school bus. Alan looked up and down the street.
Empty.
He frowned. Not a single person in sight. The air was cool, crisp, and unnervingly quiet. He walked down the path to his car but paused at the end of the driveway. He stared at the neighbor’s house across the street, their curtains drawn, no lights on inside. The Smiths always left early for work. Where were they?
Alan walked over to their front door and knocked. No answer. He rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing.
The unease growing in his gut bloomed into a gnawing anxiety. He crossed the street to the next house, the Johnsons'. The same silence greeted him. He knocked louder. The door swung open with a creak, and his heart skipped. He called out, stepping inside cautiously.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
Silence.
The living room was untouched—no signs of struggle, no mess, just…empty. Like they had vanished.
Panic clawed at his throat as Alan rushed outside, glancing down the street, hoping for any sign of life. He began to walk, his pace quickening as he moved through the neighborhood. Each house he passed stood still, lifeless, their occupants seemingly erased from existence.
He reached the town square, usually bustling with morning activity. The coffee shop where he bought his latte was dark. The grocery store doors were ajar, but no one was inside. Every single shop, every building, empty.
Alan’s breathing grew ragged as the realization crept over him like ice. There was no one. He was alone. Not just alone in his neighborhood—completely, utterly alone.
He kept walking, hoping to see someone, anyone. Maybe a car would drive by, a jogger would turn the corner. But the farther he went, the more the silence pressed down on him.
The sun climbed higher, casting long shadows as he wandered the empty streets. Hours passed, or maybe it was only minutes. Time had lost its meaning. Alan found himself standing in the middle of the road, looking up at the sky. His chest tightened with a primal fear, one that screamed of isolation, of a reality too horrifying to accept.
Was he…was he the last person alive?
He shouted, his voice echoing off the empty buildings. “Is anyone there?!”
Nothing.
The only sound was the wind, a soft whisper through the desolate streets.
He collapsed onto a bench, staring blankly ahead, his mind racing. What had happened? Where had everyone gone? A virus? An invasion? Some catastrophic event while he slept, leaving him untouched, but alone?
His breath came in shallow gasps. He tried to think rationally, but the weight of it all crushed him. The world, once so familiar and predictable, had turned into a vast, empty tomb.
Alan stood up again, determined to find answers. He wandered to the edge of town, past the rows of silent houses and abandoned cars. As he reached the outskirts, he looked back one last time at the town he had known all his life.
It was as though the world had been hit by some invisible calamity, leaving everything in place but stealing the people. He was alone, walking through a ghost town that had once thrived with life.
The horizon stretched out before him, endless and unforgiving. Alan began walking toward it, unsure of where he was going. But as the silence closed in, a chilling thought gnawed at the back of his mind:
Maybe there was no one left to find.
© Brian C. Jobe
