Tales from the VOID

Sometimes within the infinite, pieces are lost. To think that you might be swallowed up as your moment is forgotten. One can only hope they are lost to as serene an infinity as this.

open on a house, unassuming and fairly plain. White siding, black shingles, double pane windows, and a double wide gravel drive shared by the neighbors. It's the heat of summer, not a single cloud, and the wind non-existent. The property on the whole faces north, the back yard extending south three times the size of the house. The yard is bordered on two sides by foliage and fencing on the third. The neighbors house sharing the drive is similar, but an auburn color with a second story. The other neighboring house is nearly identical, different only in the open porch and pair of rocking chairs by the front door.
With the scene set, meet the man. Just behind the main house, in the yard, sits a small charcoal grill. The coals smolder, beside sits a table with tongs and meat. Between the two sits a man in a folding fabric chair, slumped, head to the side, fast asleep. The man is nothing. He wears a white undershirt with an open hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. The shirt is a collage of tiki masks and hibiscus, the shorts reach just past his knees. All around him are the sounds of summer, children screaming, sprinklers, mowers and machines.
The man wakes to find he nearly missed the right time to prepare his meat, any longer would've been tough to cook well. Patiently he waits, taking in the sounds, the smells. By the time his food finishes, he's begun to notice the birds, but hunger keeps him from really asking any questions. The meat smells heavenly, without seasonings, without sauce, the greatest meal he has ever eaten. Unbelievably, half a piece in, the man is full. Now satisfied, he again notices the birds. There are none. The man has been listening to the sounds of the day for nearly an hour, he heard, no hears birds. The sounds of chirps, rustling, flapping, but no bird to be seen. Confused, he strides to the neighbors house, just next to the drive, but they're not there. The man was sure he'd heard him mowing just a while before, there the mower sits dirty and used. Must have just missed them. The man returns to the table and collects his things, then heads inside. The cool air greets him as he places his meat on the counter, grabs a glass, and fills it with water from the tap.
After a sizable drink, the man made is way to the sofa. Tiredness overtook him, the nap outside was not enough, and in the sun was worse. Hours pass, the man wakes up in a haze, never giving the window even a glance. Some leftovers in the fridge hit the spot, then he realizes, it's still light out. Had it not been as long as he'd thought? It was definitely past noon when he'd eaten the meat, right? The man steps outside, the sun sits directly overhead, no cloud in sight. It can't have been a whole day, could it? The man rushes to the neighbors, the mower still sits in the same place, but nobody is there. The man comes back to his yard, the same noisy kids play, the same birds, flutter and tweet. Then he sees it, the grill is still smoldering, yet that somehow isn't even the strangest thing. On the table sits a fresh plate of meat, ready for the grill. At this point the man is confused and scared beyond words. He turns to go to the neighbors house, runs to the front door and starts knocking but there is no answer. The man runs back inside his own home, frantically he starts searching, room by room for anything that can tell him what day it is. The television shows nothing, the phones have only busy line beeps, there is no calendar, no cell, no clock. The man comes sprinting back out of his house, around the front and over to his other neighbor, more knocking, more nothing. Truly worried, the man begins running down his street, he knows the town, right? No, no he does not. Why doesn't he know the town? The man stops at the end of his street, he's hit hard by the sudden understanding that he has no clue what this town is, where he is, when it is. The house is still in view, the man pulls from his pocket a key. He knows its to that house, but just to be sure, so he can trust his own mind, he goes back to try the lock. It works, so what he knows, isn't all wrong. If he knows he slept, he must've slept. If he knows he cooked the meat, he must have. If he hears people, then there must be someone!
This realization sparks excitement in the man, he's been hearing the sound of people playing and working their yards this whole time. The man starts running again, he doesn't have a clue about the town, or any other people, but he can follow his ears. The sounds are unclear, like restaurant chatter, but clearly outside. One the man reaches the end of his road, he turns the corner and stops again. This other road goes for a long time, surely impossibly long. Strange to be sure, lined with suburbs on the left, all golf course to the right, extending like a fractal dream. No matter, the man could hear people and people meant answers. He ran, block by block, 3 blocks, then 5, then 10. The sounds never changed, each road identical, the mowers, birds, laughing, sunshine. If not for this repetitive empty nightmare, it might be the most serene place to be. At last the man stopped, turned back onto a random road and saw the real truth. It was his road, they were all his road. The same 6 houses, the same used mower, the same grill, the same meat. Every road he checked was the same. Not a single person, or evidence of other people outside, by this time the man had lost track of his first road, he'd become tired. The sun had not moved but he knew he'd been running for too long. Surely he would collapse before he found his house again. Then he thought, if all roads are the same, perhaps in too many ways. He walked to the house that looked like his on this road, pulled the key from his pocket, and opened the door. The house was pristine, the objects he'd ransacked before were all away, but all here. To the couch again he lay, slept for hours, then woke in a haze. The man grabbed a glass, filled it with water from the tap and took a good long drink. He left through the back door, grabbed the meat from the table beside the grill, and placed one on the grate. He waited patiently for the food to cook, listening to the sounds. As the food finished, he started thinking about the birds, but hunger stopped him from giving it any more than a moments thought. The meat was delicious, no seasoning, no sauce, but the greatest meal he has ever eaten. Truly heavenly…

Author's Note

I can't tell you it's perfect, but I hope it presents the intended sensation.