Dawn

It is loneliness that makes the loudest noise.

     Atop a polished, wooden counter, a spider stretched its long, wiry legs, eight black limbs reaching in each direction. The rising sun filtered in from the thin curtains of the kitchen window, rested centred above the sink. The creature reared back to leap, springing a ways down the counter, testing its skills, having only awoken. A graceful landing was accomplished, and the spider once more stretched its appendages.

     Yet one limb began a somewhat jerking, frantic movement, almost seizure-like in its motion. Soon, all of the other extremities followed suit, starting up one by one, until all eight were shaking out of the spider's control. Its body careened to the side as, in the order they began the tremulous gestures, each leg became limp. One last shudder ran through the arachnid's cephalothorax and abdomen before all movement stilled.

     The sole human occupant of the house stepped soundlessly into the kitchen, ready for a day's work, overalls with muddy splotches near the bottoms of the legs covering a checkered shirt, dirt-begrimed boots waiting by the screen door on a mat specifically for them. Rubbery shoes met awaiting feet, and soon the man was out the door, eyes soaking up the splay of colours in the sky as the sun rose and wavelengths bounced from particle to particle, creating the beautiful array of hues.

     Scanning the yard, a faint smile graced the man's weathered face as he saw his calico cat trot across the dew-covered grass and into the shabby little shed that lacked a door.  He picked his way across the lawn, over to the shed, going inside of the cozily small structure and placing himself down on an empty, dusty crate, watching the fuzzy creature roll around on the ground for its own amusement.

     It started as what seemed to be a twitch in one of the cats front legs, but it progressed into a more severe movement, and it began to spread to the rest of the creature's limbs, snatching them into the seizing motion. Before the man could snap out of the shock that overcame him at the spasmodic jerking of his dear cat, the legs went weak and the multicoloured cat lie still for a moment before one last shiver ran through the feline's body.

     Stricken with grief, the man scooped up the lifeless body of his beloved pet, holding it near to himself for a few silent minutes. Never had he seen anything like that happen. Alas, he could not let this hinder his day's work, and he lay the cat down atop the crate he once sat upon, promising the feline that it would get a proper burial after he was good and done with his productivity for the day.

     The distance to the horse stables was cleared in few, solemn strides. Inside resided three horses, a gelding and two mares. Brushes and other tools were taken out to groom and care for the horses. Knots were removed from their manes, they were scrubbed down with water and mild soap, and they were fed.

     But one by one, their limbs would kick out from beneath them in conniption fits of erratic motion. One by one they fell, and one by one, their limbs became debilitated. Each gave a final, shuddering snort of a whinny before the colour began to drain from their eyes, leaving them grey and void.

     The man backed out of the stables, stumbling back across the yard, eyes not leaving the building at all. His back hit the lone apple tree in the area, and he slid down to the damp grass, not a care being paid to the seeping wetness into the overalls. A calloused hand ran over his creased face and through the greying hair that topped the head. Nothing came to mind as an explanation for what was happening.

     And apple, brown and decomposing, fell to the early-morning grass in front of him. They had only begun to come close to being ready for picking, and now here was a bad apple. Picking it up, he examined it for possible holes, to see if worms had ruined the fruit. Yet there were no signs of intruding bugs, just supple, browning skin and a faint odour of putrefaction.

     Head tilted back, his eyes scanned the branches of the tree, each weighing heavy with the delicious red apples. But something caught his attention, the way the colours seemed to change. Of their own accord, each apple began to drop, creating a minefield of decaying fruit in the yard, until no more clung to the tree.

     The green leaves followed suit, drying up into crinkly, brown leaves, the dead leaves of the late autumn. Each fluttered down to surround the apples that once hid in their safety, and their host tree began to wither as well, becoming dry and frail. Grass, every blade of grass, started to wilt and turn over to its brownish-yellow shade that it took on beneath the winter's heavy snow, a wave of the colour rushing towards the man like a plague. The once lush grass beneath him was now brittle and itchy, brown and collapsed.

     No words could make it past his lips, into the silent dawn, perplexity and terror clutching his heart, the organ seemingly frozen, not beating. He grasped his denim overalls tightly in one of his worn hands, as if trying to free his heart from the horror that crept through his blood.

     And then it began to twitch. Just a subtle twitch at first, tweaking his fingers, but it soon travelled into his wrist, his forearm, his upper arm. Then the other arm started up. One leg picked up the motions, and the other one mirrored its spasms after a few seconds. When the sporadic movements began to slow to a stop in each limb, the man felt an initial pang of fright and panic, which gave way to a feeling of loneliness. There was nothing left, nothing alive.

     His body gave one last tremor before slumping down against the dead bark of the apple tree.

Author's Note

There isn't a reason given for the death of everything; let your mind choose, whether it's neurotoxins or whatever pleases you. It's a silent apocalypse.

Reviews

[Prodogee]

I give you an 82 overall.
I love stories with dark twists such as this one. I enjoyed this, and I'm surprised I'm the first one to review.
I wouldn't say I have anything to criticize, because I don't write very well... And I don't want to be a hypocrite because I often get bad reviews from bad writers, so, great job, and keep it up, and hopefully I can write a better review soon. xD