CTRL+ALT+DELETE

A reclusive young computer nut gets far more than he bargained for when he receives a mysterious package in the post one day containing a single black disc. What's on it will change his world forever.

He would never forget how it had first arrived. 

A plain, remarkably unremarkable brown parcel dead centre on his doorstep one cold Autumn morning. The time of year had something to do with it too. It was his favourite, always had been. Days cold and short, darkness rushing from its enclosures faster than most liked and few appreciated, the nights gifted with extra hours precious to contemplation and exploration. Thoughts such as these bubbled within him as he lifted the parcel from the step and carried it with pale hands down the hall into the kitchen, where it was unwrapped with delicate precision. Layer gave way to layer until its measly contents revealed themselves.

A CD case containing a single disc, black, unmarked. There was nothing whatsoever to indicate where it had come from, what it held or what the implications of such enquiry would be.

“What d’you reckon is on it?” came the inevitable question as Smith sat inspecting the disc at the table, turning it over in his hands, scrutinising it through a pair of thick lensed glasses. He was in his late twenties, dark haired, slightly chubby, his features fixed into an ever present stillness, like a man not the least bit fazed by anything beyond his immediate concern.

“Well?”

His ruminations effectively broken, he turned to allow her form to swim into the very corner of his vision, right on its periphery. Exactly where he preferred keeping most people. Particularly her. His responses to her intrusions were practically pre-programmed at this point, always arriving dryly and right on time.

“Who knows? Could be software, could be documents, could be something else. Far as I can tell it’s brand new.” he held up the disc, not a single scratch on its surface. “Suppose I’ll find out why.”

“Maybe you will.” she smirked. A teasing one. “With enough time in the command centre.”

He just shrugged, took his glasses off and gave them a good wipe. He liked his lenses spotless. It was also a useful distraction. It got him out of interactions like this all the time.

“There’s no point in wondering until I’ve a closer look. Could be a million things. Or nothing at all.” he popped his glasses back on, pleased with their cleanliness. He felt fresh, ready to tackle what lay ahead.

“Don’t forget the top secret UFO files. I mean, if we’re gonna cover all bases…” she trailed off, gesturing dramatically to the ceiling. “Watch the skies…”

People made such little sense to him. Coding, machines, the inner workings of softwares and executables did. In time, this would too. There was not a moment to waste. She came more clearly into focus as he stood up from the table, leaning against the counter by the sink, frozen light streaming across her upper body. Wavy strawberry curls surrounded a gentle face. Soft baby blue eyes in its centre set their focus squarely on the CD still in his hands.

“What if…there’s something weird on it?”

Smith simply shrugged, basking in indifference, his favourite drug in the world, always keeping him on a permanent high.

“All the more reason to look even closer. Might be interesting.”

“Interesting how? What if it’s, you know, illegal?”

“Don’t know till I see it.”

“That’s reassuring. So if the police came out of the blue that’s all you’d tell them? “It was interesting”?

“They wouldn’t show up. I’ve my ways.” he said, knowingly. It was true. IP addresses could be hidden as well as anything else if you knew how. And he did. Jessica just nodded, sipped at her coffee.

“Alright, Godfather. If you say so.” her words were laced with sarcasm. His least favourite quality. It kept people tiptoeing along a precarious line, one he always felt himself on the wrong side of. The side where everything he uttered was taken with a grain of unwelcome humour. Jokes were few and far between in his world. Everything was serious in equal measure. It made some of the things he dissected easier to rationalise.

No point continuing any further. He stood up to leave the table, taking the parcel in his arms.

“But you’d let me know if there’s anything?” 

Her voice betrayed preparation for his usual reticence, be it an act or not. He wasn’t sure himself sometimes if he really disliked her that much. Either way he would give no satisfaction, he thought, approaching the door. Luckily he had something much more engaging to deal with now.

“Sure.”

That’s all she needed to know. There was work to do. Before the unspoken games could continue any longer, he went through into the hall, shutting the door behind him and bounding up the stairs as though his life depended on it.

And to him, it did.

Listening to him go, Jessica was glad to be alone until she realised how little difference it really made. To him, she wasn’t a friend, not even a housemate, but a complete non entity. Despite not knowing anything about him, who he really was, she often found herself wondering why it bothered her so much. They’d been sharing this house for almost a year now yet every encounter always felt like the first. His room was his haven, his sacred lair. Thinking hard, she wasn’t sure he even left the house. Maybe he did on occasion.

Yeah, every night at midnight to go catch up with the vampires, her inner voice retorted. Think about it. His corpsey looks, the dead eyes, his total rejection of all things living…

Rejection? Could that be it? The word refused to budge in the subconscious, like a particularly troublesome morsel of food stuck fast between teeth. No amount of prying would get it out. She gazed out the window to an overcast sky and bare garden. A world waiting for something, anything, to come its way.

Just like you, Jess?

She glanced down at her watch and was met with the day's first dose of reality. Twenty minutes late for work. A fed up sigh escaped her lips.

Just like you, Jess. Just like you.

To be back in the comfort zone. The sacred space. A place where walls kept them all at bay. Smith’s room was directly at the top of the stairs, a convenient mix of sheer luck and deliberate choice. Easy way in, just as quick to get out.

Behind its dark wooden door was a museum of perfect order. Everything neatly organised, immaculate surfaces, only the tiniest spots of dust and dirt hiding themselves away in corners where no brush could reach. His desk and computer took pride of place in the room, located directly across from an immaculately made bed. It was his baby, his heart of wiring, circuit boards, processor, CPU and graphics card. Its monitor was a sleek, futuristic, razor thin mirror that was both a window to the world and his gateway of perception. Countless hours he spent gazing into it and many more staring back at his reflection in its glossy black surface. 

That reflection stared back once more as he sat waiting for the machine to finish booting up. Sullen, unmoving eyes bottomless in their detachment. He could hear muffled conversation from downstairs. Jessica was on the phone, talking about him probably, about his spending so much time alone. Away from everything. Maybe he was an alien sent to observe terrestrial lifeforms. Maybe he was warped. Maybe he was just sad. Whatever the case, he was safe here now and that was all that mattered.

The computer buzzed to life. Waiting a few seconds, he leaned over and pressed a button on the disc drive, placing the CD carefully on the tray and letting it slide back in with a soft whir. Turning his eyes back to  the monitor, an icon appeared on the desktop. A simple box with a black triangle in its centre. One option underneath - “START”.

“We’ve come this far.” he muttered.

Moving the mouse with as much precision as a surgeon uses a scalpel, Smith dragged the cursor across the screen and clicked the START button. A soft electronic chiming whispered from the speakers on either side of the monitor. Smith settled back in his chair, anticipating nothing more than another piece of cheap, knockoff amateur software. Another scam for the masses. A reject scraped free from the innumerable layers of internet obscurity and extremity. Smith could very well have spent his time listing possibilities for its existence. But such time was always better spent in exploration. It beckoned him now, as it always did.

The screen had produced something to defy all his expectations. Where once there had been the impenetrable nothingness of a blank monitor in the midst of loading now displayed the menu screen of what appeared to be some kind of city building game. Bright colours, a pleasant yet monotonous musical loop and tantalising glimpses of creations possible for those willing to venture further.

Unsure what lay ahead yet equally intrigued by what he was seeing, Smith once more employed surgical precision to travel his cursor across and with one click, enter.

Within lay such sights as he’d never seen before. 

Graphics so lifelike it was like experiencing a moving photograph. Smith felt his brain kick into overdrive and as he moved across lush landscapes and bustling cities. Splashes of teeming grey dotted rolling green, the canvas occasionally broken up placid seas, lakes and rivers.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Like some sort of super tech from a distant future now plopped directly before him. He wasn’t aware of some unprecedented leap in technology nor highly advanced videogame waiting in the wings. The longer his gaze washed over the hills and cities, the more questions he found flooding their way into his cranium. He’d only become aware of how much time had passed when there came a knock at his door, the rhythm he’d found himself in suddenly shattered like glass.

He seethed. Why couldn’t she ever just leave him the f**k�"

The doorknob met his hand. Through the door came Jessica’s voice. Soft. Calm. Yet hesitant.

“Smith?”

“What?” he made no effort to hide his frustration.

A shuffling of feet. She’s nervous, he thought. Good.

“So…what’s on it? The disc?”

Why should she care? It was his now, his to pick apart, his mystery to unravel. And all in his private space. But nothing was sacred. Christ, how he hated her.

“Well?” she asked pointedly.

“Nothing major. Just some scam bullshit.”

“Oh. Okay.”

That was puzzling. She seemed almost disappointed. Like she wanted more than his lie had mustered. He reached up and shifted his glasses. They were sliding down his nose on a film of fresh sweat. Behind him the computer buzzed. He almost swore he heard a sigh from the other side of the door.

“Well…I’m heading out for a bit. Just so you know.”

“Great. Bye.”

And that was that. As though sucked down a vacuum, her steps receded downstairs. Then a ruffling of coats and the door shut with a distinct thud. He felt himself engulfed in a wave of relief as he glanced over his shoulder. Through the curtains a dim shaft of blue-tinged light cut its way into the room. Not a sound came from outside. 

Twilight. His favourite time of day. Add a free house on top and altogether Smith had his recipe for perfect happiness.

Jessica slammed the door shut, not wishing to make a scene yet also wishing whatever message it intended had been received loud and clear. But no fortress was ever broken into easily, as her relationship to Smith had reliably demonstrated time and time again.

It still wasn’t rejection, couldn’t be, that kept her insistent upon discovery, no matter what her friends may speculate. They’re probably at our usual spot already, maybe even semi guessing what nuggets of life she’ll bring tonight, the three of them huddled into their snug little nook, rich amber light shining from above whilst the steady flow of drinks coaxed out whatever demanded to be freed from her mind prison.

She found herself at the bus stop before even realising it. Only one other person occupied its space, an exhausted, used up looking woman clutching a bunch of visibly overloaded shopping bags, appearing like huge white balloons ready to burst. Maybe she’d invent something about that instead. It’d be easier.

A madwoman who wanders from bus stop to bus stop carrying her collection of severed heads in pristine plastic bags, her malicious little eyes ever vigilant in their hunt for the next specimen. 

Sure. Why the f**k not?

Night was well on its way, the dark blues of twilight failing to hold off the great sweeping blackness descending over everything. She looked up the road, which was totally empty bar two bright shining dots emerging from round a distant bend, quickly growing in size. Her bus. She let the fantasy play out as it regularly did every time she went out - stepping aboard, sinking into her favoured seat, allowing the rush of streets and lights outside blur together, the welcoming warmth of the pub as she strolled through its doors. Greetings exchanged, the first drink or two. She’d be silent initially, stoic even, like a football player on the sidelines awaiting their turn. Eventually it’d come…but then all of it would desert her. The something she’d built up, the thing she held onto for a chance to remain apart yet still belong somehow, would fly out the window. Then it was simply another night.

A loud hiss roared past her. Looking up, she saw her bus pulling away, her exaggerated maniac staring at her from the back row, cushioned by her mounds of likely not so sinister shopping. Now it was being taken back to its home to be stowed away by the object of her mind’s frenzies. Throwing an eye to the real time schedule displayed on the bright screen hanging overhead, she discovered the next bus wasn’t due for almost another forty minutes. Sighing was all she could do.

Still, at least there was plenty of time to find some fresh meat. But for whose enjoyment she had no clue.

Smith dared not look away from his monitor, as though determined to burn what it showed firmly, irreversibly, into his memory.

A cluster of skyscrapers appearing like long fingers aimed to the heavens, surrounded by roads running like veins and arteries through the body of a bustling metropolis. Far below, on the street level, cars and people filled the streets snaking their way through town into suburbs and beyond, highways like flat ribbons running to the horizon.

“Incredible.” was the only thing he could find for it. He stood, arms folded, admiring its intricacy until his rumbling stomach directed him down to the kitchen. There he would take what he needed in absolute peace.

Just as he left the room, a small fire began atop one of the skyscrapers.

Smith rushed into the kitchen, regretting every second passing by as one less to spend with what was consuming all upstairs. His world. His to unravel and pry into, leaving no pixel nor line of code unturned. He chuckled as the fridge door swung open to reveal its stocks, thinking how everyone else was busy this Friday night concerning themselves with things that made no matter. It was he who used his time wisely finding things buried deep or skilfully sequestered away, safe from the reach of those who hadn’t the capacity to appreciate their unique draw. All his life he’d been dealing with his sceptics. Family members and relatives who saw his world through an entirely false viewport, saying in well meaning yet infuriating terms that his pursuits were “unhealthy” or even “detrimental”. Machines, silly games, nothing that ever promised goodness, not in their accepted definition at least.

Let them all take a flying f**k, the thought flashed in a moment of burning, remembered frustration. A long procession of mocking faces encircled him as he tore the tab off a Coke can and flung it across the room, his free hand stuffing his pockets with a few of the chocolate bars he kept stashed at the very back of the fridge’s top shelf. He grabbed the door and threw it shut. Strides fuelled by an adrenaline of turmoil brought him through into the hall.

They wouldn’t be laughing now if they saw what I’ve got. Not that I’d show it. Not to them. Not anyone. You don’t need to console yourself, only remember why they’ll ever understand. There. Isn’t that better?

By the time he ambled back upstairs, snacks in hand, the entire upper half of the building was being devoured by hungry, hungry flames. The monitor’s flickering glow burned into his retinas as he settled down in the chair, marvelling at the beehive of activity on screen.

Flames licked their way up and around the walls. Thick, black pillars of smoke swirled far up into the sky, obscuring the sun. Out of some unknown curiosity, Smith reached for the mouse and placed a finger on the middle wheel, rolling it once to zoom in for a closer look. The view shifted. As though flitting down gently on a flying carpet, he watched as the image settled on the symmetrical rows of windows wrapping around the building. Up close, the graphics were every bit as sharp and lifelike as when admired from a distance. Spying the people behind the panes, Smith realised the animations were equally as close to the real world. Frighteningly so.

Virtual fists pounded on glass, faces partially obscured by thick, choking smoke, mouths opened wide in multitudes of simulated screams. He wasn’t sure how to feel as he watched the disaster play out like some sort of twisted mime. Which technically it was. Even still, watching one man in particular let out desperate pleas for help as the fire swallowed him verged on the openly morbid side of voyeurism, one he’d often tread on internet groups and questionable websites. His late night quests for the latest, freshest sufferings and misfortunes were one of the many expeditions he’d undertaken in the digital realm. Grim voyeurism overrode morality as eyes accustomed to such terrible spectacles watched window after window vanish beneath the orange, amber and fiery red seering death. The air was alive with its hissing and crackling, nature’s beast unleashed upon the creation of its self proclaimed masters. A large crowd of them had assembled on the street below, gawking at the unthinkable now rendered reality.

The building began to crumble as the internal fires finished eating their way through the support beams. Those trapped within evidently felt the first sickening shudders and shakes beneath their feet. Their pounding and pleading reached fever pitch, their only answers being the other faces below looking on. With a sickening cracking, crunching, smashing and tearing the upper floors finally collapsed. Smith observed spellbound as glass shattered, bricks turned to pebble and walls pancaked. All of it wrapped up in a wild symphony of terror. In his usual detached manner, he pondered how many morgues across the city would be kept busy over the coming days. He’d have to check if that had been accounted for too. Plumes of dust sprung forth from the tangled mess that had once stood neat, complete, on the street corner.

Neat no more.

After the dust began settling, the crowd had pressed forward to get a look at whatever gruesome sights awaited their unveiling. Smith joined them, zooming in closer still to see what they could see, driven by the same morbid curiosity native to all human beings, real and virtual alike. Neither party was disappointed. There were too many dead to count. Arms and legs, skin bright white with brick dust and spotted red with fresh blood poked from piles of rubble and under debris. Moans accompanied some of them, their owners fast approaching the same fate that had already befallen their companions in the wreckage. Fire crews, those not busy freeing those they could, trailed long wormlike hoses and busied themselves making short work of the few small blazes still remaining here and there. After a few minutes a semblance of order had been restored. The terrible cleanup could now begin.

Smith remained another while to spectate the activities of the immediate aftermath. Snow white ambulances and groups of dark clothed police officers swarmed the area, the sea of light and dark broken only by the two bright red fire engines parked at odd angles, the hoses now stopped and securely fastened to their sides. Even when the steady line of stretchers entering and exiting the smoking structure approached its end he remained utterly transfixed.

He would’ve found sleep eventually if the time for it wasn’t well past when the procession of charred corpses coming out the doors finally neared its end. Only once did he look up towards the window, and the comforting blues of early evening had given way to harsh daylight. Taking his glasses off, weightless with fatigue, he rubbed his eyes, feeling the warm sting of tiredness he’d become used to but still hit hard. Straining his ears, he heard activity in the kitchen. Chairs scraping on the floor, spoons clinking, some laughter. Jessica’s voice along with someone else’s. A friend of hers most likely. 

Unfortunately.

Despite his usual judgement, he was in desperate need of caffeine if he wished the examination of this most peculiar program to continue. At the cost of enduring the people already there, sharing his space when he didn’t want to. Wearing his coat of accepted-yet-prone-to-question aloofness. He had his world and they had theirs, two separate existences living in mutual tolerance of the other. 

As he trudged down and towards the kitchen all he could think was how incredible his past few hours had been. Perhaps he was making the most amazing discovery of all in the world of software. A fully realised, totally autonomous, photorealistic living world unlike anything else he knew of or had ever encountered. Its purpose remained elusive but his purpose was to try and find it no matter how long it took.

He heard the conversation from the other side of the door.

Time’s on your side, he reassured himself, reluctantly pushing open the kitchen door. Jessica was at the table with, as he suspected, a friend of hers. No idea of her name, but who cared? They both greeted him with an uneasy smile. He chose not to return it. And so the game began.

He could feel the unasked questions at his back as he turned to the fridge, the unspoken remarks, the embarrassing speculations. Opening the fridge door, he spent as long as he could with his head stuck in, away from any potential for interaction. A searching hand found the milk carton. Sure, they probably talked about him before he entered in the first place, and would definitely talk after he left too. He’d been in this situation before. The trick was to spare them as little ammunition as possible.

Jessica’s voice shook him from rumination. Damn her. She knew the rules. They needn’t be spoken. With a heavy head he rose up and met her eyes. Blue. Innocent.

“What?” emerged from his throat. Gruff. But it didn’t faze her. She sat forward, the eyes unblinking.

“Have you been living under a rock?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then you obviously haven’t heard.” She wasn’t usually like this. This was their first face-to-face, off the cuff interaction in forever. Knowing that seemed to bubble his irritation again.

“Haven’t heard what?”

“About the fire in the city centre yesterday.”

The anger evaporated in an instant. Confusion took its place in the blink of an eye.

“What do you mean?”

He glanced at her over the top of the fridge door. Her eyes betrayed no malice made him feel the centre of attention, totally unable to escape from the spotlight they flung him into. Feeling like a caged animal, he found nowhere to run and nothing to say. She laughed. Not mockingly, though. Something else he couldn’t put a finger on.

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

What kind of game was she playing?

“An office building in town. Some kind of freak accident, something to do with the fuse box they’re saying.” Her words came out with all the disinterest of tragedy observed from a distance, where it became easier to relegate the worst to the very back of one’s mind, as far as it would possibly go, with genuine concern to become a side effect. She cleared her throat. “There’s a few dozen dead. They’re still finding bodies.”

“Doesn’t surprise me considering the place collapsed.” he spoke without thinking.

“How’d you know that?” came her response, tinged with intrigue. “You were clueless coming in here.”

“I was there.” he cursed himself. The words rushed out before he could catch them. 

“You must have some amazing pair of binoculars up there. No way you left the secret lair.”

Sarcasm was a tricky obstacle. Ignorance was the best policy.

“Believe what you want.” he shrugged, turning his focus back to the fridge, increasingly aware of how much time he’d spent hunched before it. Jessica and her friend exchanged a sly smirk, sensing his awkwardness.

“Any plans for the day?”

“Uh…haven’t decided yet.”

“Right.”

“I have a few ideas.”

Now it was his turn to smile, thinking of the day ahead. Quick coffee injection, an even quicker nap and then back to the exploration. He wondered how far along the cleanup had come since he’d left it. All those streets to scour for the morgues, simply to see how much further the detail stretched. How much darker it could possibly get. He had to know.

“Best kind of plan is no plan at all if you ask me.” It was true, too. Jessica watched him closely and he wished to God the feeling would go away. The room was growing smaller and smaller.

“I’m glad I did.” she said in a tone hard to decipher. There was an awkward silence. Jessica’s friend stood up to leave, tapping her watch.

“I’ll leave you to it. I’m cutting it close.”

“Alright. Give us a buzz later.”

“Will do.”

Inane farewells over with, the friend left, the door closing bringing home the strange atmosphere that had descended. Smith finally felt safe enough to grab the milk and close the fridge door. Jessica walked to the sink with empty coffee cups and began rinsing them out. He turned the kettle on, grateful for its sound.

“So…did you find out any more about the scam?”

“Huh?”

“The CD. We were talking about it before you came down.”

“How much did you tell her?” 

“Just what I know. How come?” 

“No reason.”

“You found something more, didn’t you?” he was fixing his squarely onto the kettle, not wanting to invite any further speculation. “It’s still weird how it just…showed up, you know? If there’s anything on it to give us a clue�"”

“Nope. There’s nothing too exciting.” It was his secret, his project to pour everything into. No way was anyone going to share its delights. Least of all her. 

“Oh. Right.” she seemed almost disappointed, having craved some mind blowing revelation. Top secret government documents perhaps, or links to a thousand wanted men. Information that could upend the world in a flash if the wrong people got their hands on it. The kettle finished boiling, much to his chagrin. His mind was racing with thoughts of everything he’d been missing in the short time he’d been down here already. Tossing a heaped spoonful of coffee into his mug of choice and filling it to the brim, he gave it one quick stir before walking without a word back to where he belonged.

Jessica, as always, left to make sense of what had just happened. She’d never seen him quite like this before. Sure, he had his oddities, his strange habits, his reclusiveness, but this time something felt off. She barely knew the man yet found him endlessly fascinating. Every interaction bore new fruit ripe for investigating and now more than ever seemed the perfect time for it. There was just something about him begging to be discovered. It lurked behind those glasses and under the pale skin.

Like it or not, I’m going to find it.

It was later that day when he discovered the command, tucked away almost imperceptibly in the top right corner of the screen, the font so transparent it was like the shadow of a ghost.

Just one simple equation of command keys, familiar to computer users the world over - CTRL+ALT+DELETE.

His curiosity sufficiently piqued, Smith’s surgery commenced once more and with an idle click its results appeared before him, in the form of a single line of text dead centre in the screen:

DO YOU WISH TO START ANEW?

Despite the cryptic wording, his curiosity didn’t prove quite great enough to pursue it any further. He simply contented himself with another session enjoying every little moment of this world’s minutiae. The view was far too pretty for anything else.

The more he thought about it, the more incredible a coincidence the building fire seemed. Days later the gaping holes dug by construction crews in its place mirrored those exactly of the real world’s, down to shape, size, depth and width. But that was precisely the nature of his confusion. The software served no clear purpose beyond an amazingly intricate simulation of the modern urban centre. Its pull was unlike anything else he’d encountered during his travels into the digital realms. Its origins remained the most elusive part of the puzzle. No matter what he tried, Smith simply couldn’t locate a source. No company to trace it back to, no address, no date of publication, nothing whatsoever weaved into its code to suggest that what he subjected his eyes to day and night should rightly exist, yet it did. He felt as though the universe had taken it upon itself to give him this great, mysterious gift for simply no other reason that it could. 

It was on one of his few ventures outside the house that he hit upon precisely why he was hopelessly intoxicated by the program. Why his sleep patterns, his hygiene, his diet, everything was suffering. The only regularity left were his bi-daily bathroom visits. Sheer necessity dictated those.

Control. Routine. Everything was as it was meant to be, nothing stepped out of line and most precious of all it gave him pure, unbroken observation over a world he could manage. All that was asked of him was to watch, watch, watch ever more closely. He didn’t have to take part in it or make any major decisions. Despite knowing it deep down to be some sort of deeply complex illusion, its intricacies were nonetheless intoxicating. It was one that belonged entirely to him.

His stomach grumbled. He sighed, knowing he’d have to go out. The fridge was empty.

The human body wasn’t so easily conquered.

Throwing on a coat, he left his world to its own devices. For now.

She’d come home after a perfectly miserable day at work. Bad attitudes from colleagues and customers alike had managed to suck every ounce of energy from her over the course of the day and the only consolation she had in mind was the prospect of an evening spent doing whatever she damn well pleased. But before all that a hot, soothing shower and a change into comfy clothes was vital to her wellbeing. She’d managed to make it in the door just as the weather promised to turn especially nasty, like a temperamental child ready to throw the mother of all tantrums. Dark clouds rolling over the horizon promised it.

Smith and his strangeness was running amok in her mind too, try as she might to downplay such ruminating. It seemed to take root unlike most other concerns which were temporary by comparison, gone in a second. These thoughts blossomed, exercising her brain and its endless capacity for over analysis. She was drawn more and more to uncovering exactly what existed behind his door. The issue at hand was how to gain entrance to the interior life of a man whose entire modus operandi rested on combating every attempt to breach his fortress’s defences. There was little chance of any mutual agreement, virtually none of even gentle persuasion. The only option she had was to find and exploit the next opportunity for infiltration that presented itself.

God, listen to yourself. A regular Miss Marple, set on solving the mystery of the enigmatic housemate and the skeleton in his closet, the secrets of the black CD…or was it the CD? At least, was only part of it the CD? Are you just a nosy b***h?

Throwing her coat and bag onto the couch in the living room, she turned this over in her head, letting it rest, soaking up each and every possible answer.

One step at a time. Look before you leap, remember?

She went up the stairs. As she passed by his door on the landing she came across the very chance she had privately sought for some days now. He’d left his door slightly ajar. Maybe the lack of sleep was making him careless. There was no doubt the constant all nighters were turning his little routines to mush. Every now and again she could hear him moving around at any conceivable hour of night, never sleeping, never sitting still. The decision came to her fully formed. She’d go in before he got back. She hadn’t witnessed him leaving but knew that the longer his absence, the sooner his return would probably come. 

Take it, take it, take it while the going’s good, before the universe decides to change its mind!

Her hand pushed the door fully open.

If you say so, me.

The sight was far beyond anything she’d expected. Unlike the dingy, messy, unpleasant space she’d often fantasised, his room was a picture of perfect order. Clean, bare walls, spotless carpet and his furnishings in perfect nick. The only hints of chaos came in the form of a few empty soft drink cans, food wrappers and a pile of clothes dumped at the foot of the bed. She glanced at his sheets, only slightly rumpled, and briefly found herself picturing him sprawled across them.

Stop that. 

Obeying herself, she continued scanning her environment. She couldn’t help being curious though. She wondered what the first and last thing he did in here every day was. What time he turned on and switched off. If ever. How he felt knowing every square inch of these surroundings. The view from his window, how it framed the rooftops and rolling hills outside. He’d left it wide open before leaving for wherever whim took him. A small puddle was forming on the sill and soaking the carpet directly underneath. She went over and shut the window quickly. A small act of kindness even he could thank her for.

A piercing whine came from one side. Turning to where she believed the sound to come from, she caught sight of his computer. It was a big beast, black and boxy. Her eyes moved to what was on the monitor. She froze. Her ears grew hot, the blood pulsing on either side. Everything around her mirrored her stillness, with every sound down to the minutest creak louder than the booming of a thousand cannons. How else could she react to what was right in front of her?

The monitor showed the house she currently stood in.

Smith strode round the corner into the estate as monstrous dark clouds swept over what had been clear blue sky only a few hours ago. The wind had picked up and soon escalated from breezy to blustery, plastic bags bulging with groceries trying to tear themselves away from unyielding hands. Hands that were soon to be reunited with their best friends, Messrs mouse and keyboard. Smith felt that familiar rush of pleasure run from top to bottom, contemplating many more hours spent hunched over the only God he knew. Days like these were the rarest of occasions, when the weather saw fit to add another layer of cosiness atop his station.

The sky was now unbroken grey. Drops began to fall, small at first but rapidly graduating to sizable gobs. Within moments the thunder sounded and the sky emptied its buckets, the roar of heavy rainfall prompting Smith to run for cover.

And the world that awaited him.

He rushed up the driveway and fumbled for his keys as rain spattered down on the paths, dots spotting the concrete like bullet holes in a concrete wall.

The house was silent save for the hum of his PC upstairs. The thought of dumping his stuff in the kitchen flashed briefly across his mind as he stared down a dim hallway, but feet found stairs before he’d even finished it. Besides, Jessica could be in there. That meant only more games. Games he hadn’t time for. But ascending the stairs and seeing his door wide open, he realised that didn’t matter either.

She was in there already, her back to him, gawking at his monitor. She almost looked pretty, he allowed himself to think, outlined in its pale light. But admiration soon gave way to rising fury as he stormed in. She seemed to hardly notice.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he snapped.

“It’s so…cool,” she faltered a moment, “How…how is this real? You feel like you could almost reach in and touch it.”

“We had an agreement! You’re not supposed to�"”

That’s when she turned. Nowhere else to look other than directly at her, taking his first long, lingering look at her features. She seemed delicate, like something you’d desperately want to catch and hold onto lest it should fall and shatter to a million pieces. Only now did the frown on her lips spoil the picture.

“Relax.”

But Smith felt high on his temper and refused to back down.

“You’ve no right to just barge in here and, and…look around however you want!”

She smiled at that. But it was neither amusement nor malice. Instead, it danced somewhere in between.

“You know this is the first time you’ve ever said more than a sentence to me?”

Caught in her baby blue headlights, he felt a tinge of burning self-consciousness creep over everything. The game was on once again, right this second, and its name was scrutiny. He mustn’t let her know the effect she’d wrought upon him. It proved harder than he’d thought.

“There’s been no reason to.” his voice wavered.

“Aren’t you a charmer,” she scoffed, “I suppose it only makes sense you’ve such a busy social life! Far be it from me to impose upon you!”

There it was. The mocking, so often suspected and now plain as day. His ground demanded defending and by God was he going to give it.

“I just meant that I like my privacy!”

“I know that. Hence why I thought I’d ask you today. Get you out of that…this…shell of yours!”

Damn those eyes. They offered no escape. It was all he could do not to break composure, much as it called for its own destruction. The silence he guarded so closely was morphing into something more akin to guilt as their eyes met. Yes, it’s me. The one you’ve been looking for. Let me step on the line so you can get a better look. I know you will no matter what. My mouth deserts me.

“Well…I just feel that, since, you know�"”

His fingers clutched the shopping bag, still in his hands, tight as they’d grip without snapping. His tongue continued its search for an answer never to come. Jessica sighed and began her exit, taking sweet time in doing so.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come in. I’ll leave you to…whatever it is you do. Have fun with your toy.”

She sounded almost apologetic. Almost. But even Smith’s mind, the emotional wasteland it was, sensed a deeper feeling. She was at the doorway now, a finger directed to the monitor.

“I still can’t get over how realistic it looks.”

With that, she left. Listening to her steps fade away, Smith closed the door and made sure to lock it. He could turn his attention back to more important things now. Task number one, refocusing a scattered mind with all the bitterness he could muster. He could hear rain pattering on the window as he sank into the chair. Wind had begun howling too. If only the walls were soundproof. The screams dying to be let out would far surpass whatever the heavens could muster. They were doing a great job so far with the gale outside growing ever more violent.

There were more pressing things to do, however. He turned back to the monitor.

That’s when he saw the tornado tearing its way through the city.

The next few minutes brought many of the same feelings first conjured up by the building fire, yet their cause felt much more visceral. Detached entrancement had its hold on him. Watch, watch a little longer. A little closer. It’s all for you. Sit back and let us put on a show, exercise those eyes of yours till they can take no more. Look at it go.

Cars were tossed aside like plastic toys as the funnel traversed the network of streets, ripping buildings from their foundations and shredding them into nothingness in suspended animation. Raging skies accompanied the unthinkable sounds of unthinkable obliteration. Trees held on for dear life before being plucked from the soil one after the other, almost like cigarettes pulled from a pack by an insistent hand. Smith watched as one flew through the air and came down hard atop a car, flattening it like tinfoil, the alarm warbling before dying. The tornado came to a brief rest in the middle of a commercial district. He imagined it saying “You know what? Let me f**k that up for you.” 

The base of the funnel was huge, growing exponentially as it continued on its merry little rampage of ripping signage, person and pole from their places with no prejudice whatsoever. On the roofs of offices, antennas and satellites bent back at crazy angles before snapping off like bone, glass panes joining the maelstrom with a succession of shatters, the fragments appearing like glittering diamonds for the briefest of seconds before being engorged by the dark swirling beast.

Watching it all, allowing every passing moment to wash over him for all its worth, Smith was unsure exactly when he picked up on a distressing sound from directly behind him, a rattling slowly but surely growing in intensity. He stopped, listened closer. It seemed to be emanating from the window. Not wanting to take his eyes away, lest some crucial sight escape him, Smith backed away from the monitor to the curtains covering the window and, reaching a hand through, placed a hand on the glass.

It was shaking. Violently. 

He watched the monitor. The tornado had had its fun with the offices and was on the move again, heading for a residential area to the north. The windowpane was still jittering uncontrollably. He ran his hand down it to the frame, too which also had a serious case of the jitterbugs. Both parts of the window danced to their own demented tune.

It was also difficult to ignore how much darker the room had grown. It had still been afternoon, about one o’clock to be exact, when he’d returned from his munchies run. Yet now it seemed much closer to night, which was impossible. The sky was a canvas of blacks and greys, like the sun had ceased to exist and never would again.

The tornado reached the outer edges of the residential area, immediately victimising the first house unlucky enough to catch its attention. A modest two story home, redbrick, with a well kept garden and an expensive looking silver sedan parked in the driveway. In no time whatsoever the two-story turned to no-story, the garden became a wasteland and the sedan was reduced to no more than a few disparate, nondescript chunks of metal flung in every conceivable direction. Satisfied, the twister swiftly moved onto home redecoration project number two.

All the while the window kept shaking, more than ready to make its escape.

It would’ve been hard to believe if it wasn’t staring her right in the face. The weather had been terrible all day but this was so far removed from the ordinary storms she’d been accustomed to that at first the sight was brushed off as the product of pure imagination.

Just like you, Jess.

In the instant that the tornado had appeared from behind the apartment block standing a kilometre or so across the way, nowhere felt safe. Not even the most cleverly hidden hideaway would offer refuge now. It would be found.

They already had been. How could he stay in his room with the insanity just beyond the windows? Was he that wrapped up in his bullshit? Or that petty that even immediate danger wasn’t reason enough to stop the act, call off his show? Already her feet were running up the stairs and brought them to his door. Questions weren’t helping anymore. Only action would.

Just like you, Jess.

Forsaking any knock, she burst through the door, unsurprised to see him standing rapt by the computer, his head swivelling back and forth from the monitor to the window. So he did know. Two fracturing minds were better than one, she supposed. The madness was here now, better to just surrender to it.

“Jesus Christ!” came her voice from the doorway. He noticed her usually immaculate appearance poisoned with fear. She didn’t wear it well. Her speech came out garbled, like the words were being filtered through rushing water. His head, burdened by disbelief, struggled to make sense of it. Everything felt sickeningly loose.

“Look…f*****g…outside!” forcing the words out one at a time between great heaves, she gesticulated wildly to the window.

No further prompting was needed. Without registering any movement he found himself at the curtains and threw them open with one vicious sweep. 

Mind detonated like a nuclear bomb. Now there’s something you don’t see every day, it mused. Wholly uninterested. Smith could’ve echoed its sentiments if it weren’t for the column of screaming death hopping from home to home, peeling back roofs like a tin opener and gorging itself on the contents beneath. His eyes, as though needing further confirmation that the impossible had indeed become possible, drifted to the monitor. It lined up perfectly with the spectacle beyond the window. The tornado was having the time of its life, making some effort to squeeze every drop of violence out its lifespan as was possible. 

He felt himself drifting further away than ever before. Sight, sound, smell and thought became secondary to mounting unreality. None of it mattered. Not now. Not anymore. The only reminder he had of still being on this plane was the nudge at his left side. He peered down.

She’d grabbed his arm, her cherry red fingernails now dug right in his skin, pleading not to be brushed off, her face awash with turmoil. Where once he had seen mere inconvenience, another hurdle to be negotiated in an alien world, he now saw only Jessica. The sympathy switch had been flicked. He also noticed how instinctively he moved his hand up to clasp hers. It was like grabbing a lump of ice.

So he is human after all.

That was also the moment cracks began spidering across the glass. The window was ready to call it quits. Pitch blackness painted the view outside before they had time to register the vein-like pattern emerging from every corner. 

Reality hit with an almighty slam, Smith’s entire being suddenly feeling a million tons as he tore Jessica away from danger just in time for the glass to bow out in a shower of razor sharp chunks. They lay sprawled beneath its deadly rain, Smith shielding her as best he could, feeling stings biting at his back and neck then the ballooning warmth of freshly drawn blood.

Some time passed. How much he wasn’t certain but gradually the symphony outside began drifting away. The rattling in the frame ceased until the only thing breaking the quiet come over the planet seemed to be the humming computer, reliable to a fault. Its sound seemed to bring in the rest of the world, inviting it back in. Outside were the dying whispers of the almighty storm, sirens calling out to collect its remnants. The victims were likely innumerable. They both lay there, breathless, brains fried and bodies numb. Adrenaline surged in torrents through their streams. Their hearts could well explode any moment.

“Is it…is it gone?”

He looked down. Bright blue eyes now swimming in tears of fright. Smith glanced up at the monitor. It was, indeed, gone. Long, winding trails of flattened everything cut huge lines through the cityscape. A sky of slowly parting grey clouds was gradually being reclaimed by bright golden sunlight. He looked back down at her. That face. Their hands still locked together. Her breath brushed across the same spot on his neck, tickling microscopic hairs. It was the best antidote he could have hoped for.

“It’s gone.” he smiled.

There was plenty of staying away from the computer after that. Smith’s former obsession now haunted him, its implications gnawing at him as he paced endlessly around the house, sometimes on his own and the rest of the time with Jessica. 

Jessica.

The cat was well out of the bag now. The self imposed secrecies, silences and solitude were very much relics of the recent past. All that remained now was the great unknown. Into a world he’d spent so long rejecting for fear it would reject him right back. Stupid. So stupid. Certain barriers still lay between him and escape, however. The CD was chief among them. Every time he walked his laps round the rooms his thinking returned to the same destination. That lone command nestled in the corner was the only stone left unturned.

CTRL+ALT+DELETE.

It was like the parts of some whole yet to be seen. But the sum seemed to give some comfort. Not just to him either. He and Jessica found themselves whiling away the hours not only discussing the inexplicable events, but discovering each other in the process. Respective truths were uncovered bit by bit. In his case, chipping them away from her was the most fun he’d found himself having in quite a while. It had begun immediately after the tornado dissipated, once their legs felt strong enough to carry them downstairs without collapse, clinging to each other like survivors of a shipwreck who’d found a piece of floating debris. Sitting on the living room couch, he found himself quickly surrendering any notion of embarrassment as she stripped his shirt off in order to clean the several cuts criss-crossing his skin. Her hands moved gently, efficiently, wiping away dark splotches of dried blood and putting plasters over the bigger hurts. A part of him wondered whether or not she’d found any enjoyment in seeing such exposure. Maybe she did. Whatever the case, she had plenty to show for herself.

Jessica was far more than Smith had ever allowed himself to think. What he first took to be thinly veiled mockery was merely a great sense of humour. What he’d dismissed as her indifference towards him had been shyness. What she thought of as arrogance had been a mind shielded by walls fortified over several years now (he realised) wasted. However, discovery didn’t mean he escaped unchallenged. There was so much to be made sense of.

“Tell me something.” she said, as they sat cradling coffees one morning, even though the caffeine did them no good anymore. Rampant, unstoppable cycles of thought drove them plenty already. Smith still loaded his up with sugar anyway, as he anticipated another truth to be released.

“Sure.”

“Was I really that bad? In your mind?”

He let a few moments amble by before answering. He sipped coffee, swishing it round his mouth, before swallowing thoughtfully. The truth hurt but what was the point in pretending? Been there, done that.

“Yes. Yes you were.”

“But why though?”

“Because I never saw it till now. Saw what I’d let myself believe, I suppose. That total and utter shite. I needed someone to tell me how wrong I was.”

“Huh. Fair enough.” she looked down into the bottom of her cup.

“I’m sorry. For what it's worth. Really.”

No response.

“I think…you’re great. I was wrong.”

Her head turned. Was that a grin creeping over those lips? Or wishful thinking? She wasn’t giving any hints. All she did was refill her cup, letting him sweat. He cleared his throat. This was a new kind of game, one where the rules weren’t his. 

“I mean…I dunno, you’re nice. Honestly. Just wish we’d have started this kind of thing sooner.”

“This kind of thing?”

“You know, just…talking. Being together. Finding stuff out about each other.” he shrugged, choosing a section of wall to study as she sat, letting that grin he’d suspected form across her lips. At the periphery of his vision he caught it. His throat felt tight with nerves.

“So, basic human interaction you mean?” she teased. 

Silence reigned. Blushing, he studied the wall with all his might. If he looked hard enough, maybe he’d be sucked through into another dimension and save himself while there was still time. His mouth grew dry, his face flushed. She reached over and placed a hand over his, which to her surprise trembled.

“Hey.”

Even he knew to break away from the wall for that. He met her gaze.

Really isn’t that bad looking, is he? Keep the glasses, cut the hair. That’s all he needs.

“It’s okay. Honestly.” she stood up to join him at the kitchen counter, her eyes wandering over him from head to toe. All this man needed was an injection of confidence.

Suspense overtook silence as he lost himself in her eyes.

“I know you’re not used to humans on this planet yet.” she said smugly.

It was utterly baffling for a few seconds until he felt the beginnings of hilarity. Soon came the giggles to graduate into laughter, then laughter into belly laughter shared between them, fueling each other’s giddiness. Like a magic spell had been cast, he felt the weight of the past few days, weeks, years even begin to lift. Here he was in a normal kitchen with a normal human being attempting basic communication and being utterly helpless. 

Yet it was all okay. All perfectly okay.

 Zings of euphoria shot through his system, overwhelming his senses, like a revved up race car firing on all cylinders. The air felt positively electric.

Eventually the laughter died down but its effects remained, most evident by the smiles plastered across both their faces. Hers was one to make the heart somersault. Butterflies burst forth from his chest, their wings echoing in the emptiness of mind that such a release had afforded. 

One…two…they leaned in closer to each other, impelled by unseen forces.

Three…he ran a hand through her hair, marvelling at its silky smoothness. 

Their eyes never broke contact. That was all it took. Each sliding their arms round the other, lip met lip and time dissolved along with every worry he’d ever carried with it.

Regrettably they then circled the topic of the CD yet again. It was a wholly unwelcome interruption to what had been that first blooming of a special kind of magic.

Smith had about as much desire to re-enter the room as a hypochondriac enjoys visiting a doctor. In his mind it now housed too much to face, to contend with. Deep diving back into an unfamiliar familiar had to be done sooner or later, even if its waters were murky and chock full of unseen terrors that slithered in great darkness. The longer he left it, the harder it’d be. And the harder it was, the more likely he’d give up and let it live on, let it find its way into the hands of someone else if it didn’t destroy him first. Then the cycle would start all over again. Fascination, obsession, then unfolding catastrophes one after the other. It was now or never.

She felt exactly the same, deciding to confront the topic head on one late afternoon in the living room. It was unusually warm that day, an unbearable stuffiness pervading everything. Even for the distraction it offered, conversation came with much encouragement. It was entirely for a lack of trying as they sat daydreaming together on the couch. She decided to dredge discussion up anyway, pointing a finger through the doorway into the front hall, where the bottom of the stairs was plainly visible peeking out from a wall. The signpost for the forbidden land just above their heads.

“You’re not going back up there?” looking at him quizzically, the question drained what little reserves of awakeness the heat hadn’t devoured. Long pauses and longer blinks passed before he answered.

“No. Not now. I need more time…to think. To figure it out,” he stroked his chin, liking the feel of stubble against his fingertips. “If we don’t know where it comes from we can’t very well just send it back. It’s not as simple as that. Just let my mind work.”

“Look where that’s gotten you so far.”

“Hm. Noted.”

“We can’t keep it here. That’s number one, right?”

He just shrugged.

“Can’t imagine it’d make much difference. Besides…we’ve seen what it’s capable of. What it does. The last thing we want to do is provoke it. Let it know that we know, if you get me.”

That drew a scoff from her.

“Provoke it? It’s not a wild animal for Christ’s sake! Just some random thing that landed in our lives from nowhere!”

“That’s exactly what scares me. It’s totally random. There’s no point trying to find out where it came from, because it could’ve come from anywhere. We can’t do anything about it because there’s nothing we can do. You see?” he felt somewhat better having gotten that out. Like it brought them one step closer back to sanity, whatever the definition was these days.

“That doesn’t mean we should just sit here.” she muttered. He decided it was fruitless to push the point any further. He shuffled closer to her on the couch.

“I’m with you, it's just…I still don’t know how it works. How any of this works. The code is so intricate, the layers are harder to get through the deeper you go. I don’t think I wanna know what’s at the very bottom. Even if it’d let me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like it knows something we don’t. I can’t shake the feeling it’s one step ahead.”

“But we don’t know anything.”

Smith rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, feeling like a perplexed scholar trying to overcome some confounding intellectual problem.

“Precisely. So what’s the harm in giving things a little more time?”

“Have you forgotten what happened just a few days ago?”

He looked towards the stairs. That he certainly hadn’t. It was on the tip of everyone’s tongue, the kind of thing to be dissected for years to come, for papers and news programs to endlessly cover inside and out. Climatologists could offer no reasonable explanation, beyond half joking quips regarding the wrath of God. If he’d known anyone besides her he likely would have been one of the hundreds bereaved. He still counted himself among them, but not for anything physical. Rather, it was his old self. Dead and gone. 

The more he looked at the stairs, weighing up the options, the more they seemed oddly defiant, as if their simply being there was a challenge to him personally. Would he accept? Time was the only weapon left in his arsenal and he was intent on using it.

“You can’t deny it’s fascinating.” using the only leg he had left to stand on before it was promptly blown away. 

“Yeah, and dangerous.” the finality of it sunk in. 

It was so much information to process, so many immensities to be contemplated. What if there were more programs like this one? If so, who had them? And for what purpose?

Why? It was a silly word, one far too small to encompass the desire he felt. This was the most amazing breakthrough in computing he’d known. Her too, now that she was involved, and he with her.

In fact, the more he looked, the more alien it seemed. Her, beautiful as she was, adding more and more to a sense of displacement as his mind raced to comprehend an entire jigsaw puzzle at once, forcing down pieces fast as it possibly could. The room’s wheels were spinning, walls moving, floors turning into quivering boards concealing limitless depths. Even the ceiling began joining in, lowering itself ever so painfully slowly.

Look at her. Look at her. Smith felt himself grow smaller than ever, like everything was being glimpsed through a pinprick. Everything felt millions of miles away. 

Her voice was the only anchor in the midst of the flood. “You alright?”

Speech tried but failed. A vice was tightening round his throat.

“You’re very pale…what’s wrong?”

“I’m grand.” words fought their way out. Far too quickly. A flashing warmth rushed across his face as Jessica leaned in. His entire body buzzed with swarms of angry bee. He took a hand and placed it on his chest, instantly registering the frightening sensation of his heart jackhammering, doing somersaults, as though ready to explode any moment. He pictured a bright pink-red balloon of flesh and muscle growing, growing, growing and then popping, life flicked off like a light switch. One big irreversible slapdown from someone, something or somewhere who felt he deserved it.

In the maelstrom of thought one remembrance was vying desperately for attention, shoving its way through the crowd, screaming its voice raw. Listen and you shall find salvation. He fought to stay upright, not even paying attention to Jessica anymore, but his words provided an excellent illusion of doing so.

“I’m fine. I’m fine…I’m fine. Do I look okay?”

“Of course you don’t!” she spluttered, not breaking her gaze. Sweat poured down in buckets. His glasses felt heavy, unnatural on the bridge of his nose. His shaking hand discarded them immediately. 

Breathing came in frantic bursts. His chest was fighting a losing battle to contain the vicious pounding inside. Her fingers felt like needles probing their way across his skin.

“You’re freezing.” her mounting concern was evident.

His body was fighting a losing battle. Awful, awful swirlies were coming for him. The floor was no longer a given, any second now he’d fall right through it, go wherever the body would take him. Then nothing would matter anymore. But she was determined, an ear to his chest, one hand on his shoulder.

“Do you think you’re gonna puke? Chest pains? Answer�"”

No further than that and Smith gave in to the freefall. His eyes fluttered. The floor failed. His body left itself as oblivion came thundering through the door. She stood, screaming in the middle of swirling black, the gruesome centrepiece of a ride down to darkness. But that’s not what mattered to Smith, not at that moment. The thing seeking his attention had found it at the last possible second, catching him on his way out the door, grabbing hold and refusing to let go.

That single command he’d glimpsed before. The only answer to everything. Perhaps their best way out.

CTRL+ALT+DELETE.

The panic attack was over every bit as fast as it had arrived. After a very tense couple of minutes the decision was made. The CD had to go. The best thing, the only thing, was to simply pretend it had never existed in the first place. Just do this one last thing, he’d thought, and move on. Let her take you and show you things you’ve never seen before, experiences all yours to look forward to. 

The stairs were challenging him again. They were the first thing he’d seen, bathed in moonlight, once his eyesight had righted itself and the flurrying in his chest had finally stopped. Her name rang out through the house once, twice, three times before he’d satisfied himself of her absence. 

Good. It meant he could cut right to the chase.

Going up the stairs was the hardest it had ever been, each step a prolonged agony, his body heavier each time. The door to his room was locked, had been for the past several days. It was the only solution they’d thought to come up with in the storm’s wake, albeit a weak one. Smith reached it and, with all the bravery he could conjure, pushed it open. Beyond lay ground zero.

Like any ground zero, time was frozen. It felt like stepping into an undiscovered ancient tomb with its artefacts still remarkably intact. His bed. His shelves. The clothes piled by the wardrobe. Even the glass shards still littering the carpet lay exactly where they’d fallen. The computer remained on, as though standing guard. The monitor had turned off by itself thanks to a lack of activity. Smith felt himself surrender to a slight shudder as he neared it, feeling like he was approaching a sleeping dragon.

The mouse was one click away from waking this dragon up. A breeze gusted in through the ruined window, adding to a sense of ghostliness, the undisturbed stillness. He finally reached the desk and with hesitant hands but will of steel, forced himself to take hold of the mouse and click.

Sights better left unseen. But beautiful regardless.

Their house. The view hadn’t changed. But he wanted one last look at the rest of it. To remind himself to never forget. Not that it would be easy. He zoomed out, soaring far into the clouds to see the entire city spread out beneath from his heavenly perch of slowly passing clouds, thousands of feet above the rooftops and gleaming tips of skyscrapers. Once in a while a plane or helicopter would break through one cotton ball into another, playing their part in the software’s attempt to prove that yes, this is alive. This is it exactly. But Smith knew better now, the illusion, the intricacy no longer able to work on him. Its high was public enemy number one and here he was, the latest victim of its crimes.

No f*****g more, he felt himself utter, with gleaming satisfaction.

The one thing he’d been relying upon hadn’t let him down. Almost too good to be true, his eyes locked onto that familiar corner in the top right where solution lay and problem withered. The cursor only needed to make the shortest of journeys. He closed the gap with his eyes. So near, so easily done. So why then did he now find himself filled with uncertainties of every variety?

He looked towards the shattered window, seeing a world now within his grasp if he would just reach out and embrace it. Leave this one behind and enter the next anew, with the perfect guide to show him the way. Drifting back to the monitor he saw the traffic coursing through myriad streets, the aircraft above like black dots, lush forests besieging mountains far beyond the urban sprawl. All of it making perfect sense and having the added benefit of requiring absolutely no participation. It was the control.

Now he faced a world unquestionably out of control, one whose laws and order couldn’t be passively observed. One was brought into them by people who wouldn’t, couldn’t understand his objects to assimilation. His years of rejecting it all for something he knew deep down to be better. In this room, nothing had ever reached inside to grab and claw at contentment. A locked door, these four walls and the roof over his head were the only protection he needed. 

His body stiffened as though readied to attention by some force outside it. Through the window, bordered by broken shards, the world awaiting him began brightening up, golds and yellows and rich browns seeping in, shining their torch and poking around. He glanced at the monitor. The clouds, indeed, were parting. Right on schedule.

The sunlight washing across the room and the now audible birdsong emanating from tree after tree made his mind flop, the heart stir. What he’d denied so much for so long begged to be let out. 

Envisioning more time spent with her out in the unknown, her pet project, he her willing subject. Adding more to dimensions of thought, enriching them, nurturing and watching them grow. Leave everything else to dust and allow something else to sing for a change.

The cursor remained idle. But not his gut.

He took the mouse and dragged it across to the command, sluggishly. Cursor found corner and and now only one click would determine the outcome. With it, the box appeared, its words taking on a new significance.

DO YOU WISH TO START ANEW?

Its question was answered.

Not too long after, the computer was tossed away, its case torn apart and the innards brutally savaged, torn out and scattered to and fro like confetti. Its having no mouth with which to scream did not make the process feel any less visceral as he hammered away at the case, the boards, the cards. The monitor was smashed next, Smith taking particular pleasure in eradicating anything it could ever show again. Everything was tossed into a bin a few days later wrapped in black plastic bags.

The rest of the room received more change. The window was replaced and the carpet cleaned of its glass stragglers. The walls received a fresh coat of paint. Order was slowly but surely being restored to Smith’s little slice of the world, his to enjoy in entirely new ways. She’d been more than delighted to help with that.

The CD itself remained the final puzzle piece to contend with. There was only one thing for it. Simple but very, very therapeutic indeed. They worked it over with a kitchen mallet, turning it into a fine, toxic dust that found its grave down the drain. It was the final remnant of the old days. Smith was barreling on ahead with his commitment to escaping them for good, a newfound confidence now burgeoning. There was no shortage of firsts to experience. Jessica had been hacking away at his infamous shell and would never be stopped. He got to know the outside. Pubs, clubs, restaurants, museums, art galleries, parks, beaches…the excursions were neverending but he loved her for it. Loved her for the time being taken. Loved her for everything she’d done to make him more. 

Loved her.

Adding to their bliss was the great weather.

An incredible, unforeseen heatwave had taken the entire country, the world even, hostage. Like some giant unseen radiator somewhere had flickered to life, its temperatures taking it upon themselves to rise, rise, rise some more. The sun baked the pale and pasty masses beneath its glare into successions of light and dark browns. The newly transformed flooded everywhere they could to celebrate, beer gardens and outdoor bars filled to the brim, the parks and beaches overtaken by swarms of picnics and hikes. Anywhere and everywhere one went the celebrations were ongoing, despite the concerns of the climatologists. Smith watched the beehive of activity with great interest, noting that it was the first time he’d ever felt truly safe as part of the whole, like a valuable cog in the machine.

As he and Jessica sat in the garden one evening under a parasol, sweltering under the final blast of sunshine the day had to give, she made the same suggestion countless others were no doubt making that very same instant, if they hadn’t already.

“Let’s head to the beach tomorrow. Just us two.”

“And about five million others.” humour was something else they’d uncovered in him.

“Not if we go early. Like, first thing.”

“I’m in. Why though?”

“Because then we can say hello to the day together. Right at the edge of the world.”

She painted a pretty picture alright. It formed in the mind’s eye. Like an old fashioned postcard - the couple caught in a tender moment, silhouetted against the amber-orange of rising sun emerging from the rosy sea. Waves lapping, seagulls swooping and chattering overhead.

That’s when he realised he was a romantic.

You learn something new every day.

He indulged it by reaching over, taking her hand and giving it a tender peck. Then another. Their eyes met and tender pecks turned to a long, deep kiss. Breaking it off, she looked at him, eyes he knew every square inch of, as well as he’d once known everything else. 

“Let’s do it.” she said, with a voice even prettier than the pictures it painted.

He was the first to awake the next morning.

The air was hotter and heavier than ever, like being smothered under a blanket. He envisioned the globe fighting to get out from under it, constrained under its unbearable humidity. It took no prisoners. He trudged towards the door and opened it quietly, taking a step out onto the landing. All was still. Throwing a glance over his shoulder at the bed, he revelled in the sight of her lying there, nude, her lower half partially obscured under a tangle of sheets. Sleep had finally come, but not easily.

They also played much different games now. He was learning every night.

Closing the door softly, he made his way to the bathroom. Slivers of early morning light cut through the slats of the blinds, covering him as he stared in the mirror. A curious, deep, rich red hue. Evidently they’d missed the sunrise but there was plenty of time for everything else. He smiled. Ahead there was a day at the beach, with someone he could call his own, in a world that finally started making sense to him. Whatever lessons it taught today he would look forward to. The hardest part was still getting his head around how long he’d been ignoring them.

Better late than never, he thought, splashing cold water across his face. Christ, it was especially hot today. Hopefully the suncream would last. Another thousand bottles would do the job.

It was when he left the bathroom and was making his way back to her that he first heard the commotion outside, entirely out of place at a time like this. He stood, listening. Car horns. A smashing from somewhere. Cries of every kind, far too many to count.

Assuming that whatever it was, it’d sort itself out, Smith resumed course for the bedroom. Images of the beach awaiting their arrival were living rent free in his head. Smooth, untrodden golden sand, huge rolling dunes of it topped with bright green grass gently blowing in the salty breeze. Blue-green water whose waves crashed with a soothing regularity. Him and Jessica the first to take it all in. It was for their eyes only.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through his imaginings. Piercing as could be…and right outside the front door. Then another. Sounds emerged from behind the bedroom door, sheets rustling.

“Honey?” Jessica said with the panic of someone emerging from a nightmare.

“Stay there!” he gasped, rushing downstairs.

On the steps he came dangerously close to tripping and breaking his neck. So frantic was he that he practically slammed right into the door when he reached it, sure the wood would split upon impact. Jessica was already at the top of the stairs, covering herself with the duvet. His eyes couldn’t help feasting upon the tantalising sections of bare skin on display, the rest hidden beneath the duvet wrapped around it. Even though he knew what it looked like, the thought drove him mad.

“What is it?” she trembled. 

“Stay there.” he repeated, trying his absolute best to sound firm, in control, but his mounting nerves utterly betrayed him. The sounds outside were simply too much.

More screams. Flurries of countless running feet upon solid ground. Just above the door, through a small decorative window, a blinding white shone through. It was surrounded by an intense blood red coating everything else. The sky was bleeding.

He flung open the door without thinking.

Anarchy greeted him.

People were scurrying out of their homes, arms full of either screaming children or the few possessions that fleeting reserves of clear, rational thought allowed for. Cars tore down the street with no regard for what lay in their path. Most jumped out of their way, others were knocked down like bloodied, broken bowling pins crushed beneath their wheels, their agony adding to the cacophony of sobbing and shrieking. Further up the street Smith saw one or two houses on fire, their residents engaged in running battles with their neighbours over just about anything, long harboured resentments finally let come to the surface. He saw two elderly women duelling each other with knitting needles over a ginger coloured cat that yowled and scratched an almighty storm. It leaped free from their clutches just in time for one of the women to receive a knitting needle through the eye. Her blood was indistinguishable in the light. Her pain wasn’t. Smith, sick with shock, could only gape. Nothing less than complete chaos had descended overnight. The only thing holding it all together was the shared expressions of utter terror, mouths stuck unhinged forever, eyeballs ready to burst, legs scrambling to carry their owners as far, far away as possible to somewhere, anywhere free from the upheaval and unending screams, the hellish red laid over everything in sight. 

“Jesus Christ.” she had appeared beside him, almost by magic. His head, heavy as a concrete block, swivelled slowly to look at her. She pointed, her arm trembling like a tree branch in the wind, with a hand whose jittering fingers pointed straight to the heavens.

That’s when he saw it.

Blotting out the entire sky was a flaming asteroid of immense size.

The senses all begged for it to be some kind of horrendous nightmare or once in a lifetime hallucination. But no such luck. Inescapable annihilation was coming directly for them and there was zero time whatsoever to accept it, even get a good look at it. Only the terror of the void could be contemplated. The face of the asteroid was rough, pockmarked by craters, crevices, ravines, giant scraggles filled with mushrooming fire.

As the two of them stood there, looking up at the fate prepared for them, only one phrase came into Smith’s mind. One he’d tried so hard to forget, but which governed everything he’d felt, seen, heard and done over the past few weeks:

DO YOU WISH TO START ANEW?

THE END

Author's Note

What do you think of the dialogue?
Was the final payoff satisfying?
Do the characters feel well rounded?

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask, so you have only yourself to blame. But on the other hand, since we’ll not address the problem we don’t see as being one…

What I’m about to say relates, not at all, to talent or how well you write. But still, this will sting, so take a deep breath.

First, some “Why didn’t I see that, myself, news:

• He would never forget how it had first arrived.

Right here is where this would be rejected, were this a submission to an agent or publisher. Why? Because you just told the reader what you were going to tell them. As Mark Twain so wisely observed: “Don't say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream.”

Don’t tell the reader it will BE exciting, make it so. Make the reader say, “I’ll bet he’ll never forget that,” when it happens. That involves the reader. This talks TO them. As E. L. Doctorow observed: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

Here’s the deal, and it’s a killer. We only think we learned to write in school. In reality, we leave our school years exactly as prepared to write fiction as to pilot a fighter plane in combat.

Why? Because the entire purpose of public education, from the time it was begun at the opening of the Industrial Revolution, was to provide employers with a pool of potential workers who possess a predictable and useful set of basic skills. And what kind of writing to employers mostly need? Exactly what we worked so hard on: Papers, reports, and letters—all nonfiction applications.

The thing we forget is that professions, and Fiction-Writing is one, are acquired in addition to those skills. Where nonfiction is fact-based and author-centric, fiction is character centric and emotion-based.

You write well. Better than the vast majority of people on this, and most writing sites. But because no one every tells us of the purpose of our education, or that there are other ways to approach the act of writing, we make the reasonable assumption that writing is writing, and we have the technical part of it under control.

So, it’s not your fault, but still… The thing is, as we read fiction we don’t see the tools that have been developed over the years, only the result of using them. And, we expect to see that. More to the point, your reader expects that—which is the single best argument I know of for digging into the tricks the pros take for granted.

As for why you never noticed the problem, it doesn’t exist for you. You begin reading already knowing who we are, where we are, and what’s going on. You know the character’s backstory, and their current needs and desires. But because you do, you’ll leave out what seems too obvious too mention, and as you read, it’s already there. The reader, though…

You handle detail well, but you are always on stage interjecting authorial comment, as you should, were this nonfiction. But for example:

• His responses to her intrusions were practically pre-programmed at this point, always arriving dryly and right on time.”

Why do we care? That’s not story, it’s gossip. Something happens and he responds, analyzes, decides and acts. That’s life. Someone stopping the story to tell us he likes his glasses clean is not. Were they to do that to you, wouldn't you turn to them and ask what they’re doing in your house?

Go to, YouTube, and look for the trailer for the film, Stranger than Fiction. In it, they show what would happen were that situation real. It’s a film only a writer can truly appreciate.

We pretty much miss something critical, which is that we see everything that happens before the protagonist. Every word and every act is previewed by the reader before the protagonist knows of it. So we will react first. And if we’re not viewing the scene exactly as the protagonist does, in all respects, our reaction won’t match the character’s, and so, we’ll be hesitating at that point, to resolve that.

But make the reader BECOME the character and they’re going to react as the character, and feel as if the character is taking their advice. They’ll be emotionally involved, and wondering if the protagonist’s response, and action will match theirs. Fail that and you’ll lose the reader before the end of page 1.

So…after all the work, the emotional investment, and hope for success, something like this can be a disaster. I know, because I’ve been there, more than once or twice. But there is a fair amount of good news.

First, you can learn those skills as easily as you did those you use now, though it does take time and practice, as does any profession. Next, is that as you learn you’ll spend a lot of time slapping your forehead and saying, “How can I have missed something that obvious (though after the tenth time it does tend to be frustrating). But the best part? To write fiction that the reader will live, we have to live the scene ourselves, as the protagonist, knowing only what the protagonist knows, feels, and has available. And because we have become the protagonist, that character becomes our co-writer, whispering warnings and suggestions in our ear. And that makes the act of writing a LOT more fun.

My suggestion as to where to begin is with the basics, a few books on technique. You work when you have time, there’s no pressure, and, no tests. The library’s fiction-writing section is a huge resource. Personally? I’d suggest starting with Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer, which recently came out of copyright protection. It's the best I've found, to date, at imparting and clarifying the "nuts-and-bolts" issues of creating a scene that will sing to the reader. The address of an archive site where you can read or download it free is just below. Copy/paste the address into the URL window of any Internet page and hit Return to get there.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

So try a few chapters. I think you’ll be glad you did. And if a kind of overview would help, you might check a few of the articles in my WordPress writing blog. They’re based on the kind of thing you’ll find in such a book.

So…I know this was pretty far from what you hoped to see in response to posting the story, but it’s something every successful writer faced and overcame. So, whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing. It never gets easier, but with work and study, we do become confused on a higher level.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Tom O' Brien]

Thank you very much for the insight, you certainly make some fascinating points! I'll absolutely check out that book you sent me a link to...anything I can do to improve my craft I absolutely will!