Image courtesy of Stockvault.
March 18, 2030 is a day everything goes silent. The time is always when the Sun reaches its highest point. I keep track with a sundial, not a watch.
Electricity switches off. Lights go out. The noise of radios, computers, phones, they all go quiet. Even generators don’t work. Anything that needs power dies in a loud chorus of nothing.
Water stops flowing. Rivers settle their flows into placid mirrors of a dead sky. Waterfalls dry up at the top and pool at the bottom. The liquid that life depends on stays stagnant frozen in place without lowering the thermometer.
The wind stops blowing. Trees do not sway. Heat lingers heavily on the places it last rests. Chill weather becomes bearable without the cut of a breeze.
Wildlife stops moving. Insects and birds fall from the sky, landing in the same position like they are trapped in amber. Larger animals stop moving. They are now statues and monuments to what used to be and not what is.
And, worst of all, people all freeze in place. They are trapped in something nameless, their last acts defining their existence. People freeze mid-stride along the sidewalk in a bustling city. Couples freeze in the act of lovemaking. Families that lead boring lives sit with eyes fixed on electronic gadgets that are just as dead inside as they are.
I am the only one who can see all this. The whole world freezes when the Sun climbs to its resting place. It stays there, while I’m able to move and scream and run and let loose all the terrible things I feel. In a world robbed of all sound and movement, I am the only one able to experience it.
Then, at a later moment I am not sure of, everything goes back to normal. Whatever held the world captive releases its grip. Everyone goes on oblivious to the wondrous thing that just happened.
A day later, when the Sun makes its ascent, I go out to the park. I sit on a bench next to the sundial. When the Sun reaches its zenith, everything happens all over again.
March 19, 2030 is a day everything goes silent.