The Rewrite

John Smith lives in a student residence. It's state-funded, and the rent includes the water and the electricity bill at a fraction of the normal price, which is nice. There are several types of flats, most of them from 9m² to 13m², and a few studio flats, often reserved for couples. All but the smallest rooms have their own mini-kitchen space. 500 odd people live here, distributed among four blocks with four storeys each. There are benches, grass, trees, and parking spaces on the residence grounds.

You are John Smith. You live on the fourth floor in Building C. You're neither the poorest of the bunch nor a toff. Your 13m² flat has its own tiny kitchen and fridge, its single window gives a beautiful view of the mountains that loom over the City, and you're positioned far enough from the road to be insulated from most of the streets' noises. The room, disposed as a narrow rectangle from entrance to outer wall, is barely wide enough to stand with your arms outstretched and not touch the walls, but it's just right for you at the moment. You grew up in the countryside, and are used to robust privacy and quiet.

This morning you wake to absolute silence. It's still early, and dark outside. You're conscious in bed long enough to notice it: the lack of noise from other flats, no wheezing groan from your fridge, and nothing from beyond the window. You're aware enough to realize at least once should the bell of a distant tram have made it to your ears. Perhaps the whole universe is holding its breath for your benefit? You're too far from wakefulness to do more than realize how odd this is, and soon decide to enjoy your rest until the alarm rings. A dreamless fog clouds your brain and you're out again.

You wake up properly some time later. You remember your last fleeting moments of consciousness, and quickly realize nothing has changed. The silence and the darkness are identical, accompanied now by a peculiar feeling of stillness. There's a key detail on the edge of your thoughts nagging to be let in, but you fail to grasp it. You need to look around.

You pull out from the covers, swing your feet off the bed and plant them on the floor. Damn, it's cold. Sitting up, you stare at where your window should be. Even with the window shuttered, even during this glum autumn season, some daylight should be leaking in through the cracks. Instead it's black as Vanta Black out there. You reach over to the wall above your pillow and find the switch for the main light. It comes on, your eyes scrunch up a bit, and you wait for them to adjust. Opposite you on the fridge you spot the black rectangular slab of plastic that is your phone, and absentmindedly grab it. The screen lights up, and you pause, finally getting hold of yourself.

The alarm didn't ring. It's Thursday, you're supposed to get up at 6:45am, do your morning routine and get to your 08:00am lecture at University. You always wake up a little earlier, around 6:25 to 6:35am, except on weekends when you avoid going to bed until past 12 the night before. Yesterday was unremarkable, you went to classes, ate normally, reread your notes, wanked off etc. This night was unremarkable, dreamless, peaceful, perfect. The alarm didn't ring, and you overslept. You know it, you can feel a substantial gap in your memory since drifting out of deep sleep earlier, and Wednesday evening feels much further from you than it should. Meanwhile, your phone says the time is 6:37am.

It doesn't change. You switch the screen off and on. You open and close different apps. You even completely shut down and reactivate the device twice in a row. You're absolutely certain minutes have passed. Your phone still says the time is 6:37am.

You jump to your feet and make for the window. You damn near punch the switch controlling the shutters and they swiftly open, parting smoothly on their hinges. Beyond the glass, it's dark. Your eyes are adjusted to the bright light of your flat, exaggerating the contrast at first. You can just make out the shape of your residence's Building D, and dark streaks where the older and taller trees stand. You know it can't be, you know you've been asleep at least an hour longer than you should, and you know your phone can't be right. And yet it still isn't daylight outside.

You stay staring through the window in disbelief. What is this? How is it possible? Could this real and not some crazy dream? Studying for a degree is hard, and boring, you're already managing enough. You long for your normal day to just march on the way it should, the way you would expect. And just like that, it does.

All at once the world around you snaps. You see a flash of light, your ears pop and there's a bang like a sky-sized bell shattering. You're the only person to experience this, and it knocks you out cold. Limp, your body collapses.

Author's note: I'm not sure about doing much more than this. I read the old version of this chapter (and it was so bad, OMG) and I thought it would be a good exercise to rewrite it, with no expectations of continuing beyond (unlike other current projects). I may be coaxed into writing more if there's enough active demand, but no promises. Thank you kindly for reading.