If You Can Move, Please Write Back

I'm writing this out of the absolutely desperate hope that maybe just one of you will be able to read this.

I woke up just a little over a week ago and everything was normal. I live by myself in an apartment on the outskirts of town, and I don't really get out much aside from work and socializing with a few friends. I got up this particular morning and everything seemed fine. I checked my phone, and didn't have any messages, which was slightly odd, but it was a Sunday so the lack of any email or texts wasn't entirely out of the question. I was getting into my car when I noticed, in that sort of off-handed way one notices such things, that one of the neighbors across the street was mowing his lawn. I waved, but he didn't look up from his mowing. I just shrugged it off and went to work.

When I got home, he was still mowing his lawn.

I got out of my car and stood in the parking lot, watching him. I tried to think of any reason he might still be out. There was no way this dude had been out there for going on nine hours, just mowing the same patch of lawn. But all of the grass was cut, and it looked like he was just going in the same back-and-forth pattern. I checked to make sure my phone was in my pocket and I walked over to see what was up. It was just too weird not to ask about.

When I got closer, I could see that the top of his bald head was blistered from the sun. It was a hot day, and his shirt was soaked completely with sweat. His eyes were glazed over and dry looking. I didn't think he'd blinked in quite a while.

'Hey.' I said over the sound of the mower. He didn't answer, just kept mowing. 'Hey! Are you okay, dude?' Nothing.

I stood there for a while before I called the cops. I figured he'd had some weird psychotic break, or maybe he was on drugs and didn't know how much time had passed. When they showed up, they tried to get him to stop, but he just kept mowing. Eventually, they called an ambulance, and it took three cops to get this guy to let go of the mower and climb onto the gurney. Watching him move, it was like his muscles were locked. Like they were trying to move a corpse going into rigor mortis. And the guy never made a sound. Never blinked. I gave my statement, and when the cops left, I went back inside. It shook me, but I tried my best to brush it off and relax. I drank a few beers and went to bed.

I woke up the next morning, like normal, and checked my phone. No messages. I got dressed, walked out to my car, and started to drive to work.

And that's when shit hit the fan.

Not even a block from my apartment, I started seeing devastation. Cars had crashed into buildings, embankments, road signs. Debris covered the street, knocked out of garbage cans and thrown from popped trunks. I slammed on my brakes and stared. It was like my mind wouldn't process what I was seeing.

All the people I could see, all of them, were frozen in place.

They were still inside the ruined husks of their cars. Just sitting there. On the sidewalks, people had stopped mid-stride. I saw one man who was frozen in a half crouch. He was going to tie his shoe.

And I could hear the strangest sound. Like a hodge-podge of voices, all mixed together, but not saying anything. I walked over to the man tying his shoe, and I pinpointed one piece of the sound coming from the woman walking closely behind him.

She had a cellphone pressed to her ear. Her mouth was open, frozen in the middle of a word. She was making a non-stop, drawn out 'aaah' sound. You know how sometimes, a video game will lag, and the character dialogue will freeze on one sound? It was like that. I listened to this woman make that sound for five minutes. I timed it. She should have run out of breath. But she didn't. She just kept making that sound.

I don't remember much about what I did for the next few hours. I know at some point I got back in my car and drove into town, avoiding the cars that had crashed and the people who had frozen in the middle of the streets. I stopped in the middle of town and left my car running. I ran into every business, on both sides of the street, hoping to find even one other person who was moving. I didn't find a single one. And it seemed like it was just the people who were frozen. I could hear birds chirping, and I saw a few dogs running, their leashes trailing behind them. The wind still blew, the trees moved, but all the people had stopped.

At the movie theater, the popcorn still turned in the kettle, blackened and smoking. I dumped it out and turned off the machine. I don't know why. I guess it felt good to do something, anything, that felt normal.

I went to a restaurant and ate a slice of pizza next to a girl in the middle of a bite of salad. I put my arm around her and talked to her. 'Come here often?' I said. I groped her breast. Pulled her shirt down. I was hoping she'd wake up. Slap me. Do anything. But she just sat there, her forkful of salad barely touching her lips. I slapped her. Hard. It was like slapping a mannequin. I left after that.

I walked around town until it got dark. Listening to the odd, laggy sounds of half-finished words coming from the people I passed. In the less reputable part of town, I could hear a drawn-out scream. In another house, the unmistakable sound of an orgasm, never finished.

I ended up in the suburbs again. As I was passing one house, I heard a new sound. My gut knew what it was, and even though I wanted so badly not to confirm it, I couldn't help it. I had to see for myself.

The door was unlocked, so I went in. I followed the sound upstairs into a little bedroom. The walls were a sunny yellow. The curtains billowed inward, the breeze puffing them out. It was a happy room. Warm, inviting. The crib was bright white. There were wooden letters on the wall, above it. 'Justin', they said. The baby was on his back, his head turned slightly to the side. He was dressed in a pale yellow onesie, printed with cheerful ducks wearing red rainboots. His face was bright red, screwed up in an expression of extreme distaste. His cry was needling, plaintive. I guessed that he'd woken up hungry from a nap, had just begun to cry when whatever this thing was happened. I touched his face. It was rigid.

I wandered through the house. His mother was sitting on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. I crouched down, looked up at her from below. She looked tired. She must have been napping too.

I went back to the baby. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to leave. I sat on the floor, his cry constant and driving. At some point, I curled up and passed out.

I've been in this house for going on a week now. The internet hasn't gone out yet, or the power. I figured it would have by now, but I guess things are running fine on their own for now. The water is still fine too. My best guess is that this thing, this freezing, happened right after the cops came and took my neighbor away. Maybe it spread like a disease, and he was one of the first to be affected. Maybe it happened so fast that no one had time to report it. I don't know for sure. I'm beginning to think I'll never know.

The first two days, I took my car and went into town. I wandered around the shops, took things I'd always wanted but never let myself have. I smashed windows, kicked over displays. I rode a shopping cart through the aisles of a store, knocking over a few people in the process. I brought trunkfuls of stuff back to the house, spread my loot out and looked at it all. It didn't make me as happy as it should have, and I broke a lot of it in a fit of anger.

The third night, the silence started to get to me. I went outside and walked down the street, screaming and shouting every obscenity I could, hoping someone would answer back. I climbed into cars and honked their horns. I punched people that I passed on the street. I hit them in their faces, their guts. I kicked men as hard as I could in the balls. I found a knife at one point and carved a penis into the face of a young man sitting on a stoop, smoking a cigarette. He bled, but he never moved.

That same night, I broke into an apartment building in a nicer part of town. I found a young woman in one of the apartments, lying on her bed. She was in the middle of sending a text. The battery on the phone had died, so she stared blankly at a black screen. I'm not proud of it, but I took the knife I found, cut her clothes off, and had sex with her. I wrapped my hands around her neck, swore at her, called her awful names. I cried as I used her. Her body was warm, but stiff. I didn't get off. Eventually I climbed off and curled up next to her. I held her, wept loudly into her hair. I begged her to talk to me. I apologized for using her. I ran my finger along her lips, and I fell asleep with my arms encircling her stone-like body, her hair damp with my snot and tears.

I tried calling my parents a few times. Their phones went straight to voicemail. Same with my friends, my coworkers. I dialed 911, and the phone just rang and rang. I let it ring until my phone died a few hours later.

I called my parents again and left them messages telling them I loved them. That I was sorry for being a shitty kid and not calling enough. I suppose I could drive out to see them, but somehow the possibility of them being un-frozen and just unreachable makes the situation better. I don't think I could stand to see them stuck like statues. My dad in his chair, reading forever. My mom in her garden, bent over her flowers in the dead of night. Parts of her eaten by wild animals, taking advantage of a warm, unmoving meal. I try not to think about it too much.

The last few days, I've just stayed inside. I play music on my laptop, which I went and got from my apartment. I eat mostly processed food out of cans and bags. I don't heat anything up. I don't have much energy anymore.

Every day, I post this story on various forums. Waiting for someone, anyone, to write me back. I refresh the pages of all the big news sites, all the boards on 4chan, my newsfeed on Tumblr. No one has posted anything. Whatever this thing is, it isn't just here. It's everywhere. Even on international sites, the pages are quiet. No one is posting.

I would give anything to hear back from someone. Anyone. I don't want to be alone anymore. Because the people around me, these horrible living statues, they're still being affected by time.

The mother's name is Vivian. I found her wallet and checked her license. Vivian's hair is starting to fall out. Her skin is shrinking around her bones, drying out. One of her nails came off yesterday.

Justin's voice broke three days ago. All that comes out is a horrible, cracked whisper. Like wind through dead grass. His little body is so small and dried up. His hands, his poor hands, the skin looks like bark. I give him water, but it just pools in the back of his throat. His diaper is still dry. I tried suffocating him. I put a pillow over his face. It didn't make him stop. I want him to stop. Please God, I want him to stop.

It's been a little over a week. Soon the voices outside, the few of them that remain, will go quiet. And I'll be the only living human in a world of corpses.

If anyone is out there, please, please write me back. I found a gun in the house next door. When Justin finally does stop making that awful whispering scream, and the house is quiet, I'm going to use it. First on him, then on Vivian, and then on myself.

If you are reading this, and you can move, please, write me. Help me.