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It was a morning like any other, except that it wasn't.
You find yourself blinking into the sun streaming in through your window, the same way it always had. Only it feels like it hadn't.
It feels like the morning after. But after what, you aren't sure.
Surely you recall your birthday yesterday. And something else, too. Something foggy. Something you were supposed to do. Your internet friends were all going to do something together. But what was it?
That felt like ages ago. Like there was some sort of gap. Like in your sleep between yesterday and today something huge occurred. You just can't....
You just can't remember.
But you feel the need to assure yourself that everything is okay. That everything is where it should be.
You look around your room. There is a cake on your desk. That's right, you recall again, yesterday was your birthday. It feels so far away for some reason. You feel kind of... older, actually. You run your fingers along your postered wall, examining the pristine gloss of each one. You feel like they should be marred, why were they in such good condition? Why do you feel the urge to move that bucket out of your room like it might upset someone? Why do you feel like if you spoke to that rabbit - THE rabbit, Dave's gift to you, just yesterday - it might talk back?
This was all silly. Everything was as it always had been. You are the one feeling different.
You shuffle out of bed and make your way downstairs, marveling at the condition of the house. Why did you think it would be in pieces? Why would it be? Of course it was fine. Everything was fine. The bathtub was even where it was supposed to be, although you can't imagine how it would get anywhere else.
"Good morning, son," Dad is standing by the bottom of the stairwell, looking up at you curiously. "You sure are up early," a smile finds his face as he says this, and in a second you're scattering down the stairs, almost tripping in your haste, and flying into him with your arms squeezed tight around him and holding on with all your might like if you let go for even a second some monstrous, bloodthirsty dog-human high-breed might snatch him away from you. And you don't know why - and Dad sure as heck doesn't know either - but you start crying.
You like to imagine you're a pretty strong kid, not much really makes you cry besides movies but they don't count. You can't remember the last time you really cried. For some reason it doesn't feel so long ago at all, but you're sure it must have been years. Somehow it feels like just yesterday though.
Dad wraps one arm back around you and uses to other hand to rub comforting circles in your back. "John, what's wrong? What happened? What's gotten into you?" He murmurs into your hair, but you can't answer him through your sobbing, and even if you could, you don't know what to tell him anyway.
You're just so happy to see him alive, and you don't know why he wouldn't be, it isn't like your father leads any sort of dangerous life, but just gosh you're so glad he's okay and you don't know what you would ever do if he wasn't.
You cry and cry until you're all out of tears to cry and you finally pull away and he pats your head and asks if you want him to stay home.
You shake your head, "no, sorry, go to work, I'm sorry," you manage to get out and he gives you a concerned look. "No, really, go," you put a smile on your face and lean up to give him a little kiss. "I love you, Dad. Be safe."
"I love you too," he pauses, before promising, "I will."
With that he leaves and you sit yourself down on the stairs for a while to calm yourself. You take in a little more of your house and think about Nanna and wonder why you feel like you can imagine her voice so clearly, but surely you're just making it up because you didn't know her at all. Why do you feel like you owe her so much?
You step outside, not bothering to care that you are still just wearing your pajamas. You take in the site of your neighbourhood, like somehow overnight it might have gone somewhere. You feel like there are these little minute differences, though. You feel kind of like those shutters were a slightly lighter shade of blue the last time you saw them, and that mailbox was the the left, not the right, and that yard was just a little smaller than it is now. Like the world needed to recode, but there were just a few glitches, or the coder accidently deleted a colour code and forgot to save it, so they had to find a new one they thought was close. But of course the world wasn't coded. That's silly.
You carefully walk across your yard until you feel an invisible line and you are suddenly afraid to take one more step. What if the ground underneath you crumbles away and falls into nothing?
Then you take that first hesitant step forward and the ground under your bare feet... it holds. The way ground does.
You drop to your knees and place your palms flush into the sidewalk and push and it's hard and just a little warm and it's real. The way ground is.
You bolt up again and you're running upstairs to your room and you need to get on your computer.You need to get on right now. You need to talk to someone. You need to talk to everyone. You need to make sure they're all okay, and you don't care if Dave tells you to chill the fuck out or Jade says that you're acting funny or Rose wants to sit you down and talk with you about this, you don't care as long as they're all okay and everything is fine and they still know you and you still know them and no one....
And no one's dead.
Just as long as no one is dead, you'll be fine.
They just have to be alive, like Dad.
Like you.
Like the grass and the trees and the neighbours and gosh maybe even those annoying trolls on pesterchum, man you could really go for knowing that they're alive right now and maybe even talking to some of them for a while. Maybe the grey texted angry one or the blue texted girl with the 8s.Just to make sure they're alive.
Like Earth.