Removed

The birds sung and the light came in the window, waking Sif from her slumber. She hopped out of bed and walked naked to her sink. Her face a picture of the night before. The drinking had to stop, clearly. She barely looked alive. Keeping her composure long enough to barf noisily in her loo. Then she got ready for work. It would be a many coffee day.

Eventually she had finished dressing herself. Long black jeans, grey top, white bra and undies, usual sleepers in her ears and a simple braid in her long hair. It’s only going to get netted at work so why bother? I can put it in a bun then, she thought. She took one last look at her room. Mostly black and brown. Throw backs from a teenage hood spent in the Goth lifestyle. Thankfully there wasn’t a uniform of pink for work, she wasn’t quite sure she could deal with that. Black was always in fashion.

She first noticed as she went downstairs. No one else on the stairs. No Mr Zengl with his appealing sexually dodgy jokes, no Miss Jackson warning her to get a man or end up alone like her, not even Mr Atkins ranting on about the days news. Odd. It was often a comfy and warm feeling she got talking to them, despite their age they had this universal old grandparent feeling about them. Sif also felt with only one parent left of her own she could always adopt more. They all had sons and daughters who rarely visited them, she felt they didn’t know what they had till it was gone.

The lobby was also empty. Curious. No mail. Then Sif walked right into the door.

Scrapping her dignity off the floor, along with herself, she noticed the little red light was off. No power. She tried the manual release. Ah. Door open.
She hoped the landlord would fix it by the evening, she made a mental note to ring him at lunch. She then noticed something that really made her stop. No cars.

No cars.
Not, only a few. Not, it’s not busy today. No cars at all in sight. There should be at least two taxis, there at the rank. None. There should be a lining of cars on the causeway. None. Oh hang on. The rust bucket was still there. But there were no cars on the road. Not one. She decided to walk to the busy intersection up the way.

While Sif was walking she thought of possible reasons for the lack of cars. Public holiday? No. It’s not till next Monday, and today’s Mondays normal. Ok, Stike? No. Not that she knew of. But without having time to do her usual checking of the Internet, or radio, or even her tiny TV it’s possible. So strike maybe.

Then she arrived at the intersection. More car absence. Not many at all. There were ones parked in usual places, but even on weekends thus place was alive with cars. Not a automobile in sight. And the traffic lights were out. It was all accompanied by a silence, one Sif had unconsciously ignored till now.

Okaay. Now it was truly panic time. Sif realized something had happened. Something bad. It had clearly happened last night, or this morning. It had somehow made it so all the power was out and not a single car was on the road. It was find a phone time.

Sif ran to the nearest public phone, an almost three block run in this mobile age. There the phone gave her no dial tone at all. She kinda wished she had a mobile on her, but she had lost it last week and still had yet to get her replacement. Ok. Back to her apartment. Work clearly didn’t matter any more.

The door refused to open. The silence was beginning to get to her. She decided to smash the glass door. Grabbing a rock and throwing it seventeen times before finally the door gave way. It fell into billions of little glass bits. Walking inside she noticed something she hadn’t before. A strange, new musty smell.

She knocked on the door of the landlord, Ms Redbean. No answer. Again smashing the door seemed like a good idea. It took about twenty minutes of grubby grunting and smashing. The door finally gave way. Ms Readbean was sitting on her couch facing away from her. The TV was off, clearly she had fallen asleep in front of it.
“Ms Readbean?”
Sif slowly walked towards her, she placed her hand on Ms Redbean. No pulse. Then her face. It was awful. Not a picture of horror. But of bliss. Ms Readbean was dead and she looked like she had done so with the beast orgasm of her life.

Oh. Gods. I think everyone is dead.