The doorbell

Peter rang the doorbell for the second time against his better judgement.  He figured that his first ring had been ignored, and that being ignored for a second time was just Kev’s way of taking the piss. He looked around.  No-one was on the street.  It was one of the quieter streets off Brunswick Street, but there was still generally some foot traffic.  There was little movement; the trees were very still, and with no animals, cars or people, it seemed that the world stood still. For a moment, Peter wondered if he was in a photo, if he even existed at all. He looked for his watch, but found his wrist bare. He reached for his phone in his pocket.  Nothing.  He looked to where he had parked his car.  It was gone.  He realised that it was as he tried to find something that it no longer existed, and at that point, he stopped realising anything. He couldn’t think of his name. He was frightened, but that too passed.  He sat, on the asphalt, and thought of the world, and then everything disappeared.

 

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