It's The End of the World as We Know It.

Hi everyone: This is the first short story i have written in a while, so feedback is greatly appreciated. I feel there is more to be added on, and may extend it into a few chapters worth, but i would be keen to hear peoples thoughts on it so far. Thanks in advance my lovelies!

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I knew something was wrong the minute I saw the setting sun. It was more than just a profound sense of undoing, or some ominous dread washing over me; it was the sunset itself. It was setting the wrong way.

As I watched the fiery sphere descend I even got out my compass to check. And yes, I mean a good, old fashioned brass compass with a needle and everything, I didn’t whip out an expensive i-phone or blueberry (or do they call them blackberries?) and press a few buttons to activate some sort of ‘app’. I’m the old fashioned sort, the sort that knows that when the end of the world comes and we are left each man for himself, I won’t be the one facing certain death because my phone battery has died, thus leaving me without a compass or a torch or a map and whatnot. I am a warrior or the earth, a soldier in the battle I call life.

But I digress; please dear boy, do not let me side track like that or I shall surely talk for hours on something that has no real relevance to my story.

And so, I checked my compass and sure enough, the sun was setting in the East, not the West as it had done for time immemorial. This troubled me greatly, for the world around me seemed exactly as it had done yesterday, when the sun was still setting in the West. Nothing had changed as one would expect when something like this occurs, the people still walked up and down the street oblivious, the neighbourhood cats still stalked the alleyways scavenging scraps, and the old homeless guy still stood on the corner, one minute asking people for change and the next minute ranting and raving about how we were all going to hell. Maybe, I thought as I stared at the dwindling sky, he has been right about that one.

I couldn’t understand why no-one else had noticed. Was it that people were too wrapped up in their own worlds, too ignorant to notice, or maybe just too damned stupid; despite the wondrous technological and scientific breakthroughs made every single day, the average person is most definitely getting dumber. It’s like all these tools and gadgets that were made to enhance our existence are in fact just numbing it, our very brains being replaced by these tiny chunks of plastic we can fit into the pocket of our jeans.

Or maybe I was the only one who could see it. Maybe, to everyone else the sun was still setting in the West. Maybe it was only me to whom the sun was setting in the East.

These were troubling thoughts, and ones I carried with me home. Home is a modest place. Essentially, it is a shed at the bottom of my elderly parents’ garden. There is an outdoor shower I am permitted to use, which you may think is more trouble than it’s worth to be clean in the winter months, but I am the hardy sort who can endure the cold; and a portaloo which I am responsible for cleaning out, which is no concern because beyond the garden fence is a large amount of woodland, and so I just dig a big hole and bury it all. I like to think of it as giving back to nature. Sure, it would be easier to just dump it all in the small stream that runs through it, but I don’t like the idea of contaminating the water supply; I may need it in the future.

The wooden shed itself is a sturdy structure, withstood a lot of battering’s from our good old English weather. That to me is more important than the interior. To be honest, there isn’t much to tell you about the inside of my place. There is a beaten arm chair I saved from a skip and a mattress in one corner piled high with blankets and duvets and pillows, (just because I can endure the cold my friend,  doesn’t mean I don’t like keeping warm; and as you can imagine keeping warm in a wooden shed is not easy). These take up roughly one quarter of my shed. The other quarter is filled with books and essays and maps, on all sorts of subjects; psychology, history, survival guides, medicine, and even the odd novel or two. There are essays I’ve written, essays other people have written, articles torn from magazines in WH Smith, and maps of the local areas throughout the last several hundred years. Name a subject, I can guarantee you I will have a book on it. Knowledge is the key, in my mind. They key to what? I hear you ask. Well…the key to everything, to success, to survival! You can never know too much.

Another quarter of my room is taken up by tools and equipment. I don’t mean tools as in the D.I.Y sense, although you will find the odd screwdriver and spanner if you hunt around, I mean tools as in the tools that will help me survive in the wild, such as a tent, fishing rod, net, knives, gun cartridges, spare sheets on canvas, string…the list is endless. I am sure you have noticed by now, that when the end of the world comes, as it is, I am the best sort of person to know. I am the sort of person that could keep you alive. Otherwise, why would you be here, listening to me ramble? I promise, we will get to the reason you are here soon enough. But first, let me continue.

The last quarter of my tiny shed is taken up by provisions; tinned food, containers of water and squash, rice and pasta, sugar and flour and anything else that will keep. Well, it’s not as if I have a fridge or a freezer to keep my food in is it? Again, a commodity I can do without.
So yes, back to the story. I had just come in, and intrigued by what I had seen I set about pouring through old journals of travellers and explorers and natural scientists to see if I could find anything that may explain or even allude to the phenomenon I had just seen. But there was nothing. After a while, I stopped my search; I knew I would find nothing. Nothing like this had ever happened before. I wouldn’t find my answers in the past. I needed to speak with someone in the now.

Despite the darkening hour, it couldn’t wait. Grabbing my mac I left the shed, padlocking it behind me, and went to find one of the only people I knew who had the faintest hope of helping me.

Professor Steinbeck is the head of Scientific research at one of London’s top universities, I forget which one, they’re all the same to me; specifically, in natural science. I met him several years ago at a conference where he had been giving a talk on something or other, again I forget. I’m sure I could recall it if I wanted, but time is short, and I won’t dampen my memory of these important happenings with trivialities. At this time of night, I knew Steinbeck would probably still be at the University; in fact, I almost believe that he never left. Sure enough, as I walked through the giant arched gates and into the building, past security with who I am on first name terms with, I saw the artificial lights streaming through his office door and breaking through the darkness of the corridor.

I knocked and entered, there was never any need to wait for an invitation. I had not seen Steinbeck in just over a year, although it never felt that long, but he hadn’t changed a bit. A few more wrinkles to add to his already withered face maybe, but the wispy strands of feathered grey hair still stood on his head, and his dark brown eyes seemed as full of depth and compassion as ever.

“Midas, my old friend” he beamed, looking up from his desk with a hint of surprise. “What brings you here this late?”

I feel I should mention that Midas was a nickname given to me by the professor, a witty and ironic tribute to my minimalistic nature and my rejection of riches such as gold and money, or even a decent bed.

As I approached the desk, he rose to greet me, shaking my hand warmly in a grip that was still as strong as it was when he had been a lad most probably.

“I trust that seeing that it is you, this is no quick social visit?” he surmised, the corner of his lips twitching amusedly.

“I’m afraid not” I replied as I settled myself down in the wooden chair on the opposite side of the desk. It was as every university lecture hall should be; the stage down front with a large screen behind it for visual stimuli, the wooden chairs with their foldable tables towering up towards the ceiling, the walls painted a dark and modest blue and home to posters and banners of famous scientists and revolutionary thinkers. The desk at which Steinbeck sat behind was positioned in the corner of the room, just off from the stage giving him a perfect view of the entire arrangement. To me, it was an environment that oozed knowledge and wisdom, a seat for lively and well thought out debates. I loved that place.

There was no need for the usual formalities and small talk one usually starts off with around Steinbeck, despite not having seen him for so long, and so I jumped right into the reason I was there, the sunset. He listened as I spoke, leaning back on his chair with one hand stroking an invisible beard in that classic thinkers pose. When I had finished, he sat silently.

“You weren’t the only one to notice it” he said, after a moment.

I must admit, I was slightly relieved, as it meant that I hadn’t finally gone crazy.

“But it seems that only people from this city have noticed” he continued.

The surprise on my face must have been evident, for he gave a grim chuckle.

“I know” he said, shifting his weight on his chair so he was facing me directly. “I do not know what to make of it either. It’s been kept pretty quiet, although I’m surprised the media hasn’t found out yet.”

We both sat there in silence, pondering what this meant. Truth was, neither of us knew.

We stayed up late into the night, talking about what it could mean. Just some glitch in mother nature’s usually flawless design? The end of the world? Or something much more sinister?

No closer to the truth, I left Steinbeck’s with the promise to return if something like this should happen again and went back to my shed.

The next day I waited fervently for sunset, trying to find things to occupy my mind during the day so I wouldn’t dwell on it. But something like that is not something you forget lightly.

As sunset came, I went out into the garden and looked towards the West. Despite the paling sky, I could see no setting sun. Turning my head, I didn’t even need to see before I knew; it was setting in the East again.

This time I did not wait around to see what would happen next. I went straight to Steinbeck’s office. Sure enough he was there, gazing out of the window as the sun performed its strangest miracle.

“It’s not just here anymore” he said as I walked through the door, turning to me with a look I had never seen before upon his face. I could not work out whether it was fear or madness.

“What do you mean?” I asked, joining him at the window and watching the last bit of light dip behind the horizon.

“The next two cities across have also seen it tonight.” He informed me. “The media are already kicking up a storm.

Steinbeck did not have a TV in the room, but I could only imagine the sorts of scare stories and pandemonium that was about to ensue. The media is our biggest enemy, the most powerful thing humans have created; it has the power to control us, to tell us how to think or feel about something, to strike the fear of God into our hearts, to make us hate and anger and cast stones. But again, I am going off topic, for if there is one thing I hate most in this wretched world it is the media.

“Has nobody worked out what’s doing this?” I asked, incredulous.

Steinbeck sighed heavily; it was a troubled sigh, but there was more to it than that. As he turned his back and walked towards his desk, I could sense that there was something he wanted to say.

“Steinbeck, this is me” I reminded him. “Anything you want to say, you know you can say it.”

He chuckled, that same grim chuckle I had heard yesterday.

“Nobody has come up with any theory yet that can definitely explain what we are seeing” he began, shuffling some papers around his desk, placing them in order. “But I have my own theory.”

He sat down and picked up the papers.

Intrigued, I sat with him, and waited. For a minute he did nothing but stare at the papers, as if weighing up whether he should let me in on his little secret. Finally, he spoke.

“I believe that, in its most basic sense, we are being pulled into another dimension.”

It sounded so surreal that I believed it. Steinbeck had no reason to joke about things such as this. When I didn’t say anything, he continued.

“The ‘other dimension’ theory is one that, as you well know, has been debated for some time, and still nobody can say for sure if they really exist. But assuming that they do…”

He trailed off, shaking his head as if he didn’t believe what was coming out of his own mouth.

“…Then I believe that we are in fact being pulled into another dimension, one where the sun sets in the East and god knows what else happens! Yes, today it’s the sun setting in the wrong direction, but who is to say what else could happen the deeper we get pulled in! Think about it!” he urged. “The very laws of nature, the universe itself, being rewritten; or not even rewritten, just….different. Over the next few days, more and more cities will notice it as we slowly get pulled in, then countries, and eventually maybe even the entire world will be plunged into this new and strange dimension!”

I knew better than to think it crazy, even though this seemed the sort of thing that was resigned more to the science fiction section of the local bookstore. If there was one thing I had learnt, it was that anything was possible. And if Steinbeck believed it was possible, then it clearly was so.

“Have you told anybody about this?” I asked.

“A couple of people” he replied. “Luckily there are so few theories on this that scientists are willing to listen to any sort of theory or formula at the moment.”

He handed me the papers that had grown creased from his grip. I read them; a slightly more in depth analysis of what Steinbeck had just told me, and an approximation of which cities would be next in line to experience what we were experiencing, and a chart showing just how long it would be until the entire world descended into chaos.

“What can we do?” I asked, putting the papers down on the desk, although in my heart I already knew the answer.

Leaning forward, he rested his head in his hands as he replied,

“Absolutely nothing.”

That night I went to a tiny café on the corner of Peaches Avenue and bought myself a coffee. I don’t usually allow for luxuries such as café’s or coffee, but I figured this was a good a time as any, and I thought long and hard about what this meant. In a sense, it was the end of the world. I could only imagine the panic that was about to break out, the madness people would spread. I had expected the end of the world for quite some time now. That is why I had collected all the necessary tools and books that now filled my tiny shed. It was the end of the world, and I was prepared. All along I had known my plan if this should happen; hide out in my shed, ride it out until the dust had settled, and only then venture out to discover what sort of a world I had been left living in. Would I be the only survivor? It was a terrifying thought. And that is why you are here, boy. Call it fate, call it destiny, or simply blind luck, but when I passed you by on the street on my way home, I knew that you were the one. You are young and strong. I can teach you how to survive and together we shall see this through until a new world emerges, and then we shall walk together into that new world and search for survivors and unite the people. We have a chance to start over, to right the wrongs we have done to this planet and to one another. I am sure you have been watching the news, and have seen the sunset for yourself. If you think my story is crazy, if you suspect me of being insane, then feel free to walk away now. But my shed is just down this street; if you wish to survive, to help me build a lasting new world on the foundations of this broken one, then come with me now; the choice is yours.