And so it goes

            Peter felt giddy. He often did when the store was filled with children. Peter seemed like a big kid himself, wild red hair that always looked tousled, big green eyes that radiated happiness of a  child on Christmas morning, and a goofy grin that adults and children found endearing. He liked helping children. Watching their smiles as they stuffed their little plastic bags with candy from the bins. Occasionally an accompanying parent would flicker a scowl as they watched their children load up on the various jelly beans, lollipops, licorice, and chocolate pieces, but Peter would slide up to them and say, "Come on, children love candy. They're worth it, aren't they?"
            Children of all ages and their parents would filter in throughout the day, slowing down as the day wore on. Today was like any other weekend. In the corner, on a white wooden shelf, an old-fashioned alarm clock ticked away. When the hands conjoined into a single vertical strip, Peter got up locked the front door.
            He flipped the sign around with a sigh. "Little hands make such big messes."
            Grabbing a broom, Peter slowly walked through the store sweeping spilled candy into a pile before using a plastic dustbin to move the waste into a trashcan.
            Marching into the backroom, he loaded several large open containers on a rolling gray metal cart. He liked to fill the bins after closing instead of prior to opening. On some mornings, even on school days, a small crowd of children gathered in front of the old wooden door, jumping about excitedly as he walked up.             Peter noted he was completely out of red jelly beans. He would have to order more from the distribution center.  
            After counting out the register, he pushed the cart back into the stock room.   He didn't like this part of the day. The store was so quiet. He missed the noise of people. The silence seemed to close around him. Sitting at the office desk, he recorded the day's take in an old leather journal. On the edge of the desk was the knife he used to open the packages. Peter stared at the intricate etching along the blade and squinted at the tiny letters. So small and so perfect. It seemed to call out to him. Peter picked up the knife and with a large smile, quickly ran the edge across his wrists and watched the blood spurt out.
            "Morning sweetie," Alice said, kissing him on the nose. "Sleep well?"
            Peter rolled over into the sheets. "No, I feel like I tossed and turned all night."
            His wife frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. She put her hand on his chest. "Bad dream?"
            Peter tried to remember but only had flashes of red jelly beans spilling on the floor. "I can't remember all of it now. It wasn't bad, just disjointed."
            "Since it is Saturday, do you want me to come to the store with you?" Alice asked.

            "It's not Sunday?" Peter asked. He was sure yesterday was Saturday.

            "No silly," Alice said. "It is Saturday all day long. You are getting forgetful in your old age."

            "I'm only thirty," he said with a yawn. "Are you sure you want to go? It can get a little dull in the middle of the day."
            "I do not mind."
            Peter stared at Alice for a moment. Something seemed odd, but he couldn't place it. His vision blurred for a moment.

            "I don't mind," she said. Peter shrugged his shoulders and headed to the shower.

            After getting dressed, Peter silently sat at the kitchen table staring at the scrambled eggs on the plate. He tried to pull the images of the dream together. The more he concentrated on the random flashes of memory, the less pronounced they seemed.
            "Peter, you need to eat," Alice said. "Your breakfast is growing cold."

            "Sorry. There was something about that dream."

            "Forget it, sweetie," Alice said and reached for her coat.  "Come on. If you are not going to eat, then we can head to the store."
            The two walked arm and arm down the street. It was a nice day, a tad chilly with a few scant clouds in the sky. It was only a few blocks to the store and Peter liked the walk. Seeing the people go about their lives and hearing the noise of traffic, everything seemed in motion, alive. A group of children playing ball in the park caught his attention. He wondered if he and Alice should consider having one of their own.
            "Wait here," Peter said and walked out into oncoming traffic, careening into a large truck unable to stop in time. Peter's body flailed in the air like an old rag doll before crumpling to the ground.
            "Morning sweetie," Alice said, kissing him on the nose. "Sleep well?"
            "No, I had a horrible dream." Peter tried to focus on the exact details. "Something about kids playing with a giant toy truck."
            "Stay in bed and get some rest," Alice said. "I will make some tea for you."
            Peter threw back the covers. "No, I have to open the store."  He liked working at the store and the thought of staying home made him uncomfortable. He had to go. Sunday was a popular day for candy. Or was it Saturday?
            Standing in the shower, feeling the water running over his head, he tried to hold on to the dream but it drifted away. By the time he was dressed, the strangeness had all but faded.
            "Since it is Saturday, do you want me to come to the store with you?" Alice asked, helping Peter into a coat.
            "Didn't we do that yesterday?" he asked.
            "No silly," she said putting her hands on her hips. "I had to work yesterday. REMEMBER."
            Peter vision blurred for a moment. He shook his head and did remember. She was running late because she couldn't find shoes to match her outfit. He remembered it all now, including finding the perfect pair of shoes hiding under the dresser.
            Alice frowned. "Perhaps you should stay in bed and get some rest."

            "I really need to open the store."
            "Do you want to be tired and cranky all day?" Alice asked with a frown. "Some rest would do you some good. The children can all get their candy tomorrow. The world will not end."
            "I'll be fine, really. When I get home, we'll go out. Have a night on the town," Peter said and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.

    Whistling a tune, he walked out of their apartment and up the stairs. Opening the door to the roof, he squinted in the morning sun and with a smile on his face marched off the edge of the building.

            When he opened his eyes, Peter was covered in a thick, viscous, red fluid.  Hoses ran out of a large mask covering his nose and mouth.  In a flash of panic, he reached up to remove the cluster of hoses. His fingers felt stiff and thick, and his arms like lead. As the momentary disorientation faded, dim memories of an endless cycle of within the same egg-shaped prison returned, stronger than the last time. Killing himself had brought him here before. Peter stared out the clear wall of the capsule. A flashing red light illuminated the same figure slumped across a nearby desk as before.  He tapped on the wall of the capsule trying to wake who ever it was.

            A loud klaxon blared over the voice, "Emergency medical staff report to lab four. Repeat, Emergency medical staff report to lab four."
            Peter wiped some of the fluid from his eyes. As his vision cleared, he saw the figure was the desiccated remains of somebody long dead in a dirty yellow lab coat. Beneath its skeletal fingers a faded newspaper read, "3 billion dead and rising" in bold letters.  Panic set in as Peter realized he's been trapped in the capsule far longer than theoriginal three hour test. How long had the system keep him alive inside the sealed environment of the capsule?  Weeks? Years?

            "Subject returned to simulation pending manual shut down. Resetting short term memory to last known parameters," said a flat metallic voice.  "Benzodiazepine added to vapor intake according to existing parameters."

            There was a sudden sour taste in his mouth as Peter breathed in. His vision blurred and he slumped back into the capsule, struggling to stay awake wondering was there anybody left alive to free him?  There was a flash of light and Peter's mind went blank.

            "Morning sweetie," Alice said, kissing him on the nose. "Sleep well?"