Details

   It would be easy for me to say I woke up in the morning with a strange new feeling of sudden change. Really easy, and not at all true. It's one of those lies you tell yourself to make your story just a tiny bit more interesting than the others.  Brains are sometimes useful when they lie for you, but in this case I would feel bad if I didn't try to be as honest as possible. 

   But try and remember I said so. Honesty also upsets people sometimes. 

   The boring truth is that I woke up too late in the day, to voices in the street outside. I didn't know what time it was, and I don't think it will make any difference to this story if you knew all the tiny details  about the first day.

   The sun was in that place in the sky where it shines through the wrong window, making you feel sweaty and guilty. The voices on the street belonged to a couple of older men. I can't remember what they were talking about, but if they hadn't watched the news that day it probably went something like this:

   "Is that so?"

   "Alot going on."

   "Aint that the truth!"

   "Yep."

   "Yep."

    Now that I think about it, they probably would've stayed on a similar subject even if they had watched the news.

   I snoozed, whatever that means, for another hour, until the uncomfortable feeling of still lying down got worse than the uncomfortable feeling of standing up. A red t-shirt with a palmtree on it was found and smelled at. Jeans were put on accompanied by groans. Socks were of different color. Again, a detail that isn't at all relevant to the story, but perhaps puts me in my place as someone who didn't really wanted to be awake at all that day.

   I dragged my thirtytwo year old body to the kitchen were I drank juice out of the box and put it back. Families and happy couples eat breakfast. Single people drink juice. 

    I walked back into the hall and went to the bathroom. 

   This however, is relevant to the story. Not the urination, but the fact I at that point started to realize that something was odd. A thundering sound of footsteps in the stairs outside my door started to poor into my apartment and my bathroom. It sounded like everyone had decided to run up and down at the same time.  If such a thing is even possible. 

   "Why..." I said, frustrated over the fact someone was in a hurry.

   I flushed, stared at my uninterested expression in the mirror for the usual one and a half seconds, then proceeded to the hall were I mashed the same face with my door.

   And no, there weren't a hundred people running around in the stairs, but there was some unusual activity. The people I saw all had the same strange facial expression. It was like all their tiny face muscles had given up. Except the eyes, which were wide open. And they were also yelling some things that didn't seem to match each other.

   "Yes!"

   "Honey, lock the door!"

   "Oh my god oh my god oh my god."

   "I'll be right there, don't hang up!" 

  This wasn't easy to make any sense of. And I really didn't feel like opening the door and ask my neighbours, mostly because I had a good streak of not saying more then a single word to any of them since I moved in.

   At these moments, when you're not sure what has happened but you don't feel like being involved, you make up an event you're not really interested in, so you can continue not being interested.

   So, I convinced myself that there was a demonstration going on close to where I lived. Beautiful. That explained it.

   Of course this really wasn't the case.

   Of course. 

   It was around ten minutes later, when I found my phone, that I got to join the bug eyed club outside.

   The TV in the livingroom was already on so naturally I was zombified by it and ensnared by my sofa. I didn't have any actual channels because seriously, why would you? instead I flipped through my installed time passing software of old TV shows from back in the day when they used actors. If I was lucky I would find I show I had only watched two or three times before.

   The point here is of course that even though I lived in a society were you can't miss the news and being messaged about new things no matter what you do or where you go, I somehow managed to, most likely, be the last person to know what the hell was going on.

   Buried under my left thigh was my ridiculously flat smartphone. It wasn't ringing, but when I dug it out out and looked at the screen I realized it had been. Fifteen missed calls. Drunk calls? Or did I call myself fifteen times? No that didn't seem likely, after all I didn't sleep on the sofa this night.

   The log said: Mom four calls. Peter six calls. Hank three calls. Julie one call. (weird)

   Oh, and I did call myself one time.

    I felt my heart sink a little bit. And of course I thought that maybe some country decided that they didnt like us after all and had started bombing us.

   I called Peter. He answered immediately and started to yell at me.

   "What the hell man answer your phone! Where are you?"

   "I..."

   "We are at the park taking pictures!"

   "Ok...Why..."

   "Bring some beer! Wohooo! Yeah! I touched one! It was so weird! Ok see you soon!" 

   Click.

   I don't know how long I looked at my phone after that. But what I want to see is my facial expression. I hope I had one.