Looking up at the sky, I could tell it was roughly around 6 in the afternoon. How the sky turned into that deep orange has filled me with anxiety since I was a kid. It always meant that it would be dark soon, and the night used to frighten me. But not because I was afraid of monsters or ghosts; to me, it meant that I would have to go to sleep and go to school the next day. The orange-colored sky meant that the day was coming to an end, and strangely, it meant that I was getting older. When I was a child, I didn’t know that I was feeling that kind of existential dread, but now that I am in my mid-20s, I think about it more than ever.

The soft color shines on the rest of this town, only to be contrasted by the intricate shadows cast by the clouds and buildings blocking the sunlight. The black asphalt of the road bounces the light perfectly; it almost seems like an oil portrait painted by someone who has never seen black asphalt before. Some no-name artist not burdened by the modernity of man.

As far as I know, I just exited one of the many alleyways to this old town and needed help. Despite not knowing where I was, I decided to walk down the street. I looked at the businesses and little storefronts on both sides of the road to see if I could recognize where I was. Looking towards the south, I could see those beautiful green mountains that always loomed over me. So, I know that I must be somewhere in St. Anthony, but where?

I had no idea.

All the little storefronts looked very familiar, but at the same time, they looked foreign; like I’ve visited these places before, but nothing feels right. I tried to read one of the signs for the stores, and it was barely legible. The words were all jumbled up and blended; it was pure gibberish. Then, a thought occurred to me.

Where is everyone?

If I was right about the time, the streets of St. Anthony were usually packed with people going home from work or the older kids returning from the ferry ride from San Francisco. But no one was walking. The streets were utterly empty. Cars weren’t even roaming the streets. I thought to myself, “Was there some kind of evacuation? No, the sirens would’ve been going off!”

But the eeriness of the situation began to creep into my soul; something was going on, and I must’ve been left behind. I decided to start 2walking to the nearest port, wherever that was. I just had to walk alongside the island’s edge, and I would come across a dock. As I walked, I tried to remember how I found myself as the last one left in St. Anthony, but no matter how hard I attempted to recollect my memories, I couldn’t. It’s like I’ve been drinking the whole day before and had a significant blackout. But why would I be drinking? I usually drank for a reason.

Suddenly, in the distance, I can hear the whirring of a helicopter coming towards me. In relief, I looked up in the sky, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, but I couldn’t see anything. Nevertheless, I was still relieved that I was hearing something other than the deafening silence I was experiencing up until then. A spotlight shone down on me, but when I looked straight up, it seemed like the light was coming from a slow-moving cloud above me.

“Maybe the helicopter is above the cloud,” I said aloud, “At least I can see it.”

As I began to feel joy that I was being saved, the light turned off, but the sound persisted. I stood still and waited for the helicopter to come down, but it never did. Puzzled, I contemplated whether I should just stay and wait or try to get on one of the building’s roofs, “What if it has a hard time coming to ground level?” I thought. But something inside me was urging me to continue walking towards the port. So, I did precisely that, and the whole time I walked, the dreadful drone of the helicopter’s blade never left my ears.

The tone of the whirring blades began to have an ominous presence; despite my best efforts to be calm in this situation, I was starting to be on edge. That sound must have followed me for about 20 minutes before something happened.

I suddenly fell to the rough road from a sudden sharp pain in my chest. It stung like someone must have stabbed me in the heart. I thought someone must’ve shot me. On my hands and knees, I lifted my head to check my surroundings and see what happened to me, “Did the helicopter have a sniper?” I questioned. There was nothing all around me. Just myself and a soft wind: that I can swear that I heard carry a voice. I hoisted myself up from the ground and tried to collect myself, but the gentle breezes continued to blow into my ears.

I thought I might’ve been imagining it, but no! I can swear there are voices in the wind. I stood still, looking around, and listened closely to what the voices were saying.

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“What happened?”

“How long...”

“... Dead?”

The voices sounded distinct, like they all belonged to different people, but I had never heard of these voices before up until now. But it wasn’t something that scared me; the voices sounded like they were concerned. Still, I was strangely calm, like these agents encouraged me to continue my journey.

“Don’t stop fighting...”

“Please, just...”

Then, a song began to play from what sounded like emergency sirens. I immediately recognized the smooth music and almost began singing along to it. It was San Franciscan Nights, but not the original version but the one by Gábor Szabór. I owned this record with this song and would play it nonstop when I first got it, but I would always skip the intro. The constant scratching of the vinyl must’ve annoyed my mother and grandmother.

Lost in the song, I began to recognize where I was at. I was in my neighborhood; the same streets and stores I roam during the day were all there but remained empty. With the music accompanying me, I walked through the dead streets and came across something I hadn’t noticed before: a large house.

I approached the gate leading to the house in awe and confusion. “I’ve never seen this place before,” escaped my mouth.

“You’re finally home,” cheerfully called out a woman’s voice.

I scanned the house to see where the voice came from and realized a woman was sitting on the porch. Thank God, for a second, I thought the place was talking to me. But once that silly thought passed, I was ecstatic; finally, there was another person than me in this town. However, she spoke to me with this strange familiarity, and I can swear that I never met this woman before.

“You’re finally home, my Frankie,” called out the woman again with a bright smile.

As I entered the gate and approached the porch, I began to take in her features. She must’ve been no older than me, with this bright reddish hair and pale complexion. My mother would tell me that most of the women, and even the men, were Ginger back in the old country before they moved to America. Besides myself and my family, we are the only red-headed people here, but even our skins weren’t as colorless as the woman before me.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are. What is this place? Is this where you live?” I asked the woman. As I started to walk up the short stairs leading to the porch, I saw that she was breastfeeding an infant, but she was covering the child’s face. “Something is going on here in St. Anthony. Do you know what is going on?” I asked.

She looked at me with her cheerful smile and pointed with her chin behind me. I turned to see what she was trying to show me, and she told me, “There’s nothing to worry about, Franklin; nothing is happening here. The streets are just quiet like they’ve always been.”

Confused, I asked her, “Where is everyone?”

“They all went their own way: some left for San Francisco, some even left to farther places of this world, and some just stayed in the comfort of their own home.”

“So, people are just in their homes?” I asked the woman.

“Yes, isn’t that why you came back here? To be beside me?”

“But... But I don’t know this house. I’ve never seen it before in my life”, I told her with conviction, and it was true. I have never seen this house once in my life, and I lived here in St. Anthony for the entirety of it. It’s like this house just sprang out from the earth.

The woman gave a small smile, although it wasn’t one of happiness but instead one of compassion, almost as if she felt sorry for me. That made me feel uneasy. “Don’t say things like that, Frankie. I’ve seen you build this house with your own two hands. I occasionally sat a brick down, but it was mostly you”, the woman said as she giggled, “I remember you even told me it was your life’s mission to build this place.”

Shocked, I stood there on the stairs. How can I possibly forget about building an entire house? This wasn’t even an ordinary-sized house either; this place could’ve been the size of a small mansion. I looked up at the rest of the house and felt crushed by its presence. The size of it made me feel insignificant compared to it. There’s no way these hands built something as giant as this.

I did not know what to think or say, so I just looked at the woman and her warm smile. “Who are you?” were the only words I could utter.

A soft breeze blew by her and swayed her beautiful red hair, “Just go inside the house, Franklin. You look tired.” She raised her hand and pointed towards the doors leading into the house.

The song that was being played on the emergency sirens had come to an end. A soft breeze followed, and a voice that simply cried, “Please... wake up.”

I was looking at the ceiling of an office building, and my entire body was in excruciating pain.