It had been a gloomy day; all day.
She had emptied the machine and put the clothes out on the back line, earlier. There didn’t seem to be any sun, but she hung it all anyway. Now, back inside, she returned to her cooking. She knew how much he enjoyed a pot roast. He would be home soon and she would make sure everything was ready. Ready for him. Yes, it was somehow essential that it was all exactly the way he would like it to be. This sense of nervousness was bothering her. What was she not telling herself? She shrugged off the silliness and began laying the table. With everything looking just right, she went through to the front window; the way she always did.
It was almost what she had expected.
The street was empty. No sign of people. Looking up, the sky was now a deeper shade of black. Moving to one side, she could see his car, still in the driveway, where it had been all day.
Going to the front door, she cracked it open, slowly. Stepping out, it was hard to breathe. Her lungs were stinging. In the gloom, she could just make out his car door hanging open. He was lying on the front lawn.
With eyes also stinging, she looks up.
It had started.
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