Another job application rejected. He crossed it from the list and closed the laptop lid in a slow, depressing tilt.

  Huddled in the pitfalls of self-pity. Slumped in his suit pants and pressed shirt in an attempt to fool himself into believing he had somewhere to go. Something to accomplish.

  Meanwhile his abandoned bowl of cornflakes drowned in mush and the pile of dirty laundry was mobilising its army off the bed and across the floor.

  He didn’t even have the energy to cover his face as he sneezed into the open air.

  A rapid barrage rapped on the front door and snapped the sunken eyed soldier out of the war with himself.

  Who was knocking?

  He never had any visitors.

  It might be the solar panel guy again he thought.

  He had felt bad turning him away the other week, but who works in the sun business in a town of constant downpour. Not exactly the brightest idea. I mean he had the nerve to give his pitch from under an umbrella, in damp socks.

  It was pissing down right now, like that day.

  Oh, what if someone was simply seeking shelter from the storm. A bolt of guilt shot through him, and he reached for the handle faster than the thought had occurred.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Oh, no. An old man stood on the other side swimming in his boots. Now he felt ten times worse, stranding the elderly outside.

  “Mind if I borrow your roof for a minute?” The old man asked in an unexpected merry tone.

  “Of course, come in,” he stammered, ushering the way as he ran to fetch a towel for his guest.

  “Beautiful day we’re having!” He shouted with a chuckle, still dripping in the doorway, wringing his beanie out a bucket full.

  The old man ripped away his wet layers, dried his fluffy white mutton chops with the towel, and shined his bald scalp as his host prepared tea out of sight in the kitchen.

  “Where were you heading out in this weather anyway?” He asked, setting down their cups.

  The stranger took a temperature testing sip before replying. “I am on a mission of upmost importance. My path is finally certain with purpose. Win back my love…and redeem myself as hers.”

  The man’s conviction held the house in silence for a moment before his host could cut it with a joke. “I could use some certain purpose about now, you don’t got any to spare, do you?”

  The stranger leaned in, refusing to break his seriousness.

  “I do indeed.”

  The old man then held out his hand, “I’m Bernie by the way.”

  “Spencer,” the younger returned.

  The former strangers shook hands, and the room shifted suddenly, as if an earthquake was moving plates directly beneath them. It jolted again half a second later, then began to spin. It picked up speed fast, all of the furniture hit the walls, and the paint started dripping horizontally. The wooden floorboards creaked and peeled upwards, with their nails shooting into the ceiling.

  Colour was ripped from everything in the house. The yellow from the smiley face fridge magnets, the warm brown from the floor and table. Even the orange from the juice separated and circled the room in a spiral of chaos.

  The two men were spinning in the centre, lifted in mid air from the force. Each revolution their grip began to slip more and more. Reality unravelled around them as they now became a blur, and just as their contact was about to break, the two vanished in a blink.