Jonas Silk stepped out of the elevator as the door to his apartment slid open with a soft hiss. The ambient lighting of the hallway welcomed him with a familiar, soothing glow, guiding him into the sleek, minimalist space he called home.

“Doris,” Jonas called out, “prepare dinner. And make the windows transparent.”

The house computer responded instantly. “Of course, Mr. Silk. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Jonas walked further into the living area as the windows slowly shifted from opaque to transparent, revealing the cityscape beyond. The view was breathtaking, one of the reasons he had rented this expensive apartment. The metropolis stretched out before him, a sea of lights glittering against the dark canvas of night. Towering skyscrapers, interwoven with neon pathways, reached up toward the sky, their tops lost in the haze of low-hanging clouds. Far below, streams of hovercrafts moved in orderly lines, their lights casting an ethereal glow over the streets.

But as Jonas gazed out over the city, something felt off. A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of the lights in the distance caught his attention. He frowned, leaning closer to the glass. It happened again, a brief flicker in one of the sectors, barely noticeable if one wasn’t paying attention. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Jonas tore his gaze away from the flickering lights and settled into the plush chair that conformed perfectly to his body. With a thought, he activated the control panel embedded in the armrest.

"Doris, bring up my social channels and switch to inner sound".

“Inner sound activated,” Doris confirmed. Jonas felt a subtle shift as the ambient noise of the apartment faded, replaced by the crisp, immersive audio fed directly into the tiny implants nestled deep within his ears. It was as if the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the connection between him and the streams of data he was about to receive.

The windows lost some of their transparency, becoming a semi-opaque screen that displayed a cascade of information. Posts, messages, images, music, voices, and ads flowed seamlessly across the glass, a digital tapestry of his social world.

His attention was quickly drawn to a new post from his brother, Simon. A snapshot taken at sunset, the mountains in the background tinged with a warm orange glow. Simon had arrived in Denver, it seemed, and he wasn't alone. The photo was a candid shot of his daughter, Mia, perched on his shoulders, her laughter audible through the image. The caption read, "Finally made it! Denver at last. Mia's first time seeing the Rockies!"

Jonas felt a brief pang of something – was it envy? Nostalgia? He couldn't quite tell. He hadn’t seen Simon in months, their lives on diverging paths as they each pursued their own futures in different corners of the country. The last time they'd spoken was a rushed call, more out of obligation than any genuine connection.

With a gesture of his hand, he swiped the image aside, and more posts followed. Friends, acquaintances, colleagues – their lives played out in fragments across the screen. A couple he knew from university had just bought a new house, their smiling faces front and center in the feed. Another friend was promoting his latest business venture, the post accompanied by a barrage of flashing advertisements, each more intrusive than the last.

Jonas scrolled through the stream, the relentless influx of commercials and sponsored content mingling with the personal updates until they became indistinguishable. The relentless push of products, ideas, and lifestyles, made it hard to focus, to care about any of it. Yet, it was a part of his daily routine, a background hum that kept him connected to the world.

As he continued to scroll through the endless stream of updates, ads, and messages, his mind barely registering the content. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed it again—a brief, almost imperceptible flicker through the semi-transparent window. His hand paused mid-swipe, and a sense of unease began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Doris," he said, his voice tighter now, "shut it off."

Instantly, the window display vanished, returning the glass to its full transparency. Jonas leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the cityscape beyond. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The flicker he'd seen earlier was no isolated incident. In the distance, entire sectors of the city were blinking out, their lights extinguished as if swallowed by some unseen force. The darkness was spreading, creeping its way across the skyline, block by block, like a wave of ink spilling over the landscape.

He watched in horror as the blackout advanced, engulfing skyscrapers and neighborhoods alike, the once vibrant city now plunging into a terrifying void. The darkness moved with an eerie deliberateness, a force of nature that could not be stopped or reasoned with. It was as if the very life was being drained from the city, leaving behind only emptiness.

Jonas's heart pounded in his chest as he tracked the progress of the blackout. It was coming closer, faster than he could comprehend. The familiar landmarks of his world—the bright advertisements, the glowing pathways, the towering structures—were all vanishing, consumed by the relentless march of darkness.

"Doris," he called out, barely able to keep the tremor from his voice, "what's happening?"

But there was no response. The silence from the house computer only amplified his fear. He stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the window as the last remnants of light in the city flickered and died. The darkness was now at his doorstep, the world outside his window nothing more than an abyss.

And then, with a final, gut-wrenching flicker, the last light went out. The city was gone, swallowed whole by the blackness. Jonas was left alone in his apartment, surrounded by an impenetrable void, the only sound his own ragged breathing.

He stood frozen in the dark, the oppressive silence pressing in around him like a suffocating blanket. His heart raced, panic clawing at the edges of his mind. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak, to break the unbearable quiet.

“Doris, turn on the lights,” he commanded, his voice trembling.

There was no response. The apartment remained shrouded in pitch black, as if the world itself had vanished. Jonas had never seen darkness like this before, not in all his years. The city, his apartment, his life—everything had always been bathed in the soft glow of artificial light, always under control. But now… now there was nothing.

And the silence. The terrible, deafening silence. It was as if the world had stopped breathing. He could hear nothing but the frantic pounding of his own heart, each beat a drum in his ears. Desperation surged through him.

“Doris!” he shouted, his voice cracking, “Doris, answer me!”

But the house computer, always so reliable, remained eerily silent. Panic gave way to raw fear. He turned and stumbled toward the door, hands outstretched, fumbling in the darkness. When his fingers finally found the smooth surface, he pressed against it, trying to force it open.

“Door, open!” he demanded, his voice rising in pitch.

Nothing happened. The door, usually so obedient to his voice commands, stayed stubbornly shut. He banged his fists against it, the dull thuds echoing in the empty room.

“Open, damn it! Open!” he screamed, pounding harder until his hands ached. But the door wouldn’t budge. His strength drained away, leaving him panting against the unyielding surface. For a moment, he stood there, chest heaving, before he slowly slid down to the floor.

How did this all work? He had never thought about it before. The door just opened when he asked, the lights turned on with a word, food and water appeared on command. But now… now none of it worked. He was trapped in a darkness that felt alive, a darkness that seemed to be closing in on him.

He pushed himself up and moved slowly, feeling his way along the walls toward the kitchen. Maybe, just maybe, something there would still work.

“Computer—water,” he called out, his voice shaky.

Nothing.

He groped around, his fingers brushing against the cold, empty surface of the counter. Panic flared again. How did this all work? He’d never questioned it before, never needed to. Water and food were always there, always provided by the house systems. But now… now there was nothing. Would he starve? No, he’d die of thirst first, he realized. How long could this blackout last?

He forced the thought away and turned back toward the door, desperate for a way out. He moved too quickly, and his foot caught on something, sending him sprawling to the floor. Pain shot through his knee as he hit the ground, and he let out a cry. But there was no one to hear him. He lay there for a moment, the fear threatening to overwhelm him.

But he couldn’t stay down. Crawling now, he made his way back to the door, the hard surface a cold comfort against his hands. He pounded on it again, with less force this time, but more desperation.

“Doris!” he shouted, his voice breaking, “Doris, light on! Doris, open the door, I want out. DORIS! Please...”

The words echoed back at him, empty and meaningless. Soon his shouts turned to whimpers, his voice barely more than a whisper. But he couldn’t stop. He dared not stop, because if he did, the silence would be complete, and he feared what that would do to him. He pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear something, anything. The door was supposed to insulate sounds from outside, but in the stillness, he thought—no, he imagined—he could hear other bangs, other desperate souls trapped just like him.

He had never been disconnected from his inner headphones before, never been without Doris to guide him, to keep him safe, to make everything just… work. Now, without them, the world was a void, an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

“Doris, light on,” he begged, his voice barely more than a breath. “Doris, open the door… I want out… please… Doris…”

But there was nothing. No response. No light. No escape. Just the cold, unyielding door and the darkness pressing in from all sides.

He kept talking, kept pleading, his words becoming a stream of incoherent babble. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, because if he did, the silence would consume him, and he would be lost in the darkness forever.

***

 The door suddenly hissed open, and a burst of white, milky light flooded the room, casting away the oppressive darkness. Two silhouettes stepped inside, their forms haloed by the intense light they carried.

"Mr. Silk—can you hear us?" one of them called out, their voice steady, yet tinged with urgency.

Jonas was curled up in a ball on the floor, his eyes wide and unblinking, still fixed on the now-open doorway. His lips moved, forming words that fell into the void, inaudible to anyone but himself. He was lost in the abyss of his own mind, trapped by the silence that had consumed him.

"Mr. Silk!" the figure called again, more forcefully this time. "It's all over! Everything will be fine."

But Jonas continued to stare, his mind unable to process the words, unable to believe that the nightmare was truly over. The other figure knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Jonas didn't react. He was locked in his own world, the terror of the blackout still gripping him tightly.

"Mr. Silk, you've experienced a blackout," the figure explained, trying to reach through the fog of Jonas’s mind. "The largest blackout in twenty years. But now everything is back to normal. Please blink if you can understand me."

Jonas did not blink. His eyes remained wide, unseeing, as if he were still staring into the void that had swallowed his reality. The two figures exchanged a glance, their faces hidden behind masks that gave away nothing.

An anti-grav stretcher floated into the room, humming softly as it hovered above the ground. With practiced efficiency, the two figures lifted Jonas onto the stretcher, securing him gently. They programmed the stretcher to take him to the hospital, the soft glow of the stretcher’s lights casting eerie shadows on the walls as it prepared to move.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" one of the figures asked.

"They usually aren't," the other responded with a sigh, his tone heavy with the weight of experience. "But there's always a chance... Still, it's worse than expected."

The first figure nodded solemnly. "Yes, 3,211 victims so far... Even the second backup generators failed."

The anti-grav stretcher began to glide out of the room, carrying Jonas toward the long corridor. The two figures followed, the sound of their robotic, metallic voices trailing off into the distance as they moved on to the next emergency.

Thank you for reading 2030 A.D. You can also find it on Amazon if you would like to have it on your Kindle (click View Full Writing).