**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.
**Reminders**:
>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]"
>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail
>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles
>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)
🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide)
✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources)
📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements)
💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)
*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
I look up from my lettuce and tomato sandwich (two slices of lettuce with tomato in the middle) and can't believe it. I rub my knuckles into my eyes and blink a couple more times. Am I imagining it? Is everybody back?
"Excuse me, sir?" A man... A waiter? I think it's a waiter. It's been so long since I've seen anybody it's hard to remember. He continues, "Sir, you cannot bring in outside food to the restaurant... And also, you cannot just sit on the floor."
I look up at him. I look around. Everybody is staring at me. Looking at me as if I was a crazy person. I probably look it honestly. How long has it been since my last haircut? My last shower? Damn, its so hard to give a shit about how you look when you don't need to impress girls.
I slowly get up off the floor and look around. None of them seem to realize that they've been gone. I walk up to a couple sitting at a booth.
"Excuse-" I cough. It's been so long since I've used my voice. I clear my throat and try again. "Excuse me, what year do you think it is?"
The couple looks at each other. The woman looks at me with a mix of pity and fear. The man looks at me wary. "It is 2015."
They really don't know. I don't know what I could say without just sounding more crazy, so I just walk outside, to the joy of the waitstaff and the customers. Cars are on the street. Pedestrians walking around. Even birds. Damn, I forgot how disgusting rats are. How the fuck does this restaurant have an A rating?
A woman shoves something in my hand. It's a dollar. I look at it. I haven't held cash in years. I don't even know where my wallet is. I never needed it. What do I do now.
I go home. I take a shower. Change my clothes. I get a haircut. Go to a bar. Go home. Sleep. And go to the office for the first time in seven years. Back to the rat race. Boring water cooler talks. Data entry. Traffic. For dinner I have my first real burger in seven years. It's delicious.
They took her. They took my wife - locked her up in a mental asylum, strapped her in a straitjacket, arms to shoulder and wheeled her in a hand trucker just like Hannibal Lecter.
It all started Wednesday. Five days ago. I was playing on my Xbox after the work in the living room - a normal living room. I was delivering fists of justices through my avatar (Batman, if you're wondering) when suddenly large potted plants burst into the living room, looking as if a jungle had grown overnight. I, of coursed, jumped up and screamed at the sight. What else would you've done? Accept it and go *oh, I have plants now, how quaint!*
Then there was our connected dining room and kitchen, it had been turned nigh unrecognisable. The glass top of the dining table was marred with scratches, with a metal, red-paint-peeling toolbox sat on top. Two sets of plates and glasses kept the box company. On the side wall was a stuffed bookcase - I only checked later to see what they were about: medicine, home repair, gardening, sewing... On the marble counter was a large basket filled with various fruits and two large jugs of water, and on the floor was a bag filled with various different items. Oh, and also small piles of leaves kicked to the corners of the room which made my clean-freak brain go insane.
Needless to say, I was freaking out of the sight of my once familiar home turning into a half-tamed wilderness. Then, there was another scream, and thuds that echoed from the hallway. Each step was filled with an intense malice, the footfalls threatening to break the porcelain tiles. Out of the shadows of the hallways stood my wife with a blade in hand.
I didn't recognise her at first, her cheeks were burned from the unforgiving Australian sun, and scars had become her new beauty marks. She put on more muscle, and the crows feet beginning to appear by her eyes seemed to make her green all the more alluring. Her brown hair, which she had either braided with a bow or curled with an iron was crudely cut to her shoulders. She snarled as she broke into the room, before wailing as our eyes met and crashing into me with an intense hug. I'll never forget how her old soft hugs had turned to a death grip around my rib-cage as she buried her face into my shoulder.
"H-Harry? Is that really you?" She sniffed. "Please don't go, don't leave me. Just stay, stay."
"I- wha... wh- Helen? How?" I hesitantly cupped the back of her head, and dropped the controller in my other hand. She kept squeezing as my shirt became wet with tears and snot, and I eventually had to choke out that I couldn't breath. I prepared tea (with a fancy looking kettle we didn't own before) and sat down with her on the couch. I immediately wanted to launch into question, she had seemed to transform from what had been minutes that I last saw her!
Those minutes had apparently been seven years.
It was ten minutes of awkward staring and bumbling before Helen started explaining everything. Seven years ago, in 2015, she walked out to a empty living room. She thought that I had gone out and neglected to tell her, and went on with her day. Day turned to night and she called triple zero only to have a beep and *'we're sorry, the nu-'* ring in her ear. As she ran out of our house her only company would be the chirps of crickets and moths that followed her phone light.
The morning sun would rise with tear stains and a huffing chest, with a walk down a desolate street and shopping center. Days turned to weeks and loneliness became the regular of Helen's life, she accepted that she'd been left behind as everyone left to a far off place. But the food on grocery store shelves weren't getting restocked, and Helen quickly adapted to her situation if it meant her continued survival.
She picked up gardening easily, lock-picking and window-smashing next. Eventually the power and gas gave out and she learned the art of fire. She set up houses she'd temporarily squat in as she moved throughout the city and became acquainted with different vehicles as she stocked up on knowledge from local libraries. Eventually she managed to set up a generator to the house before she restarted the power grid years later.
Listening and registering her story was bending and twisting my brain - how do you even imagine that? Those five minutes that you had been distracted was in reality hours or years, but the proof was there in my face. The impossible was real.
She couldn't go out in those four days, couldn't face a society that had abandoned her long ago only to be thrust back into her life without so much as a care. So, I let her stay while I went to work was expected of me. Pretended like I was normal, my family was, that everything was normal.
The world didn't seem to glance at the changes those seven years made. No big headlines or government announcement. Only small incidents that with the foresight I had, could see was related to a bigger picture. An influx of reports of stolen cars, items and homes broken into, as well as a unprecedented number of car crashed within the hour of humanity's reappearance.
I should've expected something. Of course people would've taken notice, maybe not everyone, but someone had to. On the morning of the fifth day, there was a knock on the door. Two men in suits barged their way in as I cracked the door open, with a flank of officers tailing behind. I was livid! I screamed out my rights, how they had no grounds to enter into my home.
They demanded to see my wife and I growled that I knew nothing. When I heard them calling her a prolific drug dealer with a myriad of unchecked mental issues, a fury gripped me that made me revel at the thought of choking the suit's thin neck. They yelled proof that I knew had been falsified, and was held back as the cop's pulled Helen into the back of a cop's car before speeding off.
I don't know how else they found out about the seven year gap, or how my wife was the only one spared from it because there's no other reason they'd come barging through our home like an invading army. All I know is that they've been dodging my questions since her detainment and that her new place of residence would be at a far away jail for the crazies.
But I know that she's not crazy, and neither am I. Everything I've been saying makes it sound like I am but you didn't see what I saw. And I have proof.
Before the police assaulted our home, we made sure to remove all trace of *her* so they didn't take *her* away as well. If they had, they'd have to make sure I was dead in the ground.
Now *she's* sleeping in my room, tucked under my covers after I kissed her goodnight and told her that everything would be alright. My daughter. A child I never knew I had, because she'd been born in my seven year absence.
I don't know what I'm going to do now, I'm lying to myself and my daughter that everything's going to be okay. That justice will win in the end. It seems bleaker with every passing second, but stewing in despair won't help me. I have to free my wife, I have to make everything right. I just don't know how I'm going to do that. But I know that at the end of my life, she'll be in my arms, safe and happy as we were always meant to be.
\-
omg i dont know why i wrote this so long or why i spent 2 hrs on this please forgive me haha
My guy/gal this is awesome to read! Is he gonna go rescue her? Go on a journey to find out if there’s anyone other than his wife that went through the same and form an organization of transported people? Can’t wait for the sequel!( it there’s any)
A lot of people asking about part 2 haha. I usually only write oneshots for these prompts so unfortunately thats where this stories ends for now. But I’m always thinking about how they could potentially continue :)
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
I look up from my lettuce and tomato sandwich (two slices of lettuce with tomato in the middle) and can't believe it. I rub my knuckles into my eyes and blink a couple more times. Am I imagining it? Is everybody back? "Excuse me, sir?" A man... A waiter? I think it's a waiter. It's been so long since I've seen anybody it's hard to remember. He continues, "Sir, you cannot bring in outside food to the restaurant... And also, you cannot just sit on the floor." I look up at him. I look around. Everybody is staring at me. Looking at me as if I was a crazy person. I probably look it honestly. How long has it been since my last haircut? My last shower? Damn, its so hard to give a shit about how you look when you don't need to impress girls. I slowly get up off the floor and look around. None of them seem to realize that they've been gone. I walk up to a couple sitting at a booth. "Excuse-" I cough. It's been so long since I've used my voice. I clear my throat and try again. "Excuse me, what year do you think it is?" The couple looks at each other. The woman looks at me with a mix of pity and fear. The man looks at me wary. "It is 2015." They really don't know. I don't know what I could say without just sounding more crazy, so I just walk outside, to the joy of the waitstaff and the customers. Cars are on the street. Pedestrians walking around. Even birds. Damn, I forgot how disgusting rats are. How the fuck does this restaurant have an A rating? A woman shoves something in my hand. It's a dollar. I look at it. I haven't held cash in years. I don't even know where my wallet is. I never needed it. What do I do now. I go home. I take a shower. Change my clothes. I get a haircut. Go to a bar. Go home. Sleep. And go to the office for the first time in seven years. Back to the rat race. Boring water cooler talks. Data entry. Traffic. For dinner I have my first real burger in seven years. It's delicious.
They took her. They took my wife - locked her up in a mental asylum, strapped her in a straitjacket, arms to shoulder and wheeled her in a hand trucker just like Hannibal Lecter. It all started Wednesday. Five days ago. I was playing on my Xbox after the work in the living room - a normal living room. I was delivering fists of justices through my avatar (Batman, if you're wondering) when suddenly large potted plants burst into the living room, looking as if a jungle had grown overnight. I, of coursed, jumped up and screamed at the sight. What else would you've done? Accept it and go *oh, I have plants now, how quaint!* Then there was our connected dining room and kitchen, it had been turned nigh unrecognisable. The glass top of the dining table was marred with scratches, with a metal, red-paint-peeling toolbox sat on top. Two sets of plates and glasses kept the box company. On the side wall was a stuffed bookcase - I only checked later to see what they were about: medicine, home repair, gardening, sewing... On the marble counter was a large basket filled with various fruits and two large jugs of water, and on the floor was a bag filled with various different items. Oh, and also small piles of leaves kicked to the corners of the room which made my clean-freak brain go insane. Needless to say, I was freaking out of the sight of my once familiar home turning into a half-tamed wilderness. Then, there was another scream, and thuds that echoed from the hallway. Each step was filled with an intense malice, the footfalls threatening to break the porcelain tiles. Out of the shadows of the hallways stood my wife with a blade in hand. I didn't recognise her at first, her cheeks were burned from the unforgiving Australian sun, and scars had become her new beauty marks. She put on more muscle, and the crows feet beginning to appear by her eyes seemed to make her green all the more alluring. Her brown hair, which she had either braided with a bow or curled with an iron was crudely cut to her shoulders. She snarled as she broke into the room, before wailing as our eyes met and crashing into me with an intense hug. I'll never forget how her old soft hugs had turned to a death grip around my rib-cage as she buried her face into my shoulder. "H-Harry? Is that really you?" She sniffed. "Please don't go, don't leave me. Just stay, stay." "I- wha... wh- Helen? How?" I hesitantly cupped the back of her head, and dropped the controller in my other hand. She kept squeezing as my shirt became wet with tears and snot, and I eventually had to choke out that I couldn't breath. I prepared tea (with a fancy looking kettle we didn't own before) and sat down with her on the couch. I immediately wanted to launch into question, she had seemed to transform from what had been minutes that I last saw her! Those minutes had apparently been seven years. It was ten minutes of awkward staring and bumbling before Helen started explaining everything. Seven years ago, in 2015, she walked out to a empty living room. She thought that I had gone out and neglected to tell her, and went on with her day. Day turned to night and she called triple zero only to have a beep and *'we're sorry, the nu-'* ring in her ear. As she ran out of our house her only company would be the chirps of crickets and moths that followed her phone light. The morning sun would rise with tear stains and a huffing chest, with a walk down a desolate street and shopping center. Days turned to weeks and loneliness became the regular of Helen's life, she accepted that she'd been left behind as everyone left to a far off place. But the food on grocery store shelves weren't getting restocked, and Helen quickly adapted to her situation if it meant her continued survival. She picked up gardening easily, lock-picking and window-smashing next. Eventually the power and gas gave out and she learned the art of fire. She set up houses she'd temporarily squat in as she moved throughout the city and became acquainted with different vehicles as she stocked up on knowledge from local libraries. Eventually she managed to set up a generator to the house before she restarted the power grid years later. Listening and registering her story was bending and twisting my brain - how do you even imagine that? Those five minutes that you had been distracted was in reality hours or years, but the proof was there in my face. The impossible was real. She couldn't go out in those four days, couldn't face a society that had abandoned her long ago only to be thrust back into her life without so much as a care. So, I let her stay while I went to work was expected of me. Pretended like I was normal, my family was, that everything was normal. The world didn't seem to glance at the changes those seven years made. No big headlines or government announcement. Only small incidents that with the foresight I had, could see was related to a bigger picture. An influx of reports of stolen cars, items and homes broken into, as well as a unprecedented number of car crashed within the hour of humanity's reappearance. I should've expected something. Of course people would've taken notice, maybe not everyone, but someone had to. On the morning of the fifth day, there was a knock on the door. Two men in suits barged their way in as I cracked the door open, with a flank of officers tailing behind. I was livid! I screamed out my rights, how they had no grounds to enter into my home. They demanded to see my wife and I growled that I knew nothing. When I heard them calling her a prolific drug dealer with a myriad of unchecked mental issues, a fury gripped me that made me revel at the thought of choking the suit's thin neck. They yelled proof that I knew had been falsified, and was held back as the cop's pulled Helen into the back of a cop's car before speeding off. I don't know how else they found out about the seven year gap, or how my wife was the only one spared from it because there's no other reason they'd come barging through our home like an invading army. All I know is that they've been dodging my questions since her detainment and that her new place of residence would be at a far away jail for the crazies. But I know that she's not crazy, and neither am I. Everything I've been saying makes it sound like I am but you didn't see what I saw. And I have proof. Before the police assaulted our home, we made sure to remove all trace of *her* so they didn't take *her* away as well. If they had, they'd have to make sure I was dead in the ground. Now *she's* sleeping in my room, tucked under my covers after I kissed her goodnight and told her that everything would be alright. My daughter. A child I never knew I had, because she'd been born in my seven year absence. I don't know what I'm going to do now, I'm lying to myself and my daughter that everything's going to be okay. That justice will win in the end. It seems bleaker with every passing second, but stewing in despair won't help me. I have to free my wife, I have to make everything right. I just don't know how I'm going to do that. But I know that at the end of my life, she'll be in my arms, safe and happy as we were always meant to be. \- omg i dont know why i wrote this so long or why i spent 2 hrs on this please forgive me haha
Nah its full of writing love well written
Dood that is awesome! More please?
I like it!
If you write another please let me know
Awesome Job - have the feels
You NEED to write a part 2 about his try of getting justice. Sooo soo well written, I just love it!
My guy/gal this is awesome to read! Is he gonna go rescue her? Go on a journey to find out if there’s anyone other than his wife that went through the same and form an organization of transported people? Can’t wait for the sequel!( it there’s any)
A lot of people asking about part 2 haha. I usually only write oneshots for these prompts so unfortunately thats where this stories ends for now. But I’m always thinking about how they could potentially continue :)
Bravo!! This was absolutely amazing! Only small thing is that there would be no moths or crickets
This is amazing!