3087 Rosemount Ridge had seen better days. The roof was overtaken with mossy lichen, the paint peeled like some sort of structural eczema, and the porch sagged like the eye-bags of a retail worker. The lawn had been reclaimed by native flora, managing to look ratty despite a recent mowing. Even the mailbox listed like a drunken clown, once painted brightly but now faded so that only the name on the side was legible.
JONES
Brom’s grandparents had built the sturdy ranch back in the seventies when the American Dream was alive and not on life support. They’d raised four children in it, hosted a hundred holidays in it, and been front and center of the family in it. Then they’d left it to the family fuck up. That was like them, Gramma and Pops had understood that what Brom needed was something to anchor himself to, and this house was that. Plus, if the rest of the family had loved them so much, why was it in such disrepair?
Hadn’t it always been that way, though? The family always wanted to pretend its inconvenient members didn’t exist.
More shit he couldn’t change, he might as well worry about the weather. The sky outside was a blanket of wet lead. A storm, no doubt on the way no matter what Channel 5’s weather whiz said. Leaning a shoulder against the open front doorframe, Brom made himself large to keep the cats from attempting escape. Eyes skyward, he sipped warm chai from his cracked mug and turned his brain toward the roof. It needed to hold just a little longer. He almost had the money to fix it.
The sound of tires biting the gravel of the drive made him raise an eyebrow. He stepped forward, letting the door bang shut behind him. He wasn’t expecting visitors, and it was too early for the mail. Standing center of the porch steps, Brom caught sight of a metal flash through the trees, and understanding dawned.
A moment later, his nephew’s ancient F-150 rattled its way around the last bend of the steep drive and hauled up past the mailbox. It spit grit as the teen pulled it to a stop and launched out of it like he was rocket propelled. Jason Jones Jr, or TJ as everyone called him, nearly took a knee in the gravel as his sneakers slipped. “Uncle Brom!” He banged a hip on his bumper, stumbling as he crossed the distance between truck and porch steps like a sprinter.
“Slow down, kid. Did someone set your ass on fire?”
“Uncle Brom, you-” He skidded to a stop, blowing like a spooked horse. “Uh...you’re not answering your phone.”
“Shit, probably still on do not disturb. I slept in. Why the panic though?”
TJ snorted, clomping up the stairs gracelessly and leaning on the railing. It popped sharply, and he thought better of it, standing and shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “Dad and Marcella are fighting. She got wasted on red wine and accused him of emotional cheating last night. Today Grandma Lucy showed up, which just made everything worse, and I…” He trailed off, running a hand through his sandy hair in classic motion of teenage frustration. “Think I can stay up here for the weekend?”
Brom snorted into his mug. Emotional cheating probably wasn’t what his older brother was doing. Jason Jones, known to the better parts of the family as JJ, was the favorite son for some reason. Probably it had to do with the fact that he had his shit mostly together as far as life went, something Brom wouldn’t know anything about. When it came to women, though, JJ was awful. If Marcella was accusing him, the affair was probably well into the physical stage.
Getting in the middle of this wasn’t anything Brom wanted to do, but under the eyes of his nephew, he folded like a chair. “Yeah, kiddo, but let them know where you are.”
“Not a chance.” Arms folded, jaw set, eyes stubborn. TJ was a Jones, alright.
“Cut your dad some slack, TJ. He does love you.” He drained the last of the chai from his cup and crossed the porch. The handle of the front door squeaked, and a little fancy footwork blocked the feline that was trying to streak out from actually escaping. “TJ, an assist?”
“Hello Alice.” The boy leaned down, scooping up the white feline and following his uncle inside.
The inside of the house did not resemble the outside. Repair efforts had been concentrated in here, fixing water-damaged ceilings and ripping out moldy carpet. Putting up fresh paint. It was a comfortable and surprisingly cheerful series of living spaces. Brom wasn’t naturally handy, but it was surprising what YouTube and a can-do attitude could accomplish.
“You eaten yet?” The words were casually tossed over Brom’s shoulder as he moved from the living room to the kitchen.
“Uh…”
That was obviously a no. In the kitchen, Brom tied on an apron. “Take a seat, you still like scrambled eggs, right?” Otherwise, TJ was out of luck because Brom didn’t have a lot on hand. He’d been planning a grocery run for the afternoon.
TJ dropped Alice down and pulled out one of the stools at the breakfast bar. It creaked as he sat in it, but it held. “Yeah. Got toast?”
“Only if you want to eat the heel.”
The teen’s nose instantly wrinkled. “Pass, just the eggs then.”
“Picky.” Just like his old man, JJ couldn’t stand the heel either. Odd how little traits like that could pass along between family members. “How’s school? You sign up for band?”
TJ’s arms folded across the counter in front of him, and he dropped his face into them to groan loudly. “No. Mr. Prescott is only looking for ‘musicians that will elevate their performances at events’.”
“You’re capable of that.” Two fingers expertly split an eggshell, dropping the contents into a Pyrex bowl and the shell into a basket for composting. Brom glanced from bowl to sulking boy and back.
“Yeah, well, apparently not. Dude seems to think that if it’s not brass, woodwind, or marching drum, my talent is worthless.” He looked up. “It’s not right?”
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Oh boy. This was a conversation that Brom both didn’t want to have and was overqualified for. “No. Your talent isn’t worthless. Music is a gift and a skill. Being a musician, a creative, is incredibly rewarding.” He poured a splash of milk into the bowl and then took a moment to find the whisk. “But take it from me, you need a fallback plan.”
The whisk began to tap cheerfully around the bowl, ringing off the glass with every brisk motion of Brom’s forearm. He’d done this thousands of times. If only he’d pursued cooking as a career earlier, maybe his life would have been different. But he hadn’t, and now here he was, trying to balance being the fun uncle with being the living proof that music as a career didn’t always pan out.
TJ was a smart boy. He got it, a flash of sympathetic understanding cutting the frustration in his gaze. “Yeah. But not sports.”
“You can be good at both, TJ. Don’t spite sports just because of your dad. If you genuinely don’t like them, that’s a good enough reason. But I seem to remember a younger guy who really loved that old driveway hoop.”
“Yeah, well I remember-”
They didn’t get to know what TJ remembered. The teen's phone exploded with notifications, rolling in so quickly the chime was just a continuous noise. He picked it up with a roll of his eyes, obviously expecting it to be his father.
It was so much worse.
He stood up quickly enough for the stool to wobble, luckily righting itself as TJ dashed to the nearest window, phone continuing to chime wildly, and craned his head to look at the sky. “Holy fuck!” The phone hit the floor, the teen's fingers too lax to hold it, buzzing and dancing by his feet. It startled Brulé, the siamese that had been napping nearby, earning TJ a dirty look. The cocoa and cream dame chattered at him, voicing her displeasure as she got to her paws and stalked off, tail twitching in dismissal.
Brom glanced over at the explicative, raising an eyebrow at his nephew. “What?”
“There’s a fucking clock in the sky.”
Of all the things TJ could have said, that wasn’t one Brom expected. He set the bowl down and walked over, a calloused hand placed on the windowsill. Placing the other on TJ’s shoulder, he crowded in to see what his nephew was staring at.
System Update.
10:00
The Earth server will be undergoing migration to a new system. Users will experience only a brief interruption. Thank you for your understanding in advance.
Brom blinked twice. “...okay, you were right. Holy fuck.”
TJ scooped to recover his fallen phone, then rushed into the living room to turn on the television. He flicked through the channels, eyes widened as he watched the same thing appearing on almost every station, only a few dedicated to children and education sticking stubbornly to their regular programming.
Brom put the egg bowl in the fridge and headed upstairs to recover his own phone. He had a few notifications, and several chat channels he was in were all talking about it. His few remaining friends had thoughtfully included him in their mass texts. It was the same for everyone, first treating it like a joke and then panicking when they saw it for themselves.
All the while, the clock in the sky kept ticking down.
System Update.
8:38
The Earth server will be undergoing migration to a new system. Users will experience only a brief interruption. Thank you for your understanding in advance.
“It’s everywhere! Look at the news, it’s everywhere!” TJ pointed to the TV, his hand trembling, clicking through news channels like a man possessed.
System Update.
6:29
The Earth server will be undergoing migration to a new system. Users will experience only a brief interruption. Thank you for your understanding in advance.
In every sky regardless of weather. In every time zone, regardless of day or night. Readable regardless of literacy. The words were innate. Their meaning was conveyed to the bones of all who read them. Earth would be changing. When that clock hit zero, everything would be different. Some people were worshipping it. Some people were setting things on fire. Some were confessing sins while others were busy committing them. All of human nature was drug into the light. A whole world turned into a screaming mass, as madness took hold in under ten minutes.
TJ drug Brom outside, the two of them standing on the drive and looking upward at the clock in the sky. At the words. The way the clouds seemed to float harmlessly past them, unimpeded by them, and unable to interrupt their message. They both craned their necks upward, feeling the fingers of the storm sweep over them, because the clock in the sky meant nothing to nature.
System Update.
1:13
The Earth server will be undergoing migration to a new system. Users will experience only a brief interruption. Thank you for your understanding in advance.
The winds of the storm Brom had been expecting earlier were starting to kick up. Chimes on the porch dancing and singing as the treetops stirred. It felt like something more than the storm was coming.
System Update.
00:30
Users are advised to stop what they are doing while the system updates. Thank you for your understanding in advance.
TJ started to tremble. “Uncle Brom...I-”
“Hold on, kiddo. Just hold on.” He wrapped his arms around his shaking nephew, pressing his face against his chest as he stared upward.
System Update.
00:10
Brom didn’t say a word about TJ crying. He got it.
System Update.
00:05...
00:04...
00:03...
00:02...
00:01...
System Update In Progress….
