[ WP ] During an unknown event everyone on earth has lost their memories . You are somehow the only person who has retained your memories . You now must navigate the world as society crumbles around you .

Where were you before November 6th, 2016? That ’ s okay, don ’ t hurt your head. You probably don ’ t know. And it ’ s not entirely your fault. But neither is it mine. 
 
 On that Sunday, I woke up to the absence of my wife. The window was open, the curtains were blaring, and I could see the sun hitting the world as it always does. I walked over, placed my hand on the sill, and took a deep breath. It was Sunday, a day off. The plan was to relax and maybe watch a movie with the kids. 
 
 When I glanced down, expecting the mail to be on my front steps, all I found was the mangled body of my wife splayed out on the bricks. Her legs were twisted beneath her flower patterned bathrobe, and her mouth lay open, singing into a pool of blood. 
 
 I ’ ve spent years wondering what happened to her, to her specifically. And the only thing I could conclude was that she ’ d woken up first, frightened and terrified of the stranger beside her in bed, then tried escaping out the window, completely forgetting the embrace of gravity. 
 
 But I didn ’ t have time to sort through my thoughts in that moment. I rushed out boxers and all. I passed the kids ’ room, door slightly open, and my heart broke when I found them safe in bed, snoozing. They didn ’ t have to wake up for at least a few more hours. How was I going to explain this all to them? 
 
 Sirens. I needed sirens. I had to call the police. I remember running back to the bedroom, tripping over spilled clothes, unable to glance at the beautiful outdoors, and strangling my blankets to find my cell. 
 
 9-1-1 
 
 It rang. And it rang. And it rang. I could feel my blood pulsing through my fingers. 
 
 *click* 
 
 “ Hello? ” She sounded shakier than I did. 
 
 “ My wife, she- “ 
 
 “ I ’ m sorry, what? ” 
 
 I took a deep breath. “ My wife is dead. ” 
 
 “ Why are you telling me that? ” She hung up the phone. 911 hung up the phone. 
 
 “ Jesus Christ. ” I ran down the stairs, slammed past the front door, and crumpled in front of the remains of my wife. 
 
 Fourteen years and I can still feel the warmth of her blood on my hands. I can still see her face, so surprised, so beautiful, stained in red. My kids woke up and ran out of the house before I could stop them. And there were so much, so many people out on the roads that they got lost in the crowd before I could even muster the courage to stand. Everyone was aimlessly running, running, always running. There was no longer any place for them to get to; they didn ’ t know where they had come from, so why were they running? 
 
 Through the scope, I could see the brown hide of the doe as she knelt down to feed on grass. Why hadn ’ t the animals forgotten? Why hadn ’ t the trees forgotten? 
 
 Was this some act of god? I squeezed the trigger. 
 

