The stillness of the dimly lit room was broken only by the soft hiss of the pressing iron as it kissed the white fabric stretched across the board.
A small radio rested on a side table, idle, as though waiting to be switched on. Max, the only person in the room, paid it no attention. His focus was fixed on finishing the ironing as quickly as possible.
He set the iron back on its stand and straightened up, wiping the sweat trickling down his forehead. Muttering a curse under his breath, he rubbed his damp hands against his apron.
Before returning to his task, he glanced out the window.
The sky was crowded with thousands of blue spheres, suspended in the air like grotesque stars. When they had first appeared a week ago, there had only been a handful. Now, they multiplied relentlessly by the day, or even by the hour, as some citizens claimed.
They blotted out the clouds and cast a permanent gloom over the entire country.
Max held his breath whenever he looked straight at the sky. He wouldn't sleep near windows, and would flinch at any sounds whether real or imagined. He did all these without realizing it.
No one knew what the spheres were, or what they contained. The government had done little to ease the growing fear; all they had offered was a single instruction—do not tamper with the spheres.
Every last man shared an unspoken but dreadful thought:
What if the spheres were housing aliens?
Max went across the room in long strides and picked up the radio, twisting the dial until it crackled to life. A sudden blast of hip-hop music assaulted his ears, and he scowled as he hurriedly switched channels.
How could anyone be so relaxed at a time like this? How could they air music when the sky itself looked ready to swallow them whole?
His irritation grew as one channel after another played the same mindless noise instead of news.
Bunch of unserious fools!
He cursed aloud as he flipped through stations, growing more frustrated with each click.
Fools!
Finally, after several tries, he found a channel broadcasting news. Relief washed over him as he adjusted the volume and returned the radio to the table, resuming his work.
"…we still do not know what the spheres contain," the announcer said, "but citizens are advised to remain calm and avoid interfering with them."
Max clenched his jaw. It was the same useless message he had heard all week–when there were only a few spheres, and now when there were tens of thousands.
Stay calm?
Under these menacing objects hanging overhead?
Did the government not realize that a single sphere could fall and demolish an entire building? Were they even trying to protect their citizens, or eliminate the threat?
The questions churned angrily in Max's mind. He began to regret turning the radio on at all. Perhaps he should follow the example of others, and dance to music and pretend nothing was wrong.
But he couldn't. Others might have nothing to lose if the spheres fell and wiped out mankind, but Max did.
He had everything to lose.
"Turn that off!"
Clifford's voice rang out from one of the adjoining rooms, startling Max. He had assumed his master was still asleep.
Without hesitation, or regret Max switched off the radio. He worked faster now. There was lunch, or perhaps dinner, to prepare afterward, and laundry still waiting. His day was far from over.
He had hoped to finish ironing and collapse into bed, but with his master awake, there was no such luxury.
Suppressing a yawn, Max wiped the sweat from his brow once again. He was exhausted. The ever-present spheres made it impossible to distinguish day from night, deepening the unease that plagued the citizens.
Every day had looked the same since the spheres appeared—a dull, pale gray sky that never shifted. People simply did what they could, then stopped, calling it a day when their bodies gave out.
No one knew the date or the time. Electronic devices were frozen, all displaying the same thing: October 10th, 2025 which was long past what everyone knew to be true.
Max gathered the clothes and cleared the pressing table. He headed towards the kitchen to get the other things done.
"Max!" Clifford called, just loud enough for max to hear him, stopping Max from moving another inch.
Heaving a tired sigh, Max made a turn, and headed for his master's bedroom.
Whatever it was that made Clifford summon him, he hoped it didn't mean more chore for him. He stifled another yawn just before knocking on the door, and at the same time pushed it open.
"Max," Clifford called tiredly when he saw him.
Without saying a word, Max went to his side, and knelt down.
"Do you need help standing up?" Max asked, but Clifford shook his head in the negative, and adjusted his position, or tried to.
Max studied him. His eyes looked from Clifford's hair which was as white as fine cotton to the wrinkles on his forehead and face, brought about by age. Then his eyes travelled farther down to Clifford's saggy throat which wobbled occasionally, following every word spoken, or saliva swallowed.
A discolored shirt hung loosely around his shoulders, barely covering his chest, and a small part of his stomach while the rest of his body was buried under the brown colored duvet.
"You can take the rest of the time off." Clifford said, but Max remained on his knees, waiting.
His eyes were half covered with sleep which should make Clifford's kind gesture a redemption, but it didn't. There was something about Clifford, and about the atmosphere that kept prodding him stay.
Maybe it was the tightness of the air which Max believed was caused by the spheres, or maybe it was the way Clifford sounded–uncertain.
Then it happened–a deafening blast sounded from outside. It was so loud that the walls trembled. Dust shook loose from the ceiling, and fell on both Max and Clifford, but neither of them spared the white dust with which their body was now covered a look, or a thought.
Max's only thought was the spheres, and he was right.
"Listen to me, Max," Clifford said with an urgency that was frightening enough to instantly compel Max who was about to jolt from doing so.
"Listen carefully," he repeated, and motioned for Max to get even closer.
He was still breathless from the shock, but he wouldn't stop speaking, or pause to catch a breath.
"They're not in the sky to watch us, Max," Clifford whispered. "They've been waiting for something to wake up, and I fear they just did."