Everything Stopped

At noon on July first, everything stopped. In that instant, everything in the universe became permanently stuck in place.

It happened on a golf course whilst playing a round with my brother Michael. Our weekly hacking excursion was therapeutic; a chance to swap stories and ponder what advice our father might give, if he were still alive.

The morning was clear, but now storm clouds and thunder was approaching. It was getting closer.

"This looks bad, we need to leave," Michael said. I knew he was right, but I was winning. As if to prove his point, winds picked up suddenly and the cloudburst hit. We ran for cover under a nearby oak. As always, he was right.

The last thing I remember was the blinding flash.

I woke up on the ground, soaked to the skin. I sat up and was relieved to see Michael sitting in the golf cart nearby. But something was wrong, he wasn’t moving. At all. Nothing was moving, everything had stopped. I wiped my eyes as I stared. Raindrops hung motionless in the air like a film on pause. Overhead a bird was suspended mid-flight and my brother sat unblinking, a stone statue with a look of surprise on his face.

“Michael! Are you OK?” I tried to shout, but no sound came out. My throat went dry as panic rose; surely this was a nightmare? I closed my eyes tightly to make it go away, but it didn't.

In the distance a lightning bolt was stuck to a flagpole and cars on the freeway sat parked. I tried again to force myself awake, but it didn’t work.

I looked down and saw something familiar: my body. It too was perfectly still, lying face-down on the ground.

Lifeless. Stopped.