Palpable Irony

Palpable Irony

There was a man on the bench. He was reading the New York Times, I thought nothing of it at the time. There was no reason for me to. The second time I saw him, he reading the same paper. He was standing outside of the 7 Eleven as I was filling up my car. Sure, it was a little strange, but it was probably just a coincidence. The third time I noticed him, he was standing outside of my apartment building. He was standing below a street light. His dark black hair, the pitch black sun glasses, his dark suit, and that same New York Times newspaper, were all glowing in the fluorescence of the street light above.

Who was this man?

Was he following me?

What does he want?

I glanced over at him from the front of my car and sure enough he was just sitting there reading. I got out of my car and went to the trunk to get my work bag, which contained my laptop, as well as the report I needed to finish by tomorrow. When I closed the trunk, I glanced towards the streetlight and he was gone. I looked around but there was no trace of him. I looked back at the spot where he was sitting, and noticed the newspaper. It was sitting in the same spot, under the streetlight. I went over and picked it up, hoping to get a clue as to why he had been following me all day, or as to who he was.

I first noticed the date. In large letters at the top of the page were not today’s date, but instead was a week from today. I flipped through the pages, and it seemed just like a normal paper, nothing out of the ordinary, besides the date. Then I got to the last page. There was a big picture of my building. The caption read Apartment Fire: 12 found dead. The page ended with the words “Get out while you still can.”

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It’s been 6 days since I first saw the man. I’ve seen him every day since, more frequently as the days have gone by. At first I shrugged it off. Maybe somebody was playing a prank on me, but as the week has gone one, I’ve been growing increasingly worried. The other day I saw the man everywhere I went, still reading that newspaper. I tried to talk to him, ask him who he was or why he was there, but he just ignored me. He just looked straight ahead, with a blank, unmoving expression.

This got to me more than anything else that had happened. In my head I’ve been thinking about what to do. The thought of leaving crosses my mind all the time. I’ve already talked to my parents. I’m planning on going to stay with them for a couple days. I’m packing now, and plan on leaving tonight.

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My stomach sank as the shrill, ear piercing wailing filled my apartment. I ran to the door. My trembling fingers pulled the chain to unlock the door. My hands burned as I grabbed the blistering handle. I twisted and opened the door to a wall of fire, preceded by a wave of heat. I coughed as the smoke filled my lungs. I slammed the door, hoping that it would delay the flames from spreading.

I ran to the window, and tried to unlock the barred lock that covered them. It was stuck. I shook it as hard as I could, hoping to jar it open. After what seemed like forever I gave up and accepted defeat. I went to the middle of my apartment. The first number I dialed was 911, I told the operator. about the fire, and told them to hurry. I then called up my parents, and told them what was happening. I said my goodbyes, hung up the phone, and just sat in silence, waiting.

I tried to make sense of the situation.

Why is it happening today?

It’s too early, the paper was dated tomorrow.

And then realization hit. My whole body was filled with despair, as realization rushed over me. A newspaper shows yesterday's news.