Tim was a bit of a recluse.
He didn’t realize something was wrong until much later than most people. He sat in his small bedroom slash office on the second floor of his grandmother’s house and played computer games. Every now and then he’d boil water in his microwave – it sat on the bookshelf next to his bed – and eat a cup of noodles or can of ravioli.
He was proud of the bookshelf slash microwave stand. He’d drilled the hole in the back of the old wooden bookcase himself. It was the little victories that Tim liked to celebrate.
It wasn’t until the power flickered and died that he realized something was wrong. And even then it took him a few minutes, sitting his chair waiting for the power to come back on before he got up. His skin was greasy, and his hair was a mess, and he probably smelled, but he didn’t care. The goddamn power hadn’t come back on.
Something was wrong.