It started out like any typical day in suburbia. Percolators perked, toasters toasted, garage doors opened to disgorge cars heading toward the freeway. Everything was beautifully ordinary, until the shadow fell across my window.

As I said, it was a typical day. My wife always got up before I did. My alarm had gone off at the obligatory 8:00 hour, just after the sun had risen from the same slumber I had. As usual, I slammed the snooze button down a couple of times to get those extra nine minutes my body craved. After the forth snooze-button slam, I rose and sat at the edge of the bed, going over in my mind what I had to do that day. I looked outside the window next to my bed at the bright, spring sunshine. When I turned away, the sunshine disappeared.

Initially, I thought a cloud had passed in front of the sun. Maybe a storm was coming, I thought. I was kind of right.

I took a shower, dressed, shaved, and ate breakfast, just like normal. My wife got our kids up and ready for school, then prepared for her own workday. I shambled around the house, looking for my jacket and briefcase; my wife shambled around for her purse, earrings, and car keys.

The insect horde outside shambled around town, devouring buildings, people, and buses on their way to their stops.

The radio played while my wife and I scrambled to get to work on time. Just before I went into the kitchen to shut it off, a news bulletin had come over the air:

“Attention! All citizens, please remain in your homes. Seek shelter in your basement or some other secure place. A swarm of giant insect-like creatures has swept the city, destroying all they come into contact with. The swarm was first spotted on the East Coast, and has steadily moved inland, devouring cities in its path. Once again, please seek shelter and avoid these insects at all costs!”

The station then interviewed a couple of army officials, who told us that the swarm was being dealt with, and that citizens should not panic. My wife and I both stood listening in horror as a buzzing cloud of the insects swept passed our house, taking our cars and our landscaping with it. I looked at my wife, and she looked at me.

I took my clothes off and put on my pajamas. My wife climbed into bed and turned on her side while I switched off the alarm and climbed in with her.

The next day started out like any typical day in suburbia. Percolators perked, toasters toasted, garage doors opened to disgorge cars heading toward the freeway. Disbelieving citizens went out to their front yard and picked up the remaining pieces of their lives. Everything was beautifully ordinary, except for that shadow that fell across my window the day before.