Tilt

The world had gone sideways.

That wasn’t a metaphor. Gravity had literally turned 90 degrees for all organic carbon-based life forms (except, for some odd and slightly off-putting reason, plants).

Terrence, a man in his early 30’s, had been frying bacon when he noticed a fly flying with its legs facing the wall. At the time, he had assumed the insect had gotten into the liquor, which was ridiculous because he had read something on the internet about alcohol being bad for bugs. Or dogs. Or chocolate was bad for dogs, or something...he really didn't remember.

He had ignored it, only bringing it up to his mother when he’d called her that evening. She mentioned that the spiders had been acting strange, and that he needed to get her grandkids at some point. He laughed and thought nothing of both the spiders nor the comment about children. He did however check himself in the mirror, making a mental note to hit the gym.

The next day it was far harder to ignore the cat chasing the mouse along the wall, its tail whipping around as it raced over the bookcase, as the rodent escaped in an air conditioning vent.

Terrence had wished he could have caught the interaction on video.

Of course, he was not the only individual witnessing such a shift. Videos began to surface all over the web as news outlets began to cover the strange phenomenon referred to as “The Tilt.”

Terrence felt he could have come up with a better name.

At first, the antics of animals on walls was amusing, an entertaining distraction from the rest of society's issues. Watching birds fly as though inebriated was hilarious and good fun. Watching pandas hurtle across the landscape only to crash into unsuspecting pedestrians was not only horrifying, it was the moment that Terrence, and likely most of the world, realized that something was indeed wrong.

By the time anyone had realized that the Tilt was affecting creatures in an exponential manner and would eventually affect humanity itself, everyone still alive was now sitting on their kitchen walls, staring hopelessly at their phones and computers, which were now resting out of reach and unaffected by the new laws of gravity.

Those who were able to access technology, were met with lists of observations to the rest of the humanity in an attempt to comprehend the new world:

1) The Tilt did not affect non-living things or plants.

2) The Tilt was consistent. Everyone had the same “down” and the same “up” no matter where they were in the world.

3) The Tilt was growing, and the previous two rules were not guaranteed.

Around this time, electricity stopped and anyone who had not received the guidelines was either fully aware of the rules through their own experience or had become one of the fallen.

Terrence had been lucky. He had been close to his wall and away from any windows when the Tilt affected him. He could still hear the crashing of so many people through glass and the dull, sickening thuds as their bodies stopped short. Then a similar but softer thud as the Tilt no longer affected their cadavers, their forms returning the original ground.

Those who were still alive at this point had acted quickly and resourcefully. Furniture was tossed out doors and windows to create makeshift platforms in what could only be described as the most dangerous game of “The Floor is Lava”-only, as Terrence reminded himself-there was no floor anymore.

There had been mistakes, as with any survival situation. Using a mattress to bridge the gap between the front door and the porch had resulted in many people tumbling as the soft and unstable support crashed sideways, like a plush trapdoor.

Terrence remembered watching in abject horror as chairs fell backwards and neighbor’s faces reflected the sudden realization that there weren’t any houses for a whole block.

He shook himself free from the memory and continued to rummage through the junk drawer he had found. This house was empty; the couple that had lived there either moved on or moved down, by the looks of the broken windows. He pulled out only the essentials, some batteries, some wire, a bag of screws, a heart shaped locket.

There was one exception to the Tilt only affecting organic life. Once an object was held, it seemed to adapt to the user’s own gravitational pull. Clothing and food did not suddenly pull you in the right direction. This did not seem to work on larger objects like fridges and buildings. And once the object was released, it reverted to its original pull.

Terrence watched as the chain to the locket shifted its direction in his hand, adjusting to its new gravity, its doors swinging open ever so slightly. The pictures in the jewelry reflected a happy couple and what appeared to be their daughter, roughly three years of age. That stung a little more than he would have liked, and he found himself hoping that the broken windows were just coincidences.

He heard a crash from above him, in what was now the top of the house.

Slowly, he closed the junk drawer and tied the locket round his wrist. Then he waited.

Two more crashes, and the sound of breaking glass, then silence.

He stood still for a solid thirty minutes before edging his way toward the hallway that led “upward” toward the sounds. Whatever had made them was still up there but had made no further attempts to move.

Terrence had heard such things before. Often when scavenging, a faller would stop on the other walls of the building he was in, sometimes falling through the windows or particularly weak siding. There was little point in trying to help those who had fallen, as he had no medical background and no means of getting the fallen to someone who did. But every now and then, someone had meant to jump, or had navigated their way down safely.

But this did not appear to be such a situation. Terrence smiled and removed a hammer and the bag of screws. Tapping on the walls leading “up,” he located the studs and began placing screws along them. Once he had enough, he took a carabiner and rope, tied the end around his waist and latched it to one of the screws. Then he began his ascent, nailing in screws as he went, latching his way upward.

It took him longer than he would have liked, even with his slender frame making it easier than it had been at the beginning. He had to remind himself several times that if the bodies were indeed dead, they were worth looting. Every supply he could reasonably carry was worth it. But there was another reason he decided it was worth a look.

There had been no dead drop.

The rules were simple, living things went sideways, dead things returned to normal. So why had these bodies not returned to normal and not moved in the past, what had it been, hour now?

Upon reaching the “upper” ledge, Terrence collected himself before undoing the rope from his waist, letting the cord drop and hang from the highest screw he had placed. Then, holding his hammer like a club, he shuffled across the halls into the room at the end.

It was a child’s room, the girl from the locket’s no doubt, and it was stereotypical in what Terrence imagined a teenager’s room might look like. Various posters from what appeared to be anime shows lined the walls, a computer that was probably obsolete when this all began. The wall that now acted as the floor had a couple of pots laying on it, the plants in them ruffled a bit but otherwise in good condition, though one seemed to have been broken recently. The window above them seemed to have been smashed apart. Along the closest wall, he saw a beat up guitar, blue, with several stickers decorating its body. Terrence could not decide if that showed it had been used, or just served as a piece of art.

The one thing that Terrence did not see was a body. Terrence looked at the “ceiling” wall and noted that the window was indeed intact. No one had fallen in this room, and if they had, they likely had continued through the “bottom.” Terrence cursed under his breath before taking the guitar from the wall and carrying it to the hall, lowering it with the rope before descending himself. Strings were always useful.

The climb back down was a disappointing one. Strings were useful, but the question of what had happened in the first place still lingered. What exactly had fallen? He had heard three distinct sounds from that room that was for sure. There were three in the family. Had they all fallen at the same time?

Reaching the “bottom” of the house, he looked out one of the windows on the “floor.” The house “below” them held no splatter or any sign that a body had ever made contact. Though there was a very beautiful plant growing up from the remains of a flower pot.

Slowly, slower than he would have liked, it began to dawn on him. Everything but plants had fallen. Until now.

Like meteors front he heavens, he watched as the final living things hurtled past his house, most smashing upon impact against the buildings, the pots and soil carried with their flora hosts. But there were larger ones that did not splatter. Rather, they ripped through the wood and brick and sent shrapnel in every direction. Green streaks of death.

Terrance headed to the door of the home he had invaded, watching as plant after pot destroyed his makeshift path of chairs and tables. Then he looked upward and grimaced.

As if in slow motion, a tree hurtled downward, its branches twisting and grasping at anything to keep it from its flight, for trees were not meant for such acts. Terrence stared at the green fate as it grew closer and closer, ripping at the houses “above.”

Terrence had heard all his life that before you die, your entire existence flashes before your eyes. Terrence could only think about how it was strange that he loved bacon but could not stand the smell of it.

CRUNCH! He felt the world shake and shudder but the house stood still. The tree had lost enough momentum and was stuck at the “top” of the house. Terrence watched as slowly, the tree tilted, growing as it did, before falling down the opposite side to where he was, continuing its descent into the void.

Terrence felt his heart attempt several escapes from his chest. Understandable, as he had nearly been crushed by a falling oak.

He opened the door again to survey the carnage that the pots continued to wreak. He wondered for a moment, when the falling would stop. Would the fallen continue to fall until they inevitably were stopped by something that decided it wasn’t going to move? Did they burn up in the atmosphere, becoming nothing but ash? Or did they eventually escape, landing safely in the ocean or lakes?

He had never considered whether all this was happening to fish. Next time he was near an aquarium…

His thoughts were interrupted by a limb landing on the front porch railing. With some trepidation, he looked upward again, only to see the rest of the tree’s family dropping, branches outstretched as if reaching for their missing child.

He closed the door and took the guitar, sitting cross legged as he began to strum. It wasn't a tune, as he had never actually learned how to play, but it was something to do while everything fell apart, and served as background noise to the life he watched before his eyes.