Henry Broughton was eating breakfast and his brother was in the next room vanishing on the couch. He had been for the past forty-five minutes, and even as Henry checked his watch he could tell everything was fading away. The little hand seemed more transparent than usual. Time was relative anyway.
Henry rose and went to the window to see if Bud was ready to come inside. The slender Dane was sitting and staring at him, head off to the right, tongue hanging loose in excitement. He opened the back door for Bud, waving a dog bone for him. The dog jogged happily but then disappeared, before he even reached the walkway. Henry wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t been surprised since his wife disappeared underneath him during sex.
Henry closed the door and went to the living room to sit next to his vanishing brother. Thirty minutes ago his brother was most of a person but now he was barely anything: a face, a hand, and an odd patch of hair that was once the back of his head, he hadn’t spoke since his tongue disappeared fifteen minutes ago. That was okay with Henry, though, because he himself hadn’t talked since his son Dennis vanished in the hallway, books and school work spilling on the floor. His brother’s face was something between horror and amusement as his features began to slowly remove themselves like they were clumps of fine dust.
By the time Henry unlocked the door at his shop his foot and hand were gone. His face, too, was losing familiarity: his eyebrows were far thinner and his lips were more transparent than usual.
The end was here, and they were simply fading away.
