Wednesdays, or what is typically known as the "Hump Day" is usually considered to be the trying day of the week.  It is on this day that the pressures of the week finally begin to surmount to their apex until, mercifully, one begins to find solace in the downhill slope that is Thursday and Friday.

    By all accounts, October 31st should have been just another one of those Wednesdays.  Sure it would be accented by the occasional half-pint ghost or goblin, princess or pirate, Pokemon or Power Ranger.  Yet there was no merriment in the streets this day, covered in the thick grey overcast sky with an occasional gust more likely to trip you over yourself as opposed to nipping your nose of a fall afternoon.  Where you would expect laughter and ruckus of children comparing their haul of sugar-packed concoctions was replaced with the occasional siren and the crashing of waves on the beach front, still restless from the surge of the previous few days.  

    Brody always imagined that the apocalypse would look like this.  The splintered plywood sprawled out across the streets, mixed with scrap metal and abandoned vehicles overturned and nearly gutted.  Only in his fantasies he'd always imagined there would be a larger number of zombies roaming the streets and not so many yachts deposited everywhere like toys in a drained bathtub.  The stench emanating from the surrounding area certainly played towards the idea of used bath water that had sat for days, mixing thoroughly with the confluence of debris and garbage that had made its way both from the near-by ocean and surrounding area.  He would be tempted to say a bomb had gone off in the area, yet there were no scorch marks to oblige this notion; only the drenched earth and blown over trees whose gnarled roots clung desperately to the earth in the air gave credence to the tyrannical winds which could not have been generated from a measly explosion, but what could be more attuned to some sort of act of god.

    His trance was broken by the slam of the door on his father's forest green Jeep followed by the scurrying of his younger sister and the sigh his old man.  At the very least his father played the role of he has in mind for him in his apocalypse day dreaming; dressed in his ragged red flannel, threading at the sleeves and covered in splotches of paint and primer nearly from head to his steel-toed boots hidden beneath his worn jeans.  His five-o'clock shadow casting a very rugged image, with sullen eyes red as a traffic light.  Linsey wasn't nearly as disheveled as her father, still managing to take care of her appearance as best she could with the university sweatshirt and pants combo and her hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail.

    "It doesn't look too bad Daddy," Linsey broke the silence through her half yawn.

    "Well I guess it wouldn't if you haven't been contracting for 25 years," came the father's response, his flat voice trailing off as he walked up to the single-story beige sided house.

    Rather what was left of the beige siding as Brody's father stepped over the sand, mud, and sea foam covered pieces of what made up the exterior of the house.  Exposed was the housewrap, covered in damp splotches and grime which had distorted its white color to a brownish grey.

    "Brody, come take a look at this," his father said, pointing out to an uneven brown line which seemed to surround the house.

    "Damn, don't tell me that's how high the water came up."

    "Well Tank didn't start wiping his behind around the side of the house I can tell you that," replied his father, prompting a giggle from Linsey.

    "Maybe he just ran and jumped that high when he passed?  He could probably make it."  Her comment was met with a quick glare from Brody before the young man continued.

    "Well do you think the water stayed out of the house?"

    "I doubt it.  C'mon you two, let's have a look."

    The door to their home, whose cut out windows had shined like beacons were now blown in, the shards remaining offering more unease than pleasantry.

    "What's with the big 'X', dad?"  Brody approached the red painted symbol on their door, placing his hand over the foreign color on their green door.

    "Rescue workers," he said, pushing the door in revealing that it was hanging on barely from the top hinges.  "They've been out searching for anyone still trapped the homes around here.  Looks like they forced their way in."  He coughed as his lungs were filled with the damp musky smell which came bellowing out of the threshold he walked through.  "That just means they've already been here.  Could have at least sprayed."

    "Yeah?  Well I don't think they were the only ones," Linsey said.  Her hand immediately went up to their living room which took a similar appearance of the streets of Union Beach; books were thrown around the room whose pages seemed to soak up the remaining moisture that hadn't already been absorbed into the carpet.  Mirrors and framed paintings were shattered and resting down on the floor below where they once hung proudly.  Furniture was strewn about from their previous locations as evident by the still visible dimples in the rug, yet were clearly too heavy to be carried simply by flood water.

    "God damn looters,"  Brody announced with disdain.  "Power goes out and suddenly it's anarchy.  What the hell are they supposed to do with the TV?  They can't even use it."

    "You think they care?"  Linsey replied as she made her way through the halls of the house, making her way to her room.  

    The paint around the living room had already begun to peel off the walls, and what was left showed the same familiar brown line around the room as was found outside.  Brody's father walked around the room, taking stock of what was left, his feet squishing into the carpet with each step like a damp sponge.

    "You think we can fix all of this, dad?  I mean, we're gonna move back in when they lift the state of emergency right?"  Brody asked desperately.

    His father frowned and tossed one of the ruined books to the side.  "Wish I could say so.  See the line, Brody?  If the water got up that high in the house then it's like a totaled car.  Unsalvagable.  All the insulation is probably soaked through.  Leave that alone and we're just asking for mold to grow.  And that ain't even the worst of it."  He made his way over to one of the power outlets in the side of the wall.  "If the wiring got wet then there's no way that the power company's going to risk restoring power here.  One short and this place will be up like a tinderbox with the rest of the neighborhood.  Only real thing anyone can do is tear this place down."

    "What?  C'mon maybe it's not that bad!  We can work on it for a while and maybe by next week we'll try to move back in!"  Broady exclaimed, almost pleading with his father.

    "No amount of willing is going to change this, son.  Only thing we can do is take what we can that's not completely destroyed and, well, I don't know.  We'll figure something out."

    The kitchen held much of the same destruction as the living room.  The table was over turned, chairs were haphazardly placed around the room, and glass from the windows rested on the counter-top.

    "Looks like they tried coming in this way," Brody remarked, making his way over to the refrigerator, which upon opening was met with a small splash of water from the defrosting freezer above and trapped flood water that had seeped its way through the edges of the door.  "Damn.  Don't even want to check the freezer.  There's really nothing left is there?"

    "Seems that way.  Look, Brody I know it's not easy.  But the sooner you accept this the easier it's going to be.  Now please, just look for some clothes or whatever we have left that we can bring to the shelter.  There's no point in being here longer than we have to be."

    "Dad?  Brody?  You guys might want to see this," Linsey's voice came from her room on the other side of the house.  The two slowly goose-stepped their ways through the hallway, each step followed by the unsettling sound of water being squished out of the carpeting.

    As the two before it, so was Linsey's room; her bed was turned over to one side, drawers were removed from their slots and the contents removed, deposited randomly around the floor.  Her closet had been flung open with more clothes resting at the foot of it, and shoes thrown off to the side in a pile.

    "Oh hunny.  I'm sorry about this.  Look, it's all just stuff, we can replace it all," her father spoke softly, placing his hands on her shoulders as she leaned over her untouched desk.

    "Dad, really?  I know that.  That's not what I called you in here for.  Look," she pointed at a small black picture frame with a white insert surrounding a rectangular square.  "I think it still works."

    "Lins, if it was in here it probably got wet.  Besides it's not gonna help us.  Now dad wants us to get our clothes, we're leaving."  Brody said, frustration in his voice.

    "No wait!"  Linsey set the small frame down on the table as it lit up, a picture slowly transitioning itself onto what was once the blank black screen.  What appeared was a memory of a better time, younger versions of Brody and Linsey standing in the kitchen with chocolate chip cookies in their mouths dressed in Christmas sweaters.  "Oh my God, I can't believe we had those!  I haven't looked at this in forever!"

    The image closely faded out and a new one replaced it, this time of their father standing one of the jetties scattered along the Jersey Shore, a fishing poll in his hand with a small cooler at his feet with their uncle standing directly next to him.  The sight caused their father to have a small smile creep across his face, his mind for but a brief moment placing him back on those rocks, bathing in the warm summer sun.  Then another memory followed on the screen.  And then another.  And another still.  Even Brody who was beginning to be lost in the despair of losing his home, couldn't help but crack a smile as Linsey pointed out pictures of them as kids.

    "Hey, look at this one," Linsey said, pausing the slideshow.  The last picture froze both Brody and his father.  There in the frame was the image of their house, no brown line, no debris, no broken windows or door.  Linsey and Brody, both younger versions of themselves, sat on stoop in front of their porch which was no longer there.  Behind them, their father stood, his arm around a woman with bright blue eyes and dirty blonde hair in a sundress.  Their smiles were as bright as the flare of the sun against the windows, somewhere between a grin and a laugh.  It was a perfect moment captured in time, interrupted by the small splash of water on the frame Linsey held in her hand.

    "Hey, hey," Linsey's father said, wrapping his arms around his children.  "It's alright guys.  Linsey, pack that up with whatever else you can find.  We're taking it with us."

    "Dad," Linsey said quickly.  "Will it ever be normal?  Will it be like it was before the storm?"

    "I don't know, hun.  I really don't.  But if there's one thing I know, she wouldn't want us getting worked up over all of this.  I will promise you, the worst is over," he hugged them both tight.

    "You think so?" Brody asked, wrapping his arm around his father.

    "Yes.  There will be hard times ahead, but we've gotten through the worst of it.  If we're all strong together, we'll make it through.  Trust me.  This too shall pass."