The Day of the Triffids - John Wyndham
Waterstones Oxford Street
Auto-Tuned Opening Lines - The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham
When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday
starts off by sounding like Sunday,
there is something seriously wrong somewhere.
I felt that from the moment I woke.
And yet, when I started functioning a little more sharply, I misgave.
After all, the odds were that it was I who was wrong,
and not everyone else – though I did not see how that could be.
I went on waiting, tinged with doubt.
But presently I had my first bit of objective evidence –
a distant clock struck what sounded to me just like eight.
I listened hard and suspiciously.
Soon another clock began, on a loud, decisive note.
In a leisurely fashion it gave an indisputable eight.
Then I knew things were awry.
The way I came to miss the end of the world –
well, the end of the world I had known
for close on thirty years –was sheer accident:
like a lot of survival, when you come to think of it.