It was going to be a long, quiet drive home in the dark, or at least that’s what Cynthia thought. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw Mia’s pouting face, her fingers twisting a strand of her dark hair in spirals aggressively. She couldn’t help but find her daughter so adorable, yet her behaviour was concerning her. She had to step up as a mother.
“Are you still upset about leaving Daddy? I practically had to drag you out of that apartment, Mia!”
Cynthia could sense the unrest from her child, as she saw Mia constantly glancing out the window, her eyes sullen as she looked towards the back.
“Mom,” Mia whispered, her voice barely audible. “Why can’t we stay with daddy… I’m scared.”
Cynthia sighed, trying to stay calm, but her own nerves were beginning to fray. The streetlights seemed dimmer than usual, and the long stretches of shadows loomed ominously around them. She wished Mia could spend more time with her father, but after discovering what he had gotten himself involved in, it wasn’t safe for her anymore.
Cynthia’s mind flashed to a toothy grin from a young boy with tousled black hair, so much like Mia’s. Her own brother that she abandoned. Sabir.
“Sabir, I’m sorry I could never be the sister you needed, but I’ll make sure Mia lives the life we always dreamed of.”
“Mom, did you see that?” Mia’s voice broke through Cynthia’s thoughts, her hand clutching at the seatbelt.
Cynthia blinked and scanned the road. “See what, sweetheart?”
“There… by the trees.” Mia’s voice was shaky, her eyes darting back toward the passing forest. Cynthia glanced back, but there was nothing there—just the dark, endless stretch of road.
Turning back to Mia, Cynthia knew she had to distract her. “I’ll tell you what. How about tomorrow we go out for some ice cream at that shop you love?”
Mia hesitated, her eyes still wide, but the mention of ice cream pulled her attention away. “You really mean it?” Her bright blue eyes sparkled, though the fear hadn’t entirely faded.
Cynthia nodded, smiling. “Yes, everything will be okay.” She glanced at Mia once more before focusing on the road. In that split second, a huge black truck sped toward them, and the motorway that day reverberated with a deafening crash, blaring horns, and the cries of an orphaned child.
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Sabir jolted awake with a sharp intake of breath, his chest heaving with ragged gasps. As he scanned the surrounding darkness, every shadow seemed to harbor a potential threat. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, a stark contrast to the pleasant dream he had just left behind. But in a place like “The Limbo,” dreams were rare escapes. They said vulnerability and happiness were dangerous here. Living in The Limbo meant constant vigilance; even emotions like love and happiness could become lethal snares. “Keep your emotions in check,” his sister always warned him, “and stay alert.”
“Tsk, that advice must have done real good for her,” Sabir muttered bitterly whilst getting up from the cold hard floor that he was sleeping on. Sabir lived in what looked like a small, broken shed. It was his home, which he shared with his sister, before she left him. People who lived in The Limbo had poor housing or some unlucky few didn’t even have that.
Sabir, with his pale skin and shaggy black hair, had a slim build that concealed surprisingly toned muscles, a testament to the harsh life he led. When his sister, Cynthia, left him, Sabir found himself alone, tasked with defending their home from petty bandits.
In The Limbo, anyone could claim anything if they were strong enough. A band of thieves would have taken Sabir’s home if not for his sheer defiance and tenacity. Despite being bloodied and bruised when they finally left, Sabir’s determination prevented them from succeeding. They might have killed him too, but they knew the cost would outweigh the gains -a broken body wasn’t worth a plundered shack in The Limbo.
Here, health was more valuable than anything; with no doctors in sight and diseases rampant, survival often meant hoping for the best and avoiding death’s grasp.
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Sabir made his way to his dilapidated door, with a worn down backpack in tow, and pushed it open. As the door creaked, a blinding light struck him that forced him to squint. He let out a sigh; The Limbo had not magically changed overnight. What appeared to be a wasteland at first glance was far more than that. The ground littered with the corpses of people and monsters alike, a grim testament to the constant struggle for survival.
Everywhere he turned, a strong, pungent smell assaulted his senses. With no sewage system and no one to pick up the dead bodies, the stench of decay was overpowering. Sabir took a moment to adjust to the harsh reality outside. The air was thick with dust and despair, and the once faint hope things might improve seemed to evaporate under the relentless sun.
Despite the bleakness, Sabir knew he had to keep moving.
It was his last day of school. With that out of the way, his final and only promise with Cynthia will be complete. Afterwards, he was free of any bindings. He could do whatever he wanted with his life. He could finally seek freedom. Not some path that his selfish sister set out for him.
He scanned the horizon, noting the familiar landmarks and potential threats. The broken shacks, the crumbling remnants of a civilization long gone, stood as silent witnesses to the ongoing chaos.
As he moved through the dusty street, Sabir noticed an old woman sitting down, leaning on a hut similar to his own. It was his neighbor, Mrs. Norris, a familiar and comforting presence in an otherwise hostile environment.
“Morning, Mrs. Norris,” he called out quickly, his pace never slowing. He gave her a brief nod and a small smile of recognition, recalling the many times she had offered him a kind word or a piece of bread when he was struggling. To most in The Limbo, Mrs. Norris was just another forgotten elder, too old and frail to be of any use. But to Sabir, she was more than that.
When Cynthia left, it was Mrs. Norris who had taken him in, fed him, and clothed him when the nights got cold. She had been the closest thing he had to family, the only person who ever looked out for him after his sister disappeared.
Mrs. Norris looked up from her knitting, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “Morning, Sabir,” she replied. “Heading out again today?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, adjusting his worn-out backpack. “Got some things to take care of.”
Sabir slowed for a moment, letting his gaze linger on her weathered face. The deep lines around her eyes and mouth seemed to have grown more pronounced since the last time he saw her, the weight of life in The Limbo etched into every wrinkle. Her once firm hands, now filled with age, still moved with purpose as she knitted, though her pace was slower now. Everyone had a distraction. A distraction to forget about all the misery in life. For Mrs Norris, it was knitting.
Sabir couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. She had done so much for him, but there was so little he could do for her now. Sabir was going to change things. With time, he’ll be able to accrue enough credits and give Mrs Norris the life of luxury that she deserved.
Mrs. Norris had always been there. She wasn’t his real grandmother, but she had cared for him like one. When Cynthia left him behind, barely more than a child, it was Mrs. Norris who taught him how to patch up his clothes, how to barter for food, how to stay out of trouble with the local gangs. She was the one who had nursed him through sicknesses, her hands gentle and sure even when she had little medicine to offer.
“Stay safe, Sabir,” she replied, her voice filled with genuine concern. The wrinkles on her face seemed deeper today, etched by the harsh realities of life in The Limbo. There was a sadness in her eyes, too, one Sabir knew all too well. She had seen too much, lost too many people she cared about. And though she never said it, Sabir suspected she feared he might be the next to disappear.
“I will, Mrs. Norris. Don’t worry about me,” Sabir said, his voice softer than before. He wanted to say more, to thank her for everything she had done, but the words stuck in his throat. In The Limbo, survival took precedence over sentimentality, and showing too much emotion could be dangerous. Still, the gratitude was there, unspoken but heavy in the air between them.
With a last glance and a wave, he continued on his way. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the ruined landscape. As he walked, he could feel eyes on him. People lurked inside their ramshackle shelters or lived outside in makeshift hovels, watching him with wary, analyzing gazes. Some were sizing him up, wondering if there was anything of value they could take from him. Others observed him cautiously, assessing if he posed a threat. They had seen him walk this path many times, but trust was a foreign concept here. Despite the familiarity, their guard remained up, ever alert to the possibility of danger.
Sabir clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling under the surface. Fed up with the constant suspicion and hostility, the way everyone in The Limbo seemed to be out for themselves. He understood their desperation, but the endless cycle of mistrust and betrayal was wearing him down. There had to be more to life than this perpetual vigilance.
He concentrated on the work ahead of him, on the steps he must take to reach a measure of a safety that was, at best, a temporary refuge. Each step he took was a step deeper into the unknown and a step farther from the falsehood of security of his home. But he had no choice. He had to go on. He pressed forward with a resolve that might have impressed even the most battle-hardened of soldiers. There might not be a light at the end of the tunnel, but it was a light, and he was determined to follow it. Where was he headed? To The Threshold.