Fear seized me in its icy claws as something vile grabbed me as I ran, flipping me about as it held onto my shoulders. I thrashed and writhed, hurling punches and kicks with the last dregs of my rapidly-draining strength. Desperation surged through my veins as my eyes locked with the creature's - twin pools of the deepest, most sinister blue, the exact same eerie shade I'd seen pulsing on the grotesque thing attached to the girl's neck. A single thought cemented itself in my adrenaline-addled mind: "I will not end up like her."
Immobilized, trapped within the creature's iron grip, only one option remained. In a final, frenzied act of desperation, I snarled, my face twisting into a mask of primal rage. Lunging forward, I sank my teeth into the abomination's putrid flesh, my mouth flooding with the coppery tang of its foul blood.
"Ah! Mother fucker!" The creature howled in agony, stumbling back. I lunged again but it dodged, its grip compressing me like a vice.
"Alec! Dude! What the fuck? You bit me, you fucking prick!" The creature's fist rocketed towards my face, connecting with a sickening crunch. My skull snapped back, the world careening around me as I teetered on unsteady legs.
It grabbed me, shaking me like a ragdoll. I snarled again, muscles straining as I fought to break free.
"Alec, calm down! Alec!" It delivered a stinging slap across my face. I crumpled to the ground, my head cracking against the wall. Finally, the pain pierced the veil of madness, the world sharpening back into focus as my senses returned.
I gazed up at the creature, its horrific visage slowly melting away to reveal...Michael. His white shirt now sported a spreading crimson stain where I had bitten him, his hand clutching the wound, face etched with fury.
Michael took a step closer but I scrambled back, hands raised, head shaking. I bit my lip until the warm, coppery taste of blood coated my tongue, a soft whimper escaping my throat. "No. Stay away." My body quaked with terror as I backed away, pressing against the wall.
Michael's expression morphed from a mix of fear, rage and pain to one of bewilderment and concern. He crouched down. "Alec? Hey? I've never seen ya like this."
"Stay away," I repeated, my voice a hoarse rasp. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air between us.
"Alec, it's me," Michael said, his voice low and soothing, hands raised in a placating gesture. "I'd never hurt you. Well, except for punching you just now, but what the fuck is going on with you?"
My body began to quake, tremors wracking my frame as Michael's words hung in the air between us like a physical presence. Abruptly, he disregarded my earlier warning, closing the distance with deliberate strides. His hands captured mine in a firm grip, callused fingers encircling my wrists as he hauled me to my feet with a strength that belied his lean frame.
"No, please, don't... please don't," I stammered, my voice a strained whisper, the words scraping past the lump of dread lodged in my throat.
Michael pulled my arms to the sides, draping them over his broad shoulders. He spread his own arms wide, an unmistakable invitation for an embrace, his gaze locked with mine. In that moment, his eyes held a maelstrom of emotions - concern, confusion, a hint of residual anger, but above all, an unwavering determination to reach me, to pull me back from whatever dark precipice I teetered upon.
When I remained frozen, neither moving nor reacting, Michael closed the remaining distance between us with aching slowness. His arms encircled me, drawing me into a fierce hug, his body pressed against mine in a solid wall of warmth and strength. I fought the primal urge to break free, to lash out, every muscle in my body drawn taut as a bowstring.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the darkness behind my lids a welcome reprieve from the harsh fluorescent glare of the hallway. Michael's embrace enveloped me, and I could feel myself melting into it, the tension gradually bleeding from my limbs. My heart thundered against my ribcage, a wild, erratic rhythm, as Michael's hands rubbed soothing circles on my back. He murmured soft reassurances, his breath warm against my ear, and with each inhale, each whispered word, I could feel the vise of panic loosening its grip on my mind. The knowledge seeped into my bones with a bone-deep certainty - it was over. I was safe.
A broken sob tore from my throat as I turned my head, burying my face against the solid plane of Michael's chest. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric of his shirt as great, shuddering sobs wracked my frame. With the last shreds of my strength, I returned his embrace fiercely, my arms locking around him like he was my sole tether to sanity. I clung to him until the tremors subsided, until the sobs quieted to hitching breaths.
"Oh god, Michael... I was so scared," I choked out, my voice muffled against his shoulder.
Michael's hand came up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers threading through my sweat-damp hair as he held me close. "What happened in there, bub?" he asked softly, his words a warm gust against my ear. He made no move to release me, even as involuntary shudders wracked my frame.
With the receding of the adrenaline, exhaustion crashed over me like a leaden wave. I sagged in Michael's arms, my legs threatening to buckle. My mind felt sluggish, incapable of forming the words to describe the eldritch horrors I had witnessed. All I could do was cling to him, my face pressed into the crook of his neck as hot tears leaked from beneath my lashes. My breaths came in ragged gasps, Michael's steady heartbeat a grounding rhythm against my cheek.
Michael held me silently, a solid, unwavering presence as I slowly pieced myself back together. With a shuddering sigh, I extricated myself from his embrace, my legs trembling as I stumbled towards the closest seat. I collapsed into it heavily, bones turned to water, and waved a dismissive hand. The message was clear - I couldn't speak of it, not yet.
Michael remained where he stood, his breathing even, his expression now carefully neutral. He made no further attempt to press for answers, offering only silent support as I struggled to master myself. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of some inscrutable emotion that sent a renewed frisson of unease skittering down my spine. Something was off. He’d seen his own horrors, and was not speaking of it either.
Sniffling, I swiped at my tear-streaked face with a sleeve already crusted with dried blood and grime. The harsh fluorescent lights stabbed into my eyes as I surveyed the cramped hospital waiting room. Chaos reigned. Harried doctors and nurses raced between patients, barking orders that were swallowed by the groans and screams of the wounded. They lay strewn across every surface - slumped in plastic chairs, sprawled on the tile floor, or curled up on mobile gurneys streaked with scarlet. The cloying stench of blood clogged my nostrils, stirring the bile in my stomach.
"H-how..." I croaked, my voice cracking as I gestured weakly at the hellish scene. "How did I get here?"
Michael's eyes, once warm with reassurance, now glinted hard as flint. "Carried you. Both of us, me and Em. After that blast near knocked your head off. Slammed you into a wall like goddamned ragdoll. You’re one heavy sumbitch.”
I blinked, memories surfacing through the haze of pain like jagged shards of glass. The explosion. The bone-jarring impact. Then...nothing. Heart hammering, I whipped my head around, searching for a familiar mane of chestnut hair. "Where is she? Where's Emily?"
Michael shifted in the hard plastic chair, his gaze darting to the side. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
"Why...why'd you have to carry me?" I managed, grasping for any thread of conversation to fill the unbearable quiet.
"Most cars are scrap metal. Power grid's shot to shit. It's those...those things that are zippin’ around." He shuddered, broad shoulders hunching. "Dunno what they are, but they're messing with anything electric."
“Zipping around? What?”
"Aircraft. Vehicles. Hell if I know. They're all covered in these wicked lookin' spines and barbs."
I groaned and closed my eyes. “Aliens. Fucking aliens. It’s fucking really f-fucking aliens?”
Icy tendrils of dread unfurled in my gut. I squeezed my eyes shut, horror and disbelief warring within me. "This can't be happening. It's not...it's not fucking possible."
"Seems like it is." Michael's voice was flat, emotionless. The words fell like lead weights between us.
A string of profanities spilled from my lips. I held my breath, trying to quell the hiccups, then cleared my throat to try again.
"Michael," I began, the name emerging as a cracked whisper. Swallowed hard. Tried again. "Michael, you're scaring the shit out of me, man. Just...tell me. Please. Where the hell is Emily?"
Silence. Oppressive. Damning.
"She left."
"What? What do you mean she left?" I surged to my feet, ignoring the bolt of agony that seared through my skull at the sudden movement. "Why would she leave? Isn't this place safe?"
But I already knew the answer, could taste the bitter truth of it on my tongue. The knowledge settled in my marrow, heavy and inescapable.
This place, with its battered walls and bloodstained floors, the moans of the dying mingling with the shouts of the desperate...this was no sanctuary. No bastion. Just another circle of the hell we'd been plunged into.
Michael's sardonic laughter rasped in his throat. He shook his head, a mirthless grin twisting his lips. "Buddy, this ain't no hospital. It's a goddamned FEMA camp thrown together in some two-bit dentist's office. Those government suits descended on this place like vultures soon as the shooting started, almost like they'd planned for this all along."
My eyes widened fearfully and I swallowed a knot in my throat before asking, "Then where did she go?"
Michael's jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on a point beyond my shoulder. "She went to find her parents, her brother. Insisted on going alone, said she had to do this, that I needed to stay with you." He dragged a hand down his face, his shoulders slumping. "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. Just took off into that shitstorm out there with nothing but a backpack and a prayer."
"Okay..." I wet my cracked lips, dreading the answer to my next question. "How long ago?"
Michael's thousand-yard stare bored into the distance. His jaw worked silently, teeth clenched hard enough to crack. After a long moment, he spoke, his words leaden and hollow. "Four hours. Maybe more." He sounded like a man facing his own execution. Or worse, the execution of someone he loved.
BOOM. WHHOOMPH. WHOMP.
The concussive blast shook dust from the ceiling tiles. The windows rattled in their frames. Yelping, I hit the deck, hands clasped over my head. All around, others cowered under desks and behind overturned gurneys. Michael never even twitched.
"Y'all can quit that," he said, tone flat and factual. "They're not wasting ordnance on us here on the ground. Too busy swatting our fighters outta the sky."
I frowned up at him from the floor, my brow furrowing. "But the explosion that nearly took my head off..."
Michael heaved a sigh that seemed to deflate him. "Chunk of a downed jet smashed into the building."
Ice chilled in my veins. Christ almighty. How were we breathing after that?
My eyes flicked around the crowded room, desperate for answers, for direction. The battered remnants of humanity huddled in small clusters, some nursing seeping wounds, others weeping quietly. Medics scurried between them, faces pinched and haggard. They balanced precarious stacks of folders stuffed with X-rays and patient charts.
No one spared us a second glance. We were on our own.
I studied Michael, my eyes roving over his pallid skin slicked with sweat, the thick, immobilizing wrap pulled tight around his left ankle, the despair weighing heavy on his shoulders and pulling them into a defeated slump. He had the look of a man broken and hollowed out, with nothing left to drive him onward, ready to surrender to the chaos consuming the world.
"Are you hurt?" The question came out soft, almost timid. I'd been so consumed by the horrors I witnessed, it hadn't even occurred to me to check on his wellbeing until now.
Startled from his thousand-yard stare, Michael hesitated before answering, "No? I don't think so. Just tweaked my ankle hauling you in here, but I'm alright."
Yet I noticed the perspiration beading on his forehead, the subtle wince contorting his features as he shifted his weight - telltale signs of pain and distress lurking beneath his stoic facade. The trauma went beyond the physical.
"C'mon man," I urged, grasping his arm to pull him up. "You know where her brother lives, right? We need to go find them."
Sheer terror drained the color from Michael's face. He shook his head vehemently. "You don't get it. There's these godawful spider-crab things out there. They pounce on people, drag them off into the shadows. The screaming, Alec... Christ, the screaming..."
An icy shudder racked my body as the gruesome images replayed in my mind - skittering legs, pulsing hooks blood spraying, flesh tearing, shrieks of agony piercing the smoky air. Bile rose in my throat and my breath turned shallow and rapid. A cold sweat beaded on my brow as pure, unadulterated terror gripped my heart.
A horrific realization crashed over me. "Holy hell... I think I'm shell-shocked. Fucking PTSD."
"I know," I blurted out, holding up a hand to halt any further details. "I saw... I saw what makes them scream, Michael. It's beyond your worst goddamn nightmares. That's what spooked me so bad I came tearing in here the way I did. And it's exactly why we need to haul ass and find Emily before it's too late."
Michael gave a solemn nod, his eyes haunted and bleak. "From what I hear, those freaks are swarming out there. If I'd known... Shit, I never should've let Emily go. Figured she could make it a few blocks and back in one piece. That was before people started coming in talking about them…”
My brow knitted in confusion. "Why the hell didn't you go with her?"
Grimacing, Michael gestured at his wrapped foot. "Dragging your heavy ass in here. Tripped, landed wrong when your lard ass fell on me." His voice dropped to a softer, less accusing tone as he saw me blanch at his words. "Medics did what they could - wrapped it tight, but didn't even have any painkillers to spare."
Jaw clenching with determination, Michael hauled himself to his feet and squared his shoulders. Resolve hardened his features. "Fuck it, let's do this. Let's go out there and find her."
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He turned and locked eyes with me before continuing in a whisper; “I'm afraid one of those things stole her away man.”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I met Michael's haunted gaze. The thought of Emily in the clutches of those abominations sent a wave of nausea roiling through my gut. I swallowed hard, forcing a confident expression onto my face. "She'll be fine," I said, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "She's resourceful. Tough as nails."
But even as I spoke, the memory of that poor girl's final moments flashed through my mind unbidden. The way her screams had echoed off the walls, raw and primal, as that... thing... tore into her flesh. The wet, rending sounds as they ripped her neck apart, piece by piece... I shuddered, bile rising in my throat.
"If Emily is gone..." I thought to myself. "I hope to God a jet landed on her. Better that than..."
_________________________________
The night brought a darkness so oppressive, it seemed as if the city had become nothing more than an abyss of death and destruction. Everywhere Michael and I looked, a scorching hellscape revealed itself. The whole city was alight in devastation, a guttering, smoking nightmare that bled up to the heavens and burned the night sky to a cinder.
The devastation was total, the once-bustling streets reduced to a scorched wasteland of twisted metal and shattered concrete. Buildings crumbled in on themselves, their facades melted and warped by the searing heat. Acrid smoke choked the air, burning my lungs with every breath.
The streets lay barren except for the sporadic flash of sparks erupting from severed power lines. They crackled and spat with furious electricity before sputtering out, plunging us back into the impenetrable gloom. With even the moon obscured behind a curtain of billowing smoke, only the hellish light of the infernos illuminated our path.
Jets lay strewn about like discarded toys, their fuselages crumpled and blackened, fuel reserves igniting in gouts of white-hot flame.
Amidst the carnage, not a single soul stirred. Only the faint sobs and moans of the dying echoed through the rubble, fading into silence as we searched in vain for their source. Time and time again, we waded into the rubble, calling out, but found no one. It was as if the fire had scoured all life from the earth, leaving nothing but ghosts in its wake.
But it was the sight that greeted us at the top of the hill that truly stole the breath from my lungs. I threw out an arm, smacking Michael across the chest as I stared out over the ocean in disbelief.
"Holy ship," Michael breathed, his eyes wide with shock.
A behemoth blotted out the sky, so unfathomably colossal and grotesque it defied belief. Its mottled grey bulk hovered above the waves like a putrid, bloated carcass, eclipsing the feeble rays of sun struggling to pierce the suffocating shroud of smoke. Gaping craters pockmarked its misshapen surface, each one a gaping maw disgorging swarms of smaller craft that buzzed to and fro like maggots writhing in the flesh of a rotting corpse.
A deafening roar thundered in our ears as a formation of human jets streaked towards the great beast on the horizon, their engines screaming. The behemoth's reaction was instantaneous - a menacing maw yawned open in its side, disgorging hundreds of alien fighters in a dense cloud that cast a shadow on the waves below. Each craft was twice the size of the human jets racing towards them, their exotic blue metal glimmering in the morning light. Great sweeping spikes and blades adorned their hulls, slicing through the air with lethal grace in eerie silence.
The human fighters scattered, breaking ranks and splitting into smaller formations. They twisted and spiraled in magnificent arcs, diving and dodging between the enemy craft as their cannons filled the air with strobing light and percussive sound.
The enemy squadrons matched their maneuvers with terrible beauty, chasing down individual fighters in a deadly dance.
Explosions shook the air around us as fighters from both sides burst into flames, trailing fire and debris as they plummeted towards the ocean. The doomed craft hit the water with almost the same deadly grace they'd possessed in flight, disintegrating into clouds of shrapnel and steam. I imagined the pilots still inside, struggling futilely against failing controls as their cockpits burned around them, the screams of rending metal and rushing wind drowning out their final cries.
I wrenched my gaze away from the battle, heart pounding. "Come on man, let's go," I croaked to Michael.
He stood transfixed by the aerial spectacle, face slack with awe and horror. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to follow me back into the ruined city. "We are so fucked," he whispered.
Our footsteps echoed hollowly through the deserted streets as we ran, the only sound piercing the eerie crackling of flames. Scanning the debris-strewn road ahead, my heart lurched into my throat at the sight of a still form sprawled near the entrance of a collapsed building. "Michael, look! I think someone's hurt," I called, grabbing his arm.
He followed my pointing finger to the motionless figure and sucked in a sharp breath. "Shit."
We sprinted towards the prone shape, apprehension twisting my gut into knots. As we drew closer, it became clear it was a young woman - and that she was badly injured. Dried blood matted her dark hair and a pool of it had congealed around her head and neck. I dropped to a crouch beside her, heart in my throat, and brushed her shoulder with tentative fingertips. "Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me?"
Silence. Dread settling like a leaden weight in my stomach, I rolled her limp form onto her back. The moment I saw her face, I recoiled in horror, breath catching. Glassy, lifeless eyes stared up at me from a face caked in dirt and gore. Her lips were parted slightly, broken teeth visible behind them.
Michael's grip clamped around my shoulder, halting my stagger away from the mangled remains. Shallow breaths rasped in my chest as rivulets of tears carved tracks through the grime coating my face. Wracked by spasms, I retched repeatedly into the blood-soaked grass, stomach acid scorching my throat.
"Amy..." The syllables tumbled from my quivering lips, barely audible.
"What?" Michael leaned in, confusion etching his brow. "You know her?"
Misery engulfed me as I swiped at my mouth with a trembling hand. "Amy... math class... co-wrote a stats paper last year..." Each word emerged as a strained whisper.
Michael's arm encircled my shoulders, steering me down the debris-choked street. "We still need to find Emily," he murmured, giving my back a tentative pat. Numbly, I bobbed my head in assent. Side-by-side, we trudged onward, the crackle of encroaching flames the only sound slicing through the rapidly cooling night air. Behind us, hungry tongues of fire licked ever closer to Amy's sightless eyes, their reflection dancing in her vacant stare.
_______________________________________________________
As we slogged through the debris-strewn streets, a mirthless laugh escaped Michael's throat, the sound grating against the eerie silence of the ruined city.
"We should've died as kids," he muttered, voice tinged with a bitter hopelessness that sent a chill down my spine.
I halted, stomach twisting at his words. "What the hell, Michael? Why would you even say that?"
"Face it, we're screwed either way." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "We'll end up dead soon enough, right?"
Stunned, I floundered for a response, mind reeling. "I mean, maybe, but... Shit, just think about everything we've survived together. Most kids never could've made it through what we did. We'll find a way out of this nightmare too."
He let out a derisive snort. "Survive for what? To live as slaves, scrounging in the ashes until they bleed us dry? Or to die choking on radiation, puking our guts out? Or get vaporized when the nukes finally drop? There's no point anymore. All we've done is pointless."
He dragged a trembling hand down his haggard face. "We'll never scrounge up my meds again, not in this bullshit. Even if I manage to stay breathing through this, the cancer will rip me apart from the inside out. It's all fucking pointless! All of it! Everything!"
His anguished tirade hung in the air between us. Grasping for some shred of levity, I forced a strained grin. "Let's jack an alien ship then. Zip off to Mars! I hear they cracked the cure for cancer eons ago. We'll be golden."
Michael just shook his head, jaw clenched, and stalked away without a word.
Frustrated by his apathy, I savagely kicked a chunk of concrete launching it at the crumbling wall. White-hot agony lanced through my foot at the impact. "Fuck!" The curse tore from my throat as I clutched at my throbbing toes, eyes watering. Limping, I turned back to Michael. "How much farther to Emily’s place, anyway? We went way more than a few blocks, I know you changed your mind about where we’re going."
Michael rolled his eyes. “Really? Come on, dude. I know everything about ya, bud," he said sarcastically. "I remember where you live."
"Don't fucking be like that." I snapped. "So I don't remember where y'all's little fuckshack is, big fucking deal. You're being a bitchass."
Michael's nostrils flared as he choked down a retort, the muscles in his jaw clenching with the effort.
An oppressive quiet settled between us, our boots scuffing through the rubble as we slogged onward. Throbbing pain radiated through my foot with each step, but I gritted my teeth against it, my thoughts churning as I mulled our chances of survival. The urge to fill the silence with idle chatter itched at the back of my throat, but uncertainty stilled my tongue. Michael and I had weathered countless storms side-by-side, but in that moment, the prospect of facing the trials ahead alone sent icy tendrils of dread slithering down my spine.
"You know I'm right," Michael growled.
I wavered, considering. "Maybe. Maybe not. We don't have the full picture. They could grab what they're after and split."
A sneer twisted his lips. "We both know that's a crock of shit."
I threw up my hands. "I don't have any fucking answers, Michael. I’ve got just as many fucking answers as you do but you’re being a cocksucker right now and I’m about to punch you in the fucking face."
He heaved a sigh, the fight draining out of him. "No need to jump down my throat."
"Well, maybe don't spout bullshit about how we should've died as kids. Christ. What the fuck, man." I shook my head. “Jesus. Took all the joy right out of the end of the world, you buzzkill.”
Michael lapsed into brooding silence, his eyes hollow and distant. With a grunt, he wrenched himself to the left, his limp more pronounced as he motioned for me to follow.
We trudged onward for what seemed an age, the apartment complex Michael and Emily called home materializing out of the gloom ahead, miraculously unscathed amidst the destruction. Freshmen were barred from living off-campus, but they'd flouted the rules and leased a place together anyway.
The closer we drew, the more Michael's demeanor shifted, a feverish, manic energy seizing hold of him. His pace quickened to a frantic hobble, each step sending a wince flickering across his face as he favored his wounded leg. I trotted to keep pace, my skin prickling as a bone-deep chill seeped into the air, growing thicker and more cloying with each passing second.
As we stumbled into the parking lot, Michael lurched into a shambling run, rounding the corner and hurtling up the stairwell. His injured foot dragged behind him at a grotesque angle, but he hauled himself up the steps two at a time, raw desperation fueling him.
I hung back a few paces, my muscles coiled to spring into action and catch him if his mangled leg buckled.
Michael staggered onto the top-floor landing, shouldering open the door to his apartment. "Emily? Baby? Are you here?" The words tore from his throat, ragged and hopeful.
Only the mournful keening of the wind answered his call. I crested the final step, coming to stand at his shoulder as we peered into the yawning emptiness of the apartment.
Michael's head dropped, his shoulders hunching as he turned from the doorway. His knuckles blanched as he clamped onto the railing in a white-knuckled grip. His lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line as he fought to master the sob building in his chest, a strangled whimper escaping through clenched teeth.
"She's gone," he choked out, the words splintering in his mouth. "She's fucking gone."
Michael slumped against the railing, his forehead pressed between the bars like a condemned man in his cell. Sobs racked his body as despair settled into his bones.
I knelt beside him, meeting his bloodshot eyes. "You said Emily went to her family? Her brother's place? Why come here?"
"We passed it... The house... fire got it. All gone. I couldn't say it... couldn't..."
His fractured whisper scattered on the wind as he wept, pleading for absolution until words failed him. "Oh God... Is there no help for the widow's son..."
Jaw clenched, I hauled Michael up and dragged him into the apartment. A few stumbling steps and I heaved him onto the couch. He curled into a fetal position, face buried in a pillow, weeping without restraint.
I looked at my friend with pity for a moment, and then took a moment to survey our surroundings.
The apartment's coziness jarred against the cruel world outside. I stepped down the hallway hesitantly, cracking the door at the end, checking the bedroom, hoping to find Emily asleep, but it sat empty and cold.
Returning to the living room, I paused at the dimmed photos of Michael and Emily adorning the walls. An overwhelming melancholy gripped me as I lifted one, studying it by firelight - a cherished moment preserved.
I had evaded them, withholding my presence, my support. But now, examining the photo, my heart plummeted with remorse.
Michael's countenance glowed in the image. At some church event, the couple giggled as Emily attempted to feed Michael cake, icing smearing his chin and suit. But his bliss was unmistakable - eyes agleam with pure, unbridled joy. In that instant, I grasped the depths of my selfishness, the times I had failed my dearest friend.
My gaze shifted to Emily. Typically, her rounded, delicate features might be deemed unremarkable. But beside Michael, she radiated an aura of loveliness. Warm brown eyes sparkled with affection, her dyed shoulder-length blonde tresses framing her face in a way that accentuated her natural beauty. For the first time, I comprehended the bond they shared.
In that frozen moment, illuminated by dancing flames, the strength of their bond struck me. Shame burned in my throat at how I'd failed to embrace what they had. What Michael had now lost.
My heart plummeted as I pivoted to find Michael standing behind me. His eyes, once vibrant with life, now cast downward, were shrouded in a veil of despair. Hands quivering, as if grasping at the fraying threads of his composure, he seemed to be waging an internal battle against an all-consuming anguish.
I extended the photograph to him, a silent offering of shared memories. He accepted it with trembling fingers, tears cascading onto the glass. He was silent for a very long moment.
I stood there awkwardly, waiting for his judgement. The silence hung heavy in the room, punctuated only by the relentless ticking of the clock..
"I know we were on our own timelines, man," Michael's voice cracked, barely rising above a whisper. "But it still hurt me that you weren't here for us."
Shame engulfed me, dragging my head down under its weight. I forced myself to meet his gaze, confronting the pain I had inadvertently inflicted through my absence.
Michael bridged the distance between us, his hand finding purchase on my shoulder. In a swift motion, he pulled me into an embrace, his grip fierce and desperate, as if trying to pull all that lost time between us back from the ether. Back from my own stupid, selfish decisions.
A shudder rippled through my body as the full force of his pain, grief, and the guilt of my own shortcomings surged through me. I tightened my hold on Michael, tears springing from my own eyes, a silent apology for the moments I had failed to be present.
"She'll come home, man. I know she will," I asserted, my voice wavering under the strain of my own doubts.
But Michael withdrew from the embrace, his head shaking in a somber denial. "No. She won't."
Without another word, he turned and retreated to the bedroom, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his sorrow. A muffled sob escaped as he collapsed onto the bed, the sound of a man broken by loss.
I took a step to follow, but hesitation rooted me in place. The realization dawned that Michael needed solitude to navigate the labyrinth of his grief. This was a journey he had to undertake alone.
I entered the living room, and paced in front of the couch momentarily before plopping down on it.
Adrift in the living room, I paced before the couch, my mind grappling with the unfamiliar sight of Michael's vulnerability. It had been an eternity since I had witnessed him in such a state, the weight of his anguish palpable in the air… Not since the night his mother had passed, I realized. Michael had always hidden behind a mask of frivolity, rarely letting anyone, even me, see when and if he was hurting.
Memories of our shared past flooded my mind, transporting me to a time before Emily's presence had reshaped our lives. Days spent in reckless abandon, our laughter echoing through the streets as we chased dreams and courted mischief. It was only after Emily's arrival that a transformation had taken hold of Michael, a newfound seriousness and introspection settling over him, as if her love had imbued his life with a profound sense of meaning.
I recalled the countless nights we had whiled away, our voices rising and falling in animated conversations, our dreams and aspirations laid bare over bottles of beer. The music of the night had been our sole companion, the world beyond our circle fading into insignificance.
But now, those carefree moments felt like specters from a distant past, forever lost to the relentless march of time.
As I sank onto the couch, at the periphery of my vision, a shadow box on the coffee table snared my attention - a treasure trove of memories from our shared adventures.
A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips as I reached for the mementos, my fingers caressing each one with reverence. Faded movie tickets, exotic coins, scraps of cloth, old concert flyers. Emily's hand was evident in its curation, perhaps as much a tribute to me as to Michael.
Or… Maybe she had been making it for me? I wondered at the possiblity, and guilt panged my gut anew. A peace offering, to show she never meant to stand between us. I sighed, long and low. I had been a fool. I carefully set each of the mementos back into the box, and put it back on the table.
As I sank into the worn cushions of the couch, my eyes drifted to the photographs adorning the walls, each one a frozen moment in time. The smiling faces and joyous scenes taunted me, a cruel reminder of the fragility of life. In an instant, everything could change, leaving only memories to cling to. It was a lesson I had learned very young - and one that at some point, I had forgotten. I would not do that again.
A wave of melancholy crashed over me, dragging me under its suffocating weight. The realization struck like a hammer blow: we were all just temporary visitors in this world, our lives as fleeting as the flickering light of a candle. The importance of cherishing each precious moment had never been clearer.
Groping blindly, my fingers fumbled along the side table until they brushed against the cool metal of the lamp. To my surprise, it flared to life at my touch, bathing the room in a soft, comforting glow. A spark of hope kindled within me, a faint ember in the darkness.
I slumped back onto the couch, my hand burrowing between the cushions until it closed around the familiar shape of the remote control. The buttons yielded beneath my thumb as I aimed it at the television and pressed down. The screen burst to life, but only static greeted me. No matter how many times I jabbed at the buttons or cycled through the channels, the result remained the same: a hissing, meaningless void. I turned it off and threw the remote on the floor. “Fuck.”
With a frustrated sigh, I fished my phone from my pocket, hoping to find some news about the world outside our town. But when I tapped the screen, nothing happened. Every app hanging. Google brought up a 404. The world had ground to a halt, it seemed, leaving me stranded in a sea of uncertainty.
The clock on the wall read 11:14 PM. One day had passed. One. Day. And already, there was no going back. Michael's words from earlier echoed in my mind: "We are fucked." The weight of their truth settled heavily on my shoulders.
Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, and I surrendered to its insistent pull. As I leaned back and let my eyes drift shut, the darkness welcomed me like an old friend. I floated in its embrace, my mind untethered from the harsh realities of the waking world. In that moment, I found a small measure of peace, a temporary reprieve from the chaos that had engulfed our lives.