SILAS

Hey. Are you there? I hope you are. I like the idea that I'm not alone, that these thoughts aren't just for me, echoing in the chambers of my mind. That someone out there can see what I see, feel what I feel. That there's a point to all this. That it means something.

Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe this is my way of coping with everything that's happened and is still happening. But it's still understandable, right? Relatable? Main characters are supposed to be relatable.

I've always been so bad at making friends. Books were my friends. Movies. TV shows. Videogames. You get the idea. It's a cliche, but it's true.

It's not like I was a complete loser, or anything. I just liked to spend time by myself. I wasn't all that interested in meeting people, and maintaining relationships—even if those predilections did lead to feelings of loneliness, sometimes.

Now, at the other side of the end of the world—my world, at least—I have new friends. I think I can call them that. Allies, at least.

I can hear them now, the sounds of their breathing, echoing inside the walls of this stony burrow of a cavern. I can't see them, not without activating my night vision. It is aphotically dark, and rather quiet, except for—or perhaps because of—the low, steady hum of the wind outside the cave opening, growling in the rocky canyons and canals.

Shiloh and Cade. That's their names. My allies. The only friends I have in the world.

They're asleep. And I envy them for that. There's too much noise in my head to sleep yet, myself. Plus, there's you. My new arrival.

Welcome to the end, after the end. Welcome to my post-apocalypse.

I hope you'll enjoy your stay. More than I will, anyway—considering how things have gone so far, I'm not terribly optimistic in that regard.

At the very least, maybe you'll find it interesting. Maybe I can be your friend, in the way characters in stories were always friends to me. Maybe you can make some sense out of all this, even if I can't.

That would be something, at least. Wouldn't it?

Okay. I'm really starting to feel it. Maybe I do need to sleep, mental noise or no.

I'm gonna lie back now, with the bare metal of my torso and back pressing and crunching against the sloped and gravelly floor of the cave. Putting one metal arm behind my head to support my neck, I'm gonna stare off into the darkness of this place—a darkness more complete than the view behind close eyelids. But I do close my eyes. And as I do, I feel my mind recoiling from that darkness, and to a place of proverbial light. A time long past. A time when things made at least some sense. A time—

*****

(before)

The lights were too bright. The music was too loud. The people were too...people-y.

I was standing in a big backyard, on a crisp, well-maintained lawn, a red Solo cup in my hand. Surrounded by people, and drinks, and party games. Cordoned in by a tall, white fence. Nowhere to run. Smack-dab in the center of an upper middle-class income suburb.

More specifically, I was at Ethan Weeks' place, attending a 'social gathering' he'd organized while his parents were away on a trip.

Nothing crazy, mind you. No alcohol. No one doing lines of coke in the bathroom--that I was aware. Just a group of kids hanging out in a backyard, as well as a basement connected to the lawn by way of a glass sliding door.

You'd think I'd be there, in the basement, where the TV's and games were. But there was just...too much going on. Too many people in such an enclosed space, all talking at once. I could feel my mental battery swiftly depleting, in there. Couldn't focus.

Out here, I could actually breathe. Literally, because I wasn't packed in a stuffy room with all those bodies.

There were crowds of people milling about outside as well, and I'd been slowly distancing myself from the group, feeling increasingly awkward by the minute. I was out of sorts. I didn't...belong. I kept glancing over at a couple particular people over by the ice chests, then instantly regretting it and looking away.

I wished I hadn't come. I wished I could just...bounce.

Unfortunately, I'd been given a ride, and I wasn't quite willing to spend the money--and deal with the attention--required for an Uber.

At the moment, I guess my plan was to wait things out.

Unless...I could walk? How far was it back to my house, really? Perhaps if I could find a way to leave without provoking any unwanted attention or social interactions.

It was a nice enough night for a walk, if oddly cool for a mid-summer evening. Cool enough to justify the pullover hoodie I was wearing. And it was late and dark enough that the orange streetlamps had buzzed on, glowing like the light of distant planets which orbited around Ethan Weeks' sun.

Everything orbited around Ethan, lately. Including myself.

'Friend' was a bit of a strong word to describe what he was to me. He was an outgoing acquaintance who referred to me as his friend. He had adopted me, in the way introverts often are by the more outgoing folk.

It's not like I had anything in particular against the guy. We got along in a superficial sort of way. I was polite with him, and he was friendly and sociable with me. And that was about the extent of our relationship.

'So what are you doing at this guy's party, then?'

Indeed.

I'd like to say it's a long story, but...it's not. At the end of the day, it comes down to one thing.

You see, there's this girl-

"Pssst!"

I glanced about. That voice. It was close. Eerily so. Which was weird, because in the past minute or so, I'd gone out of my way to distance myself further from the rest of the crowd, retreating into the back corner of the yard.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Over here, dingus."

I peered through the finger-width gap in the fence to my left. "Gemma!?"

My sister, two years my junior, was in the alley on the other side of the fence. She was perched on a bike, with the kickstand down. She had the hood of her jacket up, and there was a trail of dark hair coursing down under one side of that hood. She was facing me, and I could only see one of her eyes, twinkling in the glow of a streetlamp.

"My guy," she said. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I was about to ask you," I said. "Did you really bike all the way here?"

"I actually walked," she said. "Strapped the bike to my back."

Smartass.

"Isn't it, like, a half-hour ride?"

"I make it all the time,” Gemma said. "Besides, it’s better than walking. Which you were clearly about to do."

I made a point of frowning. "What? No. Gemma, I'm having fun."

"Yuh-huh," Gemma said. "Sure. Give it up, dude. You're practically hugging the fence, otherwise you wouldn't have heard me doing my hisses."

"What if I'm...waiting for someone to come back with a drink?"

"Who?" Gemma shot back.

I hesitated, floundering for an answer.

"Did she say yes?" Gemma said.

We both knew who she was referring to.

I looked over in the direction of the house. More precisely, at a tall, blonde girl in jeans and a Kingdom Hearts t-shirt.

Her name was Mila, and she was something of a long-term crush of mine. Technically, I guess you could say we're friends. We talked almost every day. We actually have a lot in common. Last year, she lent me her binder of PS1 games. I played most of them. Not so I would have more things to talk about with her, but because I was genuinely interested in her collection.

Not that I don't like talking to her. Who wouldn't? I mean...

Look at her...

At the moment, she was sitting on one of the ice chests, talking and laughing. She kept running a hand through her curly, neck-length hair. 'Preening', some might say.

Ethan was also sitting on an ice chest. The same ice chest, as a matter of fact.

They were very close, the two of them. Making lots of eye contact. And occasionally, physical contact.

"You know, I think I'm just waiting for the right time," I said.

"Ugh!" Gemma said. "You're frickin' killing me! All you ever do is talk about this girl, but you won't make a move."

"I talk to her every day, at school."

"Talking is not 'making a move'," she said, using air quotes. "No wonder you got zoned."

"Oh, c'mon," I said, tearing my eyes away from Mila to look over at Gemma, through the gap in the fence. "There's no such thing as the 'friend zone'."

Gemma snorted. "Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"You are...uncaring, you know that?"

"It's called tough love. Silas, you can't just sit on the sidelines and wait for the other person to read your frickin' mind. The girl's job--unless you're pushy, like me--is to reciprocate. That means you have to do something. Take a risk. Put yourself out there. Things like: asking her out, holding her hand. You know. Going in for a kiss. Speaking of..."

She nudged her head in the direction of the house.

I looked, not thinking to stop myself.

Yep. That was a mistake.

Hoo boy.

Mila and Ethan were definitely going at it. I was pretty sure I could see tongue.

I could feel, somewhere in my insides, a sinking, falling sensation. Like I'd been walking along a steep ledge, and one of my friends had just given in to their intrusive thoughts and pushed me off.

This is part of why I hadn't wanted to approach her to begin with.

"On a scale from one to ten," Gemma said. "How blindsided are you, right now?"

How blindsided should I be? I honestly didn't know. I knew she and Ethan had been talking more than usual lately, but Ethan was...Ethan.

I sighed. "I don't get it. I thought we had so much in common. I don't think Ethan has ever even touched a game controller. And he wears...cardigans. You know?"

But when I looked at Gemma, all I saw was disappointment. And maybe even a teensy bit of disgust thrown in for good measure.

"Shit," I said. "I'm doing that thing you're not supposed to do, aren't I? I'm being a 'Nice Guy'."

"Oh," Gemma said. "You're definitely a Nice Guy, right now."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome. Get on the fucking bike."

I peered at her, and the bike. Turned to look at the goings-on of the party. Then back to her.

"I can't just leave now," I said. "I'll have to walk right past Ethan, and Mila, and...they'll know. Everyone will know. It's gotta be all over my face."

"It is."

"Wow," I said. "Thanks again."

"Use the latch."

"Say what?"

"There's a latch like two feet from your face."

She was correct. There was a little thumb latch poking out between two of the rails.

After a quick look to make sure no one was watching me, I reached for the latch. But as soon as my fingers touched the handle, I hit some major resistance. Like, mental resistance. It felt like, if I walked away now, I would be leaving something behind.

"Yo. What's the holdup?"

"I..." I paused, formulating my thoughts. "I dunno. Maybe there's something I can do."

"Oh, good idea," Gemma said. "If you head over there now, maybe you can break up the tongue-punching long enough to explain your side of the situation."

Ethan and Mila had actually taken a break from the smooching, for the time being. They were talking, now. But they were still very close, their noses practically touching.

"Yeah, no," I said, defeated. "You're right."

"Of course I am. I'm always right."

Yeah, I wouldn't go that far. But she had an outside perspective on things. Thanks to my social awkwardness, and general lack of friends, personal advice was on short supply. It wasn't like I was going to talk to my parents about this stuff. Normally, I wouldn't talk to Gemma about it either, but she had a tendency to pick up on things quickly--another thing that separated the two of us--and for getting herself involved.

Like right now.

"You must really have a lot of free time," I said, opening the gate.

"Nah. I like riding to the Circle K for snacks. This is only ten minutes further than that."

"What if it turned out I was having the time of my life?"

Gemma raised her one visible eyebrow, skeptically.

I shut the gate behind me. "You really have no faith in me, huh?"

"If I'd told you the whole thing was a bust, would you have believed me?"

"So you knew?"

"Well, no..." She wiggled the handlebars back and forth, scratching the front tire back and forth on the asphalt. "I'd heard...things. Unconfirmed, of course. But that's not my point. It's not a bad thing you came. It's a good thing. You're starting to put yourself out there."

"Thanks, mom."

"I'm serious! Did you drag your feet for way too long? Yeah. But today, you showed up. For that, you get an A-plus. And so do I, for being so considerate as to drop by and pick you up. Now let's go. Circle K's a-waiting."

She was right. Sure, I could look at this as a negative experience. And maybe it was. But why fixate on that? And why was I agonizing over the thoughts and opinions of people who clearly didn't care about me as much as I thought they did? My little sister wasn't just here to stop for snacks at the gas station. She was here because she'd known I'd gotten a ride to the party. I was kinda stuck. Until she decided to pop by and give me a ride.

Actually, from the look of it, I was the one who would be giving her a ride. I doubted she would be able to bike all the way back with me standing on the back pegs.

Sure enough, Gemma hopped off the bike when I approached.

"Planning to drink and bike?" Gemma said.

I realized I was still holding the Solo cup. Shrugging, I downed a couple gulps before dumping the rest.

"Alcohol?" Gemma said.

"No. Just Dr. Pepper." And it was.

I turned the empty cup upside down and propped it on one of the fence rails.

"That's littering," Gemma said.

"No it's not. Someone will get it."

"That's literally what people who litter say."

"Call the cops," I said, mounting the bike.

"How will I get home, then?"

"Police car."

"And ride with a convicted criminal?"

I felt the back tire bounce as Gemma hopped onto the pegs. Her hands gripped my shoulders.

"I guess I'll just have to let it slide," she said. "This time."

"How lenient of you."

"Yep. Now, mush!"