Mackie… Gone in the blink of an eye. When was I gonna go?

I should have already, a long time ago now… But here I was in the trash, belly up, staring at the sky. Fat clouds lumbered overhead, soaking up sunlight.

Mackie. I hadn't thought of him since it happened and now that I had, I couldn't stop. His face kept flashing back to me, both of them, like images burned onto a t.v. screen. That crooked gold tooth smile, the lustrous black hair and purple eyes…. They were gone from this world.

My heart panged with sharp spikes. What did that even mean? All I knew about death was that you smelled after.

Did I miss him? Or did I hate him? I couldn’t tell. The feelings got all mixed up in my head whenever I tried to parse through them. All that was for sure was that he pushed his luck and it bit him in the ass. Maybe he deserved what he got. Maybe he didn’t.

I guess none of that matters anymore. It’s just me now.

A breeze slipped through the high rise alleys, bringing with it the taste of dust and garbage. Alright. Time to get up.

“Is something wrong, Dreamer?”

I’d stumbled back through the alley on wandering feet, unsure of where to go or what to do. I was back at the Inshot, standing where Chuckles and the rest had been only moments ago. Their bikes rumbled off in the distance. Milo stood beside me, a concerned look on her face, like she wasn’t sure if I was going to be sick on her shoes or not.

Then, I realized she’d asked me something.

“Oh. Uh. I’m not sure.” I brushed back my hair and rubbed my face for a solid minute. The memories of Mackie still shook around in my head.

I needed a cigarette, badly. Looking over at Milo, I asked, “You don’t smoke, do you?”

On the bus ride home, Milo sat beside me. She was quiet, watching the city drift by through the windows with curious eyes. She sensed something was wrong with me, but couldn’t tell what. Had she done something wrong? What had changed? I wasn’t sure myself. There wasn’t anything left inside of me. I was just an empty pot with no feelings. Something had to change in my life. But what?

Outside, the city sighed and I could smell its stale breath for the first time in a long while. I watched in a glossy-eyed daze while it passed by the bus windows.

The LowDowns: a splatter of concrete and deprivation. My savior and my hell. It was a mess of traffic this morning: cars smushed onto narrow streets, LowDowners squeezing past each other on tired sidewalks, advertisements polluting the toxic air with buzzing light and droning monotonous noise. Squat stone blocks stood in broken rows against the towering heights of inner LowDowns where twinkling high rises rose like tiered spikes. The city was a glowing, smoking maze made with no sense and no exit.

I craved a smoke just to block out the smell.

Mackie died in these streets, scrounging for change. Millions had died with him, living out droll lives choked out by smog and burnt by acid rain. And just like with Mackie, no one cried when they were gone.

One day, I'd be next.

Is this all I’ve amounted to?

I inspected my hands, my tired, calloused palms. Tiny scars went up the knuckles. Closing my fingers into a ball, I squeezed tight, focusing on the sensation to make sure I was awake..

I was alone now. I was all I had.

But I was still alive. I was still breathing. I still had a chance. And for everyone who couldn't, I could take it.

But where did I start?

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Dreamer?” Milo asked, breaking the silence.

“What?” I broke from the window. The bus shuffled as it stumbled over potholes in the road.

“Where…” She started, looking up at me, but trailed off. Something was on her mind. Those soft brown eyes were trying to figure it out. “Nevermind.” She turned back to the city.

As we trudged up the stairs to my apartment, I felt a darkness descend upon me. It crept over my eyes like a veil, growing stronger with each step. As I opened the door and took a look inside, the realization came to me.

This wasn’t my home.

The only things in this apartment that were truly mine were a plant, my clothes, and a case of narcotics. If I died and this place was buried like a tomb with all this stuff in it, when it was exhumed, there wouldn’t be a damn thing left of me but a box of drugs to find. Not who I was, what I liked, or what I’d done in my lifetime. It would be as if I never existed.

As I stepped in and the floor gave its usual creak beneath my boots, a part of me knew… that this would be the last time I’d step foot inside. I had to leave.

Milo waited in the living room, curling up on the couch to look through the windows, while I went to my room, ignoring the feelings this new revelation gave me.

It was a surprise to find the leftover narcotics exactly as I’d left them. My most recent binge had been merciful to my supply, fortunately.

“No… more… drug dealing,” I said as I double checked the stash. The words felt good to say out loud. This stuff… this shit was over for me. Mackie always hated that I sold drugs. He would rather I have done them instead.

The sudden thought made me pause. What would Mackie say about me now?

A sudden wave of feeling washed over me. I gripped my side and bit my tongue, keeping the feeling from welling out, at least until I checked the door to make sure Milo couldn’t see me. Then the sadness overtook me. I doubled over, my face to the floor, and hot tears bled from my eyes.

Mackie was dead. No more chances to say thank you. No more chances to say goodbye. He hadn’t been a good friend, but he’d been by my side for a decade and that had to count for something. I wept as quietly as I could until the tears were gone.

When the feelings subdued, I wiped my face as best I could and closed up the latch box. It felt like a box of memories I was shutting forever… not all of them good ones.

What would Mackie have said if he saw me all choked up like that? He would've made fun of me– called me a slur. Mackenzie would've done the same, except afterwards, she'd have hugged me, maybe even kissed me. A secret part of me longed for that right now.

I walked out of my room with the stuff, my soul drained. Did I have the energy to do this today?

Milo looked at me strangely as I entered.

“Dreamer?” she asked, oddly concerned. I looked at her for a second before I wiped away tears that had snuck down my cheeks.

“I’m alright.” I sniffled, sitting down on the couch beside her and opening the latches. Then I counted the narcotics, parsing them out with fluid memory, organizing it all into neat portions, not for me, but for the boys. This would be my one kind act for them. It felt like a weight was being lifted off of me knowing this was the last time I’d look at this shit.

I was almost done when I realized Milo was watching me. She didn’t disapprove but there was a frightened look in her eyes. Or maybe I was just imagining things. Maybe I wanted her to feel scared. I wanted someone to feel like this was wrong; god knows I had stopped caring a long time ago.

I’ll be leaving Milo too. I realized. Guilt welled up in my stomach. How would she react? Would she even care?

“This wasn’t forever,” I told her as I worked, meaning two things at once.

“What?” She asked.

“This job…” I said. There was a moment of quiet between us before she spoke again.

“I don’t judge you for it, Dreamer.” Her voice was sweet, reassuring. I looked up at her, surprised. Sweet girl. But her words only hardened my heart.

“You should.” I stood up, clasping the box shut.

At the bus station we waited quietly for the next ride. I could have stayed mute the whole day. Milo, on the other hand, shifted on one foot back and forth. It wasn’t until the bus came around the corner that she broke the silence.

“Are you okay, Dreamer?” She asked, looking up at me. Something strange happened then. It was like before then I was both okay and not, but now that she’d asked, I had to choose one. And just like that I put a hand on her shoulder and met her eyes so she knew I was serious when I said my next words.

“Everything’s okay, Milo. I’m done crying.” The bus squealed as it pulled up, the rumbling engine shuddering in our ears. I ushered her towards the door as it hissed opened and followed. She stopped one last time and looked at me before we got on.

“It’s okay Dreamer if you need some time to yourself. I can go back on my own.” Odd words and odd sentiments from a WarZoner. We were never so considerate.

“No. I’m fine now.” I reassured her.

“What happened?” She asked timidly, as she stepped onto the bus. We made our way to the back, passing tired workers slouched in their seats.

“...a friend of mine died. But it’s okay.” She looked at me as the revelation passed over her confused young face.

“It’s okay?” She asked, sitting down.

“Yeah.” I took the seat beside her, “Because I’m still alive.” The bus squealed forward.