Elias had always been a creature of habit. Every night at exactly 8 PM, he would leave his apartment with a medium-sized bag of cat food and wander around his building, searching for the stray cats that loitered nearby. It wasn’t an act of nobility or charity—he simply liked cats. They were easier to deal with than people, and unlike his boss, they never asked him to work unpaid overtime.

The other tenants often complained about the sheer number of strays that gathered around the building, completely unaware that Elias was the reason for it. But he didn’t mind. Feeding the cats was his escape from the drudgery of his job, a brief moment of solace before returning to his empty, lifeless apartment. Some nights, he even found himself talking to them, venting about his unfair workload and his insufferable boss. The cats never responded, of course, but their presence made him feel less alone.

Tonight was no different. The evening air was crisp, a gentle breeze weaving through the quiet streets. The soft glow of streetlights illuminated the pavement as Elias stepped outside, his bag of cat food slung over his shoulder. He took his time, moving with deliberate ease, relishing in the peaceful solitude of his nightly routine.

As he wandered the perimeter of his apartment building, the first of the strays emerged from the shadows, a small tabby with a notched ear. Elias knelt down, pouring a small pile of kibble onto the ground, watching as the cat cautiously approached before beginning to eat. He smiled.

One by one, more cats appeared—some he recognized immediately, others were new, likely drawn in by the scent of food and the promise of safety. Each arrival made Elias’s heart feel a little lighter, their familiar faces greeting him like old friends. A fluffy white one with mismatched eyes stretched lazily before trotting over, while a tiny gray kitten hesitated on the outskirts, watching with curiosity. Elias smiled, crouching down to coax the little one forward, his voice soft and reassuring.

He took his time with each cat, speaking to them as he poured out their food. "You’re getting chubbier, aren’t you? Been sneaking meals from the others?" he chuckled as one of the older cats, a ginger tabby, nudged against his knee, purring loudly. "And you, you always show up late," he mused, scratching behind its ears.

He never rushed them; he understood their caution, their hesitance. Trust was something built over time, not freely given. And so he waited, patient and warm, watching as even the shyest of the bunch crept closer. The once-silent alley was now filled with the soft sounds of contented chewing, the occasional playful scuffle, and the rhythmic purring of those who had long since accepted Elias as their own. This was his favorite part of the night—the quiet companionship, the warmth of tiny bodies pressing against him, the feeling of being needed, even if only for a little while.

The minutes stretched, each interaction grounding Elias in a way that nothing else did. He took his time, lingering with the cats as the night deepened. A few climbed onto his lap, curling up contentedly as he scratched behind their ears. One particularly bold kitten, a scruffy black one with white paws, climbed up his arm and perched on his shoulder, purring loudly into his ear. Elias chuckled, gently stroking its tiny head. "You're getting braver, huh?"

A soft breeze carried the distant hum of city life—cars in the far distance, muffled voices from an open window above. The streetlamp flickered overhead, casting elongated shadows across the cracked pavement. The building he called home loomed beside him, its exterior worn by time and neglect. Faded bricks and rusted fire escapes gave it an almost melancholic charm, a relic of better days. Vines had crept up one side, winding their way toward the windows, as if nature itself was trying to reclaim it. The dull glow of scattered apartment lights painted a picture of quiet, ordinary lives—families finishing dinner, a television flashing through a drawn curtain, a distant laugh echoing down the alley.

The last of the cats finished eating, stretching lazily before rubbing against Elias’s legs in gratitude. He sighed, reluctant to leave, but the night was growing colder. "Alright, guys, same time tomorrow?" He gave them all one last fond glance before standing up, dusting off his jeans. As he made his way toward the entrance, a few of the cats trailed behind, their tails swishing like silent goodbyes.

The comfort of the ritual faded the moment he stepped through his apartment door. The walls felt closer than they should, the air stale with neglect, carrying the lingering scent of instant noodles and old books. A single lamp in the corner cast a dim, flickering glow over the small living room, barely enough to push back the shadows that clung stubbornly to the corners. Dust particles danced lazily in the limited light, disturbed only by Elias’s presence.

The apartment itself was small, almost suffocatingly so. The couch, old and sagging from years of use, sat against the far wall, its once-vibrant fabric now faded and fraying at the edges. A coffee table, littered with unopened mail and a few empty cups, stood in front of it, a silent testament to his disinterest in housekeeping. The television, an older model with a slightly cracked screen, sat atop a wobbly wooden stand, untouched for weeks.

To the right, a narrow kitchen barely large enough for one person housed a mismatched collection of dishes piled in the sink, remnants of past meals clinging stubbornly to their surfaces. The refrigerator hummed in protest against its own age, its door adorned with a few faded magnets and a single, wrinkled grocery list Elias kept forgetting to update. The stove, though functional, bore the scars of countless hurried meals, its surface marred with stains that refused to fade no matter how often he scrubbed.

Past the kitchen, the short hallway led to his bedroom—a place no more inviting than the rest of the apartment. The bed, unmade and slightly lopsided, was draped in a blanket that had long since lost its softness. Piles of books and old clothes lined the walls, creating an illusion of order amid the chaos. The only decoration, a small framed picture on the bedside table, faced down, long since forgotten.

Elias sighed, setting down his keys on the chipped wooden counter. The weight of the night pressed heavier now, and for the first time, he wished he had stayed outside just a little longer.

Elias sighed, setting down his keys and heading to the kitchen. The overhead light flickered as he filled a pot with water, placing it on the stove to boil. He wasn’t cooking anything elaborate—just heating water to pour over the dried instant noodles he had already placed in a bowl. It was a small extra step, but he liked the idea of not relying entirely on the microwave, even if it made little difference. The faint hum of the old refrigerator filled the silence as he leaned against the counter, rubbing his temples. Work had been exhausting, as always. Another day spent drowning in paperwork, dodging blame, and enduring the passive-aggressive remarks of his superiors. He had long since lost the energy to fight back.

The microwave beeped, signaling that the noodles were ready. He grabbed the bowl, carefully pouring in the boiling water before giving it a quick stir. Settling onto the counter, he began to eat. The warmth did little to ease the weight pressing down on him. He ate mechanically, barely tasting the food, his mind already drifting.

After finishing, he rinsed the bowl, setting it in the sink before making his way to bed. The mattress sagged beneath him as he lay down, staring at the ceiling. Sleep never came easily, but exhaustion eventually won out.

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A sharp, searing pain wrenched Elias from his sleep, so intense that he curled in on himself instinctively, clutching his stomach. A groan tore from his throat, ragged and strained, as a cold sweat broke across his forehead. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each inhale accompanied by a stabbing sensation in his gut. He blinked blearily at the dim glow of his alarm clock—11 PM. The numbers blurred, shifting in and out of focus as another wave of nausea rolled over him, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

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

His stomach twisted violently, the pain sharp enough to make his vision momentarily white out. A bitter, acidic taste burned at the back of his throat, and he barely had the strength to swallow it down. His limbs felt weak, trembling slightly as he forced himself upright. Maybe it was the noodles—had he left them sitting out too long? Or had he caught something from the cats? The thought flickered through his mind before being drowned out by another jolt of pain, his body revolting against him in protest.

A shiver ran down his spine, his skin clammy despite the warmth of the room. His head pounded, and every movement felt sluggish, heavy, like he was moving through thick tar. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the nausea away, but it only made it worse. The room spun around him in slow, sickening circles, and his breath hitched in his throat as he fought against the overwhelming urge to vomit.

He needed medicine—anything to make this stop. Forcing himself to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, he inhaled sharply, willing his body to cooperate. The floor felt unsteady beneath his feet, and for a moment, he thought his legs might give out entirely. Swallowing hard, he reached for his shoes and a jumper, knowing he didn’t have much time before the pain worsened. The convenience store was still open—if he could just make it there, he’d be fine.

Or so he hoped.

Swallowing back the discomfort, he forced himself out of bed, each step sluggish as he reached for his shoes and a jumper. The convenience store was still open—he could get some medicine.

Locking his apartment, he made his way downstairs, cursing the broken elevator. His body felt heavier with each step, a cold sweat forming at his temples. By the time he reached the ground floor, his legs nearly gave out beneath him. He paused, bracing himself against the wall.

Soft meows broke the silence. A handful of his stray companions gathered around him, their tails flicking, their eyes wide with concern. He gave them a weak smile, reaching out to scratch behind the ears of a particularly affectionate calico.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow, barely a whisper against the night air. His body betrayed him—his limbs weak, his breath shallow, his skin clammy with cold sweat. The concerned meows of the cats grew more insistent, their small, warm bodies pressing against his legs as if they could anchor him, keep him from collapsing under the weight of his own exhaustion. His vision swam for a moment, the edges blurring like ink bleeding through paper, but he forced himself to stand straighter, to keep moving. If he stopped now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to start again.

The store was just across the street—a short walk, even in his current state. He pushed forward, the cats trailing behind him. The night air felt heavier now, pressing down on his shoulders. His breaths came shallow, uneven.

He reached the store, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as he stumbled inside. The sharp contrast of the bright, artificial glow against the cool night made his head swim, his vision momentarily blurring before refocusing. He took a deep breath, steadying himself against a nearby shelf before pushing forward. The cashier barely glanced at him, too engrossed in their phone to notice the way Elias moved sluggishly, his steps unsteady.

He made his way to the medicine aisle, scanning the shelves through hazy eyes until he spotted what he needed—painkillers and stomach relaxers. His fingers fumbled as he grabbed them, nearly dropping the boxes in his haste. As he turned, another wave of dizziness crashed over him, forcing him to grip the metal shelf for balance. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and every inch of his body ached with exhaustion.

Swallowing back the discomfort, he shuffled toward the counter, adding a cold bottle of water to his purchase. His hands trembled as he counted out the change, fumbling with the coins before the cashier impatiently took them from his grasp. The transaction was over in seconds, and Elias didn’t waste any time stepping back out into the night, letting the cool air hit his burning skin like a fleeting relief.

Without hesitation, he twisted off the cap of the water bottle and downed the pills with a large gulp, desperate for relief. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, exhaling shakily. The night stretched ahead of him, long and unforgiving, but at least now, maybe—just maybe—the pain would start to fade.

What he didn’t realize was the warning on the label: May cause drowsiness and sluggishness.

His vision blurred slightly as he stepped toward the crosswalk, the edges of his sight darkening as exhaustion and pain fought for control over his body. The dim glow of the streetlights reflected off the empty asphalt, stretching his shadow long and thin before him. He exhaled shakily, his breath visible in the cold night air, and took a hesitant step forward.

His limbs felt sluggish, weighed down as if he were walking through water. Each movement sent a dull throb through his body, his mind struggling to keep focus. The bottle of water in his grip felt unnaturally heavy, his fingers barely able to tighten around it. His pulse echoed in his ears, a slow and unsteady rhythm that matched the uneven thud of his footsteps.

For a moment, he paused in the center of the street, blinking against the dizziness threatening to pull him under. The world swayed. The pavement blurred. He forced himself to take another breath, but it came out shallow, weak.

The night was silent, save for the distant hum of the city and the soft rustling of the wind.

He took another step forward.

The headlights came first—blinding, searing through the darkness, burning into his retinas like twin suns. Then came the roar of the engine, a mechanical growl growing louder, too fast, too close. Time seemed to slow as realization struck, but his body, sluggish and uncooperative, refused to move in time.

Then—impact.

The car slammed into him with bone-crushing force. His body lurched violently, lifted off the ground as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll. A sickening crunch echoed through the empty street as his ribs caved under the force, his breath ripped from his lungs in a silent scream. His body collided with the windshield, shattering the glass upon impact before being hurled into the air like discarded debris.

The world spun. Pain, sharp and unrelenting, consumed every nerve, every fiber of his being. The pavement rushed up to meet him, and when he landed, his skull cracked against the cold asphalt with a nauseating thud. His vision blurred, black spots eating away at the edges. Every inch of him screamed in agony—a fractured symphony of broken bones, torn flesh, and blood pooling beneath him.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the screech of tires, the brutal crunch of metal as the car crashed into a nearby pole. But all he could focus on was the pain—the way it crawled through him like fire licking at his insides, relentless and unforgiving. His limbs refused to move, pinned under the weight of his shattered body. Warm blood trickled down his forehead, pooling at the corners of his mouth, the taste metallic and bitter.

The first sound that broke through the suffocating haze was a chorus of frantic meows. Tiny, familiar shapes darted toward him, their eyes wide with terror, their small bodies pressing against his broken form as if they could will him back to life. He wanted to speak, to whisper reassurances, but his lips barely parted before a fresh wave of agony stole what little strength he had left.

His fingers twitched, reaching out, but they barely brushed against soft fur before darkness claimed him entirely.

The cats were the first to reach him, their frantic meows breaking through the haze. He tried to move, to push them away from the danger, but his limbs felt heavy. A sharp, searing pain tore through his abdomen. He looked down—metal, jagged and glistening with crimson.

He couldn’t stay here. With what little strength he had, he dragged himself toward the building entrance. Each inch was agony, his vision flickering in and out. The cats followed, pressing against him, their warmth a small comfort against the cold seeping into his bones.

As he collapsed at the doorway, he looked at them one last time.

Who’s going to feed them when I’m gone? The thought twisted in his mind, heavier than the pain wracking his body. His vision blurred, the small shapes of his beloved strays shifting into indistinct shadows. He could hear their desperate meows, feel their tiny paws nudging at him, as if urging him to get up, to keep going. But his body refused. The weight of his own mortality pressed down on him, colder than the night air. He wanted to cry, to reach out, to offer them one last touch, one last whisper of comfort, but his strength had already slipped through his fingers like sand. His breath rattled, shallow and uneven. The world around him faded, but the sorrow of leaving them behind remained, lingering even as the darkness swallowed him whole.

Darkness closed in, silence swallowing everything.

Elias was dead.

I was dead.