Finally, the bus pulled up to Michael's stop, and he made his way down the steps and onto the sidewalk. That's when he saw them, two young men sitting on a stoop across the street, smoking and watching him. Michael didn't recognize them, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of unease.
He quickened his pace, trying to avoid their gaze as he crossed the street and approached his small house. But they kept staring, their eyes following him as he fumbled with his keys and pushed open the door. He stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.
Michael peeked out the window, and sure enough, the two men were still there, their cigarettes glowing in the dim light. He couldn't help but wonder what they wanted, why they were watching him like that. He tried to brush it off, telling himself that it was nothing, that he was just being paranoid. But deep down, he knew that something felt off, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't safe in his own home.
Feeling uneasy, Michael hurriedly made his way to the backyard, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to check his hiding hole, make sure everything was still secure. As he crouched down and began to move some leaves aside, he noticed his elderly neighbor staring at him suspiciously. The old man had been raking leaves from his only tree, but now he had stopped, his eyes fixed on Michael.
Michael froze, unsure of what to do. Should he pretend nothing had happened? Should he try to explain himself? He decided to go with the former, hoping that his neighbor would simply dismiss him as being sick or something.
He turned to face the old man, putting on his best "I'm-not-doing-anything-suspicious" face. "Hey there," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
The neighbor continued to stare at him, his expression unreadable. Michael could feel his eyes boring into him, and he knew that the old man wasn't buying his story.
Michael quickly retreated back to his house, under the curious eyes of the neighbor. Once inside, he slammed the door shut and leaned against it, panting heavily. How could he have been so careless? He should have waited until the neighbor was inside before checking his hiding hole. He should have been more aware of his surroundings.
He could only hope that the old man would forget about the incident, that he wouldn't go snooping or worse, talking. He seemed like the lonely sort, not the type to gossip with everyone in the neighborhood.
But relying on that was irresponsible. Despite being exhausted he would have to keep a watchful eye on his hiding spot in the backyard, just in case his nosy neighbor decided to get too curious and check for himself.
Michael turned off all the lights in his house and made his way to a window overlooking the backyard. He settled into a comfortable position and waited, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement.
Hours passed, and Michael grew increasingly tired. His eyes started to droop, and his head nodded forward. He tried to shake himself awake, but it was no use. He was too tired.
Eventually, Michael couldn't stay awake any longer. His head slumped onto the windowsill, and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
----------------------------------------
When he woke up, the sun was already rising. Michael rubbed his bleary eyes and looked out the window. The backyard was still there, unchanged from the night before. He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that nothing had happened. But he also knew that he couldn't let his guard down. He had to be more careful, more vigilant. And he had to deal with the old man before he became a problem.
Groaning, Michael got up from his place by the window, stretching his back. He stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading down his body. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, to clear his mind of all the worries and fears that had been plaguing him.
As the steam rose around him, Michael's thoughts turned to his neighbor. He had seen him acting suspiciously in the backyard, and Michael knew that he needed to do something to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about.
But what was the best way to approach the situation? Michael couldn't just ignore it and hope that it went away. That was asking for trouble. But at the same time, he didn't want to come across as guilty or suspicious.
Michael lathered up the soap and let his mind wander as he scrubbed himself clean. Maybe he could invite the neighbor over for coffee and explain the situation to him. Or perhaps he could just be more open and friendly, and hope that he would see that Michael had nothing to hide.
The water turned colder as Michael stood there lost in thought. He quickly rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, his mind still racing with possibilities.
As he dried himself off, Michael made a decision. He didn't know what the outcome would be, but he knew that he had to try. He got dressed and headed out, ready to take control of the situation.
Michael took a deep breath before knocking on his neighbor's door. It was time to confront him and clear things up about what he thought he saw in Michael's backyard. As the old man opened the door, Michael introduced himself and tried to explain that there was nothing suspicious going on in his backyard.
But before Michael could finish, the old man took a lead, "I know what you were doing out there. Hiding and using drugs, right?" he asked, looking at Michael with a mixture of suspicion and concern.
Michael was taken aback. "No, sir, I wasn't doing anything like that," he said quickly, trying to maintain his composure.
The old man softened slightly. "Come inside, I'll make you some tea."
Michael followed him inside and sat at the old man's kitchen table while he made the tea.
"I've lived in this neighborhood a long time," the Mr. Jenkins, as it turned out, said. "I've seen a lot of young people get caught up in drugs. It's not a good path to go down."
"I understand," Michael said. "But I'm not using drugs. I promise you that."
His elderly neighbor looked at him skeptically. "Well, I hope you're telling the truth. It's not good for you."
Mr. Jenkins continued to talk about the dangers of drugs and Michael listened patiently, feeling grateful that the old man had come to his own, incorrect, conclusions, More importantly he wasn't going to call the police or make a scene. Mr. Jenkins nodded, finished, somewhat satisfied. They finished their tea and Michael left, feeling relieved.
As Michael returned home, his grumbling stomach reminded him of its priorities. He decided to cook a real meal for himself after a day of eating fast food. He rummaged through his cabinets and fridge for ingredients, but he couldn't find anything that fit what he was craving. So, he decided to go to the local dollar store to see if he could find something that would work.
He bought the basics, flour, eggs, onions, potatoes and sour cream. Pierogi has always been his comfort food and while his mother always filled them with cream cheese and mashed potatoes, sour cream would have to do here.
When Michael got back home, he put a pot of water on to boil and began peeling and dicing the potatoes and onions. He tended to relax doing this kind of work. His own way to meditate, focusing only on making his favorite meal. The process ingrained in his brain and automatic.
As the pierogi simmered on the stove, the aroma filled Michael's small house, reminding him of childhood. After about six minutes, the small pockets of goodness floated to the surface, ready to eat. He grabbed a bowl and sat down at his small dining table, savoring each bite of the warm, comforting meal.
Just as Michael was finishing his meal, the phone rang out, interrupting his peaceful lunch. He picked it up and saw an unknown number. Curious, he answered.
"Hello?" Michael said.
"Hi there, is this Michael?" a voice on the other end asked.
"Yes, it is. Who's calling?"
"My name's Tony. I've heard about you from a mutual acquaintance, and I wanted to offer you a job as a car mechanic in my shop."
That was surprising and odd... what did he mean by a mutual acquaintance? Michael knew no one in this city... "That sounds great," he said, wary. "What kind of cars do you work on?"
"Oh, all kinds, Michael," Tony replied. "But to be honest, I think you'd be a great fit for us because of your... experience with a specific type of cars."
Michael's heart sank. How did he know about his past? He had done everything in his power, yet his past life kept hounding him.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Michael asked, trying to buy some time.
"You know, working with stolen cars. I heard you were good at it, among other things," Tony said, implying that he knew far more than that.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Michael said, trying to sound confident but feeling anything but.
"Come on, Michael. You don't have to hide it from me. In fact, I think it's a plus. I can appreciate people who can handle tricky situations. You can do very well for yourself."
"I'm not interested in that kind of work," Michael said. How could he know? He had left everything behind. His friends, his family, even his real name.
"Really?" Michael could hear Tony's smirk through the phone. "Perhaps we could even find something where you could really use your talents."
Michael took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The thought of returning to his old ways excited him. He missed the adrenaline rush and the thrill of living on the edge. But he had promised himself that he would make something better of his second life. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't let himself down again. He couldn't let his family down again.
"I am not interested," Michael said, his voice firm.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Tony spoke again. "Well, that's too bad. I thought we could have had a good partnership. But if you change your mind, give me a call. Don't be a stranger, Michael."
As soon as Michael hung up the phone, all resistance left him. He slumped back onto the couch, feeling defeated. He thought he had left his past behind him, but it seemed like it would always follow him around. He didn't know what to do next. He hated feeling like that, directionless, lost. He knew that he had to find a way to move forward and prove that he was more than his past mistakes. But which way was even considered forward anymore?
Michael sat on his couch, his mind racing with thoughts of Tony and his unexpected phone call. His heart was heavy as he thought about how much Tony knew about his past. Had he been spying on him? How much did he really know? Did someone from his past contact him? And if so, who? How? Why? Michael knew he needed to be careful. One wrong move and everything would come crashing down. He couldn't afford to make any more mistakes.
After the call, Michael decided to stay at home for the rest of the day. He didn't feel like going out, and he needed time to think. He turned on the TV and tried to distract himself from his problems. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.
As the hours passed, Michael drifted off to sleep with the TV still on. His dreams were filled with images of his past life. The dreams came in flashes. Incoherent images, a jumble of memories from his past life.
Michael saw the thrill of the chase, the excitement of a robbery. The adrenaline rushing through his veins as he drove away with a stolen car, the sound of the sirens in the distance. It was all so real, and yet so distant.
But then there were other memories that were not as pleasant. The times when he felt disgusted with himself, when he knew that what he was doing was wrong. The times when he looked in the mirror and saw the worst of the worst staring back at him.
In his dream, the memories flowed together, a collage of his past life. The thrill and the disgust mingled together, a mixture of emotions that left him feeling empty and confused.
Michael woke up with a start, the sound of the TV still playing in the background. He knew he couldn't go on like this, constantly looking over his shoulder and wondering who was watching him.
He got up from the couch and walked over to the window. It was dark outside, the streetlights casting a yellow glow on the pavement. He felt trapped, like he was stuck in a never-ending cycle of fear and uncertainty.
Michael needed to take control of his life and move forward, but he didn't know how. He had made a promise to himself that he would never go back to his old ways, but it seemed like his past was always lurking just around the corner, waiting to drag him back in.
Michael sighed and turned away from the window, feeling defeated. Maybe it was time to accept his past as a part of him. At one point, it used to feel so easy, natural, like it was the life made for him. Why was he whining like a wimp? Why did he reject Tony's offer?
Wait, what? Those were not his thoughts, at least not his usual thoughts. He couldn't remember if he had taken his medications today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had taken them. The dark thoughts that had been plaguing him all day suddenly made sense. He had been ignoring his doctor's warnings again.
Michael felt a wave of gratitude for the anti psychotics that had helped him through some of the darkest moments of his life. He used to scoff at the idea of needing them, but he had come to be grateful for the peace of mind they offered. He promised himself that he would be more careful from now on.
He finally made it to his bedroom, where the prescription bottles were stashed. As he reached for them, his eyes caught sight of the mirror on his dresser. He saw his reflection, and for a moment, he didn't recognize the man looking back at him. Was that really him? The same person who used to be admired and feared? The same person who had been given a second chance at life? Only to squander it living in poverty? He looked weak.
Michael shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and picked up the prescription bottle. The label read Chlorpromazine. As he popped the pills in his mouth, he made a promise to himself that he would stay on track with his medication. He couldn't afford to slip up again. The pills wouldn't work right away, but his body already had a baseline that would help him absorb the chemicals. By morning, he would be himself again. He couldn't help but sigh, another sleepless night.
He walked back to the living room, still clutching his pills, only to be welcomed by the sound of a news announcement. The news anchor's voice trembled as she reported on the breaking news. A massive comet was hurtling towards Earth, and while it was predicted to miss our planet by a hair's breadth, the repercussions would be felt all the same. The comet's high speed indicated that it had been launched out of another solar system, and the researchers could only speculate on its origins.
"Scientists are warning of an even more intense meteor shower than the infamous 1833 Leonid meteor storm, which people had thought was the end of the world. Thousands of meteors fell every hour, but this time the event is expected to be even more stunning," the news anchor reported. Michael stood there frozen, his hand still wrapped around the pill bottle.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the panic start to subside. As bizarre as it was the news report had given me something else to focus on, something outside of my own head.
The report on the news channel showed footage of people stocking up on supplies, hoarding canned goods and water bottles, and buying generators and camping gear in case the power went out. Michael sank down onto the couch, watching as the reporter interviewed a woman who had barricaded herself inside her house.
"I just don't want to take any chances," the woman said, clutching a flashlight in her hand. "I've heard stories of people getting hit by falling debris during these kinds of things. I'd rather be safe than sorry."
Michael understood where she was coming from, but he didn't want to spend the next few days holed up in his apartment, waiting for the end of the world to come. He needed to keep himself busy, to distract himself from the dark thoughts that had been plaguing him recently.
Immediately angry at himself, he reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts list, trying to decide if he should call someone. His eyes stopped over the most recent number, Tony's, and he hesitated. It couldn't hurt to have someone he could rely on around, to be a part of a group.
He turned off the phone and TV and made his way to bed, hoping sleep would drive the thoughts away. But as he closed his eyes, the unease crept up on him. Memories of his dark past rushed in, flooding his mind with disturbing images and regrets. He tossed and turned, trying to escape the grip of his own thoughts, but they wouldn't let him go.
In his dreams, he found himself back in those times, reliving the moments that haunted him. The adrenaline of his past life coursed through his veins, making him feel both alive and disgusted at the same time. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they were too powerful.
The darkness of his past consumed him, and he couldn't find a way out. He was trapped in his own mind, reliving the moments that had led him to where he was now. The weight of his mistakes and regrets felt unbearable.
As the night went on, his dreams only grew more vivid and intense, making him feel like he was losing his grip on reality. The sun finally rose, and he opened his eyes, feeling more exhausted than before.