[Is it really my fault?]

  He says, Jenneah's words still hanging in the air.

  The laughter of children on the background. The darkness of the room. The cold, hard ground. The walls seemed to crush him, shadows staring grudgingly.

  He hated this.

  Why wouldn't he? Everything seemed to pull on him, risking to tear him apart.

  The stares.

  The expectations.

  The sneers.

  The rumors.

  And, though he wouldn't accept it...

  Himself.

  The woman turns turns around, shock written...

  Or is it?

  [...Hurry!... Alive!]

  Blurred sound. They gather around.

  [What's happened to...]

  Flowers. The rolling of wheels.

  [...Critical...]

  Scalpels cutting. Where? Why? How?

  [Job, Mr... Successful...]

  Chair. Person. Sitting.

  [You'll need...]

  The tapping of a pen against wood. The constant beeping of a machine. The loud breaths through a respirator.

  The sterile smell.

  Mattress.

  [I'm glad you survi...]

  Visits. People. Flowers. Gifts.

  Unease.

  Confusion.

  Guilt.

  Guilt.

  Guilt.

  [At least... You surviv...]

  Grief. Anger.

  Guilt?

  Hatred.

  A breath.

  The sound of cicadas outside combine with the dim lighting of the room, making both a comforting and eerie atmosphere. The yellow curtains ruffle slightly, grazing the vibrant flowers to their right. Everything else, the same color.

  White walls.

  Blue decorations.

  White machines.

  Blue sheets.

  White. Then blue.

  A knock on the door. The door slides open as a man appears. His brown hair matches his eyes, smiling calmly. His uniform, blue. His coat, white.

  Doctor: [I'm glad you're doing well, Mr. Bax. It seems like your recovery's doing great. We can expect you to start walking again in a few days. Well, 5 days, to be exact.]

  Silence. A fly travels across the room. Grey eyes follow, unblinking.

  Doctor: [Mr. Bax?]

  He forces his gaze on the doctor, counting the tiles between them. One. Two. Three... Or was it four?

  The cicadas buzz with more intensity, stray rays of light increasing in number.

  Friedrich: [Oh. Great.]

  He replies, his voice no louder than a whisper. The doctor sighs, tapping his pen on his clipboard.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Tap. A sigh.

  Doctor: [I'll check in on you tomorrow, alright? Try to recover. You can ask the nurses for anything.]

  Standing up, the doctor begins to leave.

  Bandaged arms. Bandaged legs. Torso.

  [It's suffocating.]

  Doctor: [Hm? Ah, the bandages. Well, your skin hasn't healed completely yet. It may rupture from sudden movement.]

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The doctor glances back, leaving the room.

  A figure stands in front of him.

  Jenneah, rage across her features.

  No.

  Liliana, tears falling from her eyes.

  No.

  Germand, gripping Friedrich's neck.

  A gasp. The young man closes his eyes shut. A few eyelashes fall off.

  [Leave... Please.]

  He says.

  To nobody.

  [Mr. Bax?]

  His eyes force open.

  Doctor: [One day left! From tomorrow, we'll do some exercises to loosen up your legs, as well as walking practice. Excited?]

  [I've tried.]

  [Do you expect me to believe you?]

  The doctor shouts.

  It's not the doctor.

  It's Jenneah.

  It's not her.

  It's Friedrich.

  [Stop.]

  Nurse: [Ah, tired of walking? We can rest, Mr. Bax. No problem.]

  Heavy rain. No, it's sunny.

  Friedrich sits down with the help of the nurse.

  Nurse: [You're making great progress! It won't be long before—]

  [Before you cower again.]

  [I'm not a coward.]

  [You are, fully.]

  Says the doctor. Friedrich sits on the bed. A chill runs down his arms. The bandages aren't there.

  Friedrich: [Hm?]

  Doctor: [As I've said... You've recovered. You're healthy, fully.]

  The curtains are pulled aside. The room lightens up as the cool wind blows inside. The only sound seems to be the ruffle of leaves.

  Friedrich stands up, shaking the doctor's hand. He twists his hand... No, the handle of the door, as he leaves the hospital.

  [They're dead.]

  His breathing quickens as he stares ahead. Someone getting out of their car, checking a bird they ran over.

  He crosses the road, falling as he trips over something. He falls on the couch, closing his eyes.

  [Want me to cook something for you?]

  Friedrich: [Ah, Germand. No need, I'll do so myself.]

  Germand nods.

  It's his reflection that does so.

  Eggs cook on the stove. Bacon... No bacon. Sitting down, he eats the meal. After finishing, Friedrich paces around the room before stopping.

  His shirt sticks to his skin as he sweats profusely.

  [Don't come back. Ever again.]

  [I won't.]

  [I hate you.]

  [I won't.]

  Will you?

  A punch. A hole in the wall.

  [I will. I do.]

  A hand. On his shoulder. Oskar.

  [You need to retire, Bax. You've done enough.]

  [I've done nothing!]

  [How can you even say that, Friedrich? I'm done with you. Don't come near the Center.]

  [Coward.]

  [I hate you.]

  Who?

  [You.]

  He points at himself, smiling widely at the mirror.

  [I really, really hate you.]

  Smoke spreads on the living room as Friedrich sits on the couch. He places the cigarette between his lips, inhaling. It's dark. The windows are covered with curtains. It's hot. The fan isn't working. He throws the pack at the coffee table, turning on the TV.

  Nothing plays. Colors flash, scenes change. Nothing plays.

  He stares. Watches.

  What?

  Even he doesn't know.

  Laughter. Darkness. Cold.

  Crush.

  Stare.

  Jenneah turns around. Her expression displays shock.

  Jenneah: [Now you've said it.]

  Jenneah's office. He wasn't the 23 year old Friedrich. He's the 43 year old one. Present. Not past.

  Present...

  Not...

  [Have you forgotten your past?]

  She says.

  Friedrich: [How could I? It's the only thing in my mind... And it's the only thing I don't want to remember.]

  The old woman walks to her office's door, opening it.

  Jenneah: [It's best you leave, Friedrich. You can't think straight.]

  Friedrich stands up, still clenching his fists. Jenneah's gaze travels to his palm, dripping with crimson. She stays still for a moment.

  Friedrich: [I shouldn't have come here.]

  Jenneah: [I'm glad you got that figured out.]

  Her expression grows even sterner.

  [Leave... Please.]

  Friedrich clenches his jaw as he storms out the office. Walking over to the entrance, he glances back.

  Hinozu, sitting in the living room, meeting his gaze from afar.

  Guilt claws at his insides as his heart thrums violently against his chest, as if threatening to burst out.

  He swings the entrance door open, rushing to his car. He hears the child running, but tries to ignore it.

  He doesn't need someone like me.

  Starting the car, he drives off... Glancing back one more time.

  At the Center.

  At him.

  Friedrich focuses on the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The sound of the motor overlaps the ruffle of leaves as the wind picks up.

  For a moment, his gray eyes meet the clearing sky before focusing back on the road.

  [Where are we going?]

  [I'm buying a new fridge.]

  Friedrich smiles.

  Germand: [A fridge? What for?]

  Friedrich: [Food's been spoiling lately. I need a better one.]

  [Liar.]

  He chuckles.

  Germand: [You just want to throw out the old one.]

  Branches swing as the wind blows harder. The Sun blinds.

  Friedrich: [What's wrong with that? It's rusty enough, eh?]

  He stops at a traffic light.

  Germand: [Do as you like. To be honest, I'm glad you've made the decision.]

  [What do you mean?]

  Germand: [Well, when was the last time...]

  [You decided something and actually did it?]

  Friedrich: [...]

  He continues driving straight, focusing on the rhythm of the lines.

  [You've missed the exit...]

  A gentler voice.

  Friedrich: [Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Let's just take the one after it.]

  [Won't work.]

  Friedrich: [Hm? Why?]

  Liliana: [That one doesn't lead to where we're going.]

  Friedrich changes lane.

  Friedrich: [Ah... I guess we can take the third exit to the roundabout.]

  Liliana: [Sure!]

  He looks at his reflection in the rear view mirror. His eyes seem more wrinkled than before.

  Several eyelashes missing.

  [Hinozu...]

  Friedrich: [Sorry...]

  [No you aren't.]

  Child.

  [No you aren't]

  Old woman.

  [No you aren't.]

  Girl.

  [No you aren't.]

  Boy.

  The wind blows violently, shaking the trees.

  [No you aren't]

  Man. Exterminator. Friend. Bax.

  Friedrich.

  Nobody?

  Failure.

  He closes his eyes, opening them immediately to focus on the road ahead. It's been going straight for too long.

  [I don't like that look on your face.]

  Germand: [Sorry for picking the wrong ice cream... But you don't have to scowl at me like that.]

  He pats Friedrich's back as they walk on the sand.

  Friedrich: [Let me get this straight. You throw mine on the ground, tell me you'll buy me another, and come back with the wrong one?]

  Germand: [Alright, alright... I get it. It's so hot, the Sun might boil my blood.]

  Friedrich: [Changing topics now? But yeah... I feel like my sweat might evaporate.]

  Germand laughs.

  Germand: [Right?]

  [By the way, Friedrich...]

  [What now?]

  [Since when do you smoke?]

  Friedrich's eyes widen. He grips the steering wheel— No.

  Steering wheel? Pack of cigarettes? hand? Lighter? Railing?

  None.

  Himself.

  It really was too hot.

  Flames engulf the car, wrinkling and withering his skin as all humidity leaves him. Muscles cook painfully as everything fades and emerges at once.

  [Finally!]

  Voices.

  There's no guilt. No hatred.

  Nothing.

  Just the burning of flames.