“They weren’t exactly model parents; in fact, some would call them abusive, as I’d learned, but it was all I was ever exposed to, so how would I know? Still, they always pushed harder, demanded more—better grades, better behavior, more sports, more clubs, more achievements, a tag team working me to their ideal of perfection. Anything less than that same perfection was punished, often harshly. Yet, I loved them. It didn’t matter how many times I finally snapped and was punished for it. I’d had a while to contemplate it all, and my feelings were set. No matter how much they treated me as property or tried to live through me, they were my parents, and their loss tore through me in ways I couldn’t even begin to understand, let alone face.

  He’d killed them as a game, a twisted joke, and I was sure of it. That’s just who he was—a walking blight, a scourge. He had staged that suicide, there was no alternate answer…there was no reason for them to do…that to themselves. To set that kind of example for me, someone that can do nothing but learn, and learn the wrong things. Our broken justice system let Greg slip away, untouched. They said he had no connection to the crime, yet at school, he bragged about it, after the news got out. Told his friends, let it spread like wildfire through every hall and classroom. Rumors swirled; consequences didn’t. Maybe he got a slap on the wrist. If he was questioned, charged, even remotely held accountable, I’d never heard of it, and oh, god damn it if I hadn’t listened for a sign of that. I’d definitely gotten the worse end of the bargain either way.

  That day, where I had nearly killed myself too–the point of a straw breaking the camel’s back. The same moment when I’d truly accepted my effective seclusion as something viable, even welcomed it, a tipping point. My family assumed me insane, not such a far stretch. The rest cut me off. That is, besides Jeffrey, but he hardly counted because I reasoned he probably just couldn’t care to block me or perhaps pitied me. After that…this style of life began. I guess taking what I do is just me not wanting to be alone in this world. All alone…is all that I am. And all that I am is alone.

  I held a picture I’d snapped of him one time and printed; His skin was brownish but crisp and dry, tanned poorly enough to the point he looked more or less the same as a child who went to the beach in a tropical region without proper sun protection. His face was wide and chin prominent, brown eyes displaying a mischievous manner. A navy blue, fleece sweatshirt with the drawstrings pulled out, the cheap, plastic zipper broken, and sleeves torn halfway to highlight his forearms adorned his upper body. His lower body wasn’t much better, sporting contrasting cyan shorts made of mesh fabric.

  Humans were built to socialize with others of their kind. It’s okay though…I…I’m mature. I definitely am. I got a therapist to tell me that I should let bygones be bygones. That I should think of the future ahead of me and not just the past. Bygones aren’t bygones. The past is the present and all futures.

  “I’m no liar…or…You’re the liar?”

  For the most part, I sat in silence, besides the occasional thought up comeback I could have used, close to a dry sob but not quite there in a depressing daily ritual. I both hated and loved thinking, remembering events, at the same time. Not that I was really depressed, no way. I mean…I always cried when the going got rough. Those statements might seem contradictory but I personally disagree. No, I can’t man up because I was never really manly in the first place. It was better to tell myself I’d improved but I really hadn’t. I continued to stare out the window, searching for answers where there were none. Hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter, I swung my feet back and forth bleakly.

  I have something for you to hear. I scribbled it down on a piece of paper as I sat here, then copied it down once I felt finished.

  Monday is a languid slog to get through, an impasse, a barrier to jump over. Monday is a desire for the end.

  A terrible narrative structure for a terrible, ruined life, with no hope of redemption.

  I wandered over to a dusty mirror I had propped up in a corner, observing myself. The longish and unkempt mop I’d put up on my head, black and dirty, my body, just skin and bones revealing the severe muscle degradation as compared to a previous era. A mediocre outfit that hadn’t been removed since I’d put it on a week ago, plastered onto my body like tight gift wrap on a present.

  Monday is a representation of my desires and self indulgence. Monday is a representation of the faceless embodiments of water vapor up above, white mist swirling and forming into a collective. Monday is the color in grayscale. Monday is balance in destruction and life among death.

  Staring out the window near the ‘kitchen’ setup—or more accurately, the mini-fridge and microwave–I saw nothing exciting.The wind sluggishly moved in its endless pursuit of nowhere, and the dark clouds ensured a heavy rainstorm was on its way. It surely must be chilly, but I wouldn’t know, now would I? I mindlessly ate the processed meal, each tasteless bite heavier than the last. Somehow, an insurmountable quantity of calories by any amount of exercise I could reasonably do disappeared before I knew it. Wonder how that happened. It was so difficult to shove something down my throat yet it goes down so easily once I can get started. I must have been hungry. Rain started to pour, trickling down the windowsill, its gentle pitter-patter a mild relaxant, but not nearly enough.

  Monday is the lights of apartments across the street shutting off for the night, all for a brief respite from the cruel behemoth of life. Life is to be born without permission, to study, to work, then rest when unable to contribute to the society you were forced into.

  The glass fogged up as I breathed onto it, head resting on the cool material. The material felt cool beneath my touch as I trailed my finger down its surface, parting the mist like the sea split by Moses. The motion stirred a memory I hadn’t thought of in years—a small, almost insignificant activity I used to share with my father. The same father who was gone now, forever, and ever, and ever, and would…never be coming back. I’d hopefully join him soon…frolic in paradise…but…

  I fought the memory, resisting replaying the events in my head again…it was useless. Apartment number seventeen. Cobblestone. Near the dingy fireplace. Age eighteen. Snowing outside.

  “When will it be enough for you!? Never, obviously, why am I even asking? I’ve killed myself a thousand times over trying to live up to your-” I ranted, directed at my father who stood as an immovable wall ahead of me.

  Myths are something I hate, inconcrete falsehoods that hoodwink human beings into believing their life has more purpose than it does, just to exist.

  “Son,” he interrupted roughly.

  “Impossible standards, if you’d let me finish. Hope you appreciate me censoring myself here for you, and let me tell you, it’s difficult…”

  “That’s to be expected already,” he replied, upholding the law of the land as always.

  “Maybe it fucking shouldn’t be!” I retorted.

  Monday is my death, here, today. Monday is my end. If here is where I die, where after it suffocates me, and life resuscitates me, it must just hate me.

  “Alaric! What are you thinking-”

  “Maybe you should fucking go to hell! You stole my childhood! I had to mature on my own, deal with the nastiness of humanity and never maintain a friendship throughout it. You’ve made me tour colleges before high school, and did nothing but slap me across the face if I didn’t get an A+ in a class, tread on me with your boots, put out your cigarettes on my face, even if the class doesn’t even offer that type of grade! You don’t give me anything to entertain myself with, leaving me to myself to study on my own, on the dirty floor!”

  “Alaric, you’ll regret saying all this, I promise you that-”

  “You’re never satisfied! You’ll always find new ways to tear me down, to tell me I’m worthless, a disappointment, a failure, not good enough! If I had any other parent they would practically worship me! I’m perfect!”

  “You are not perfect, nobody is, and you have to understand that.” He grabbed a hold of my shirt. “Do you think I forgot that you stole my phone to text your friends a week ago?” He shoved me to the floor. I stood without comment on his actions.

  “Huh. No, I’m better than perfect. It’s inhuman to be able to cope as well as I have! Did you know that your baby boy is still just that?! Exactly how you left him!”

  “Stop overestimating yourself. Be a man. Grades can only get you so far in life, you need character,” he instructed, turning away from me to face the wall. His facial expression remained relatively neutral, whereas I grimaced.

  “...Then be a man? Be a man?! What character don’t I have? I have everything you were there to teach me, which is nothing at all! Even now, you’re trying to end this discussion to leave me here, stranded. Why push grades so much on me then act like they’re nothing just because they weren’t enough to get into any decent universities? Feeling bad cuz’ you’re so strapped for cash?!”

  “I feel bad about nothing. I’ve taught you all you need, like my father did to me. Be a man. Grow up.”

  The cravings are getting worse. I can’t live without the pills, I find myself clawing at my arms and face, combating my will to go back for some more, and if something’s gonna take me out, it’s going to be me, myself, and I, not some shitty chemicals or Greg’s men.

  “You keep saying that shit. Just because you had such a crappy upbringing doesn’t mean you have to ruin my life for it! Fine, I’ll give you one thing, at least you got me an education unlike your parents unto you-”

  “Take that back right now!”

  “You know, I’ve been doing this thing with some guys I know, and I’m turning more of a profit than you at the moment. That manly enough for you?”

  “I couldn’t care less what you’re doing to make some money…” He swore then in front of me for the first time; I guessed he hoped to keep me pure of such foul language. “I think it’s about time you take this! Since you’re so able to uphold the mantle!” My father shouted, his expression finally turning sour. He retrieved a box-like item from his back pocket, clasped tightly in his hand. Opening his hand, it fell, and I scrambled to catch it as he watched me. “When you’re about to die, light one up with it…Shouldn’t be long now…you’ll be safe that way…” was his simple instruction. “You’d better get me a grandson before then.” He watched me as I pretended to sleep that night. He stood over me, watching like a hawk for the slightest movement, making me unable to sneak out. Still, I never thought of him the same again.

  My regrets are numerous, a life unfulfilled. A life not worth living, maybe I’m just weak willed. Monday, today, is something I can’t go back to, so all I do is retreat farther and farther back, searching for the easy way out.

  I brushed my hair back with a trembling hand. "I am going to…gonna go to bed.” Yawning, I continued, “I-fuckin’-mediately…The second it burns out? I’ll..sleep this off." I trailed off, my gaze falling back to my phone. Hesitation welled up as I stared at the screen, the tired, hollow weight of doubt settling in again.

  I clicked my tongue in disappointment, shaking my head. It was worth a shot, anyway. Any resolve I might’ve had dissolved as quickly as it came, and the gallery app became more and more enticing, my thumb moving with a practiced, deliberate slowness, tapping the beats of a drum from a long forgotten melody to reach it.

  I scrolled until I found the video. I hadn’t seen it in ages, but I remembered exactly why I’d recorded it. Malice, something prevalent now. A bitter pit in my stomach tightened at the memory—how long had it been since then? Years? Decades in how it felt.

  “Alaric Henry Ashford!” The voice was sharp but muffled, laced with a tone I knew too well—the stern, unyielding disapproval of my mother, a disapproval that I suppose I…could it be? Could I actually yearn for it? She stood right there in the doorway, her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, her lace satin dress shimmering softly as if lit from within. A…different doorway, of a previous residence. “Really, now? Must you be so profane?” she asked, her voice clipped and disapproving as her hands settled firmly on her hips. She looked down at me and the camera I lofted unsteadily with that same steely gaze I had grown up under, her judgment so palpable it felt like a weight pressing on my chest. “I remember when you were my perfect little angel. We used to play out in the snow, and you would bring me flowers, and-Hey, are you recording me?” Even barefoot, she was every inch the towering figure I remembered, a shadow I could never escape.

  Even barefoot, she was every bit the towering figure I remembered, and instinct had taken over. “Yeah…I’m sorry…whatever you want,” I’d mumbled at the time, my voice wavering.

  The moving picture went quiet, pixelated video as real as anything else, and I pushed the words out before I could even think, filling the gap that hadn’t been filled before. Instead of just shutting off the camera, I grieved, “Please…Come again soon…I want to see you more. Come back to me, mama. Come fucking back to me! At least…Meet up with me when I get there.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I shut the screen off, mirroring before, and her form faded, leaving me clutching at empty air. I stood there, dazed, reaching for a presence that wasn’t there. My mind was fraying at the edges, my thoughts slipping through like water through a sieve. “Mama… I miss you. I miss the real you. I loved you! I really fucking loved you!”

  A soft, familiar whisper filled my head, harsh and resolute, words I had heard many times before; when I held her hand for too long, or grabbed onto her arm before leaving on the school bus. “Let me go...Let go, son.”

  I felt my throat close up, the words catching. "I…I Can’t. Not now. Not ever. Not until I’m gone…so, give it a few minutes. Just a few…seconds. Let me resolve myself…There’s no other way to stop this cycle. Stop these hallucinations…to stop taking more and accentuating the problem…" I sniffled, clenching my fists. I reached for the bottle of wine I had forgotten to replace in the fridge, and poured myself another glass. “To stop them from following wherever I go…I think they might know where I am by now…”

  Searching for a view of life on the other side of the glass, I saw nothing but small buildings and the occasional passing car. The occasional passing family. A child with their hands linked with their parents’. A stroller pushed by a mother. A tall man dressed in all black, hooded and masked..?

  My time was running short, sped up more than I had expected. I wandered to a dusty cardboard box buried beneath a mound of old clothes. Pulling it free, I tore it open, the scent of age and nostalgia escaping like a ghost. There it was—the same cube-like lighter, its surface glinting faintly with a silver sheen even through its dust coating. I plucked it out and returned to my perch atop the counter, turning it over in my hands. He would have wanted me to light one with it. This is the fulfillment of his legacy…

  I seized an old pack of cigarettes stashed in a lower cabinet, stuffed in an empty box of dish soap. Retrieving one, I lit it. The lighter didn’t even sputter once, flaring to life with a single click. I took a drag, taking my time to enjoy the churning fumes as the smoke filled my lungs, swirling with a sharp bitterness that teetered on the edge of comfort and punishment. I exhaled slowly, the fumes curling through the air in lazy spirals, their acrid scent settling around me before l coughed it out, allowing the smoke to cycle around my abode. The rush of endorphins to my brain was subtle in the way it pressured me to take another hit of it, two goliaths of addiction battling each other for my brief attention.

  I’ve never been particularly lucky. I was always chosen to answer questions in class but only when I didn’t happen to know the answer. I’ve never won a penny from thousands spent on online gambling. With my fucking luck….with my fucking luck…as if my mind, already frayed and exhausted, had been searching for some tangible way to manifest my anxiety, the lights suddenly flickered and went out, the constant hum ceasing. Power outage. It felt almost too convenient, like my fear and frustration had somehow made it happen, though I knew that was impossible. Was it? A hundred percent it was, which frustrated me.

  I rubbed my eyes and prepared myself to head to bed–It couldn’t hurt to get to sleep whether or not the power would come back on any time soon. I’d do it, I definitely would, tomorrow…a distant future. It wasn’t as if this was how every night went, not at all…I felt dreary anyway, eyes drooping, brain beginning to shut off, bladder apparently thinking that this was the best time for me to need to go to the bathroom. Maybe just the alcohol…That first, then…I could still easily make it there even with it being dark. Wouldn’t want my corpse to be desecrated in such a way…It would leave a lasting negative image, now wouldn’t it?

  There was no logical connection between my thoughts and the sudden darkness, but the timing was eerie enough to feel like something had shifted. For my thoughts of vengeance, my thoughts of hate for each and everyone including myself which I still held, tucked away deep in my heart, to make this happen. The room, bathed in the oppressive heat and tension just moments ago, plunged into silence as the resonant hum of electricity ceased. My breath hitched in my throat, and for a brief moment, it was as if the world itself had paused, aside from a yelp I let out, reflecting the chaos inside my head.

  The lights in the room flickered back on, again bathing my space in that annoyingly harsh yellow fluorescent glow, casting warped shadows over the clutter piled up in every corner; it felt just like that hospital room, awful as it was. Staying the color of ink was the world outside my window. Beyond the glass, everything was swallowed by an absolute, impenetrable blackness. The kind of black that devours everything, making you question whether the world even still existed.

  Living in what was technically a small city–a luxury I could never afford before without being as poor as I was right about now–I knew there should have been streetlights dotting the roads, their pale, artificial glow cutting through the night as always. I could easily recall how unnaturally bright it was outside, even late at night, with the glow of distant traffic and homes. But now, there was nothing. No dim lighting, no distant car headlights, no flicker from house windows. No passing families, no joggers, just…emptiness. It was as if the entire world had vanished into a void, as night does upon day.

  Frustration crept up my spine as I tried again to open my slick, white window. It usually glided up with ease, but now it refused to budge, like some invisible force was holding it down. At the least, I could do with some fresh air. My hands slid uselessly across the cold frame, each failed attempt making my irritation grow. It could be my lacking strength but…There was something off about this moment, something unnatural. I couldn’t hear a thing—aside from the sound of my own breath, sharp and quickening in the dead quiet. Normally, this area was silent, but this was a different kind of quiet, an absence of sound that felt unnatural. Even the usual musty smell that lingered in my living space was gone, replaced by an unnerving freshness, the true opposite of the previously feted air. It was like the world outside had…just been erased. Air slowly escaped me and the muscles in my arms seized up.

  And then, just as I began to realize something had shifted—something more than just the stillness—a sound shattered the silence. A deep, resonant chime rang out, like the toll of a massive church bell, filling the air and drowning out every other thought. For a split second, I swore I saw eyes—hundreds, no, thousands of eyes—gray and cold, staring at me from every direction. Their stare bore into me, filling me with a primal dread. Then, just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone, and the chiming fell silent, leaving me blinking in confusion. The world outside remained unchanged in its oppressive emptiness.

  I shut my eyes, desperate, trying to ground myself and prevent myself from hyperventilating. “Oh if that isn’t freaky as anything…Mom, you seeing thi-Oh…Mother...you always knew what to do. You always knew how to guide me, when I chose to confide in you. Forgot you ain’t here no more. Please, just... guide me through this. What should I do? I need to stop taking these…I really do, but…”

  A sudden, searing pain ripped through my chest. I doubled over, a coughing fit tearing through me as thick, dark, frothy blood mixed with saliva spilled from my mouth, splattering onto the kitchen floor. My eyes burned, and I wiped them to find the same sticky, hot blood staining my fingers. Fear slammed into me, panic clawing at the edges of my mind as the pain in my chest grew, a vicious, twisting ache as if my heart might burst. I tore at my shirt, gasping, desperate for relief, but the pain only deepened, as if something was clawing its way out from within. I’m going to die here, aren’t I? I’m going to fucking die here, and not by my terms.

  “Ahgh—what?!” I choked out, my voice strained and raw as I coughed up another mouthful of blood. My mind raced, frantic and disoriented. Hemoptysis? Heart failure? Both seemed plausible, but a sinking suspicion crept in—what if it wasn’t medical? While withdrawls would explain it, the real question was whether or not it was good enough of an explanation for me…Hands unsteady, shaking even, I clawed at my pocket, dragging my phone free in a clumsy, desperate motion, but with definitive urgency. My thumb jabbed at the screen, hitting 911 in rapid succession, finding myself unable to breathe until I had finished. I slammed the call button and brought the phone to my ear, every beat of silence louder than the last.

  Nothing. No ring, no faint crackle, no operator’s voice asking what my emergency was—just a hollow void on the other end. It was as though the line had been severed from existence itself. That my connection to the world had been severed. My chest tightened…Brilliant. Truly stellar. A flawless display from the so-called lifeline of the American emergency system.

  Then I had just about as wild an idea as an idea can become. I clasped my hands together in prayer; how long had it been since I had done so last? A decade? More? No help arrived no matter how hard I willed it.

  “Dull the pain, make it easier to do. Easier to end. More. I need more. Right now-No! I can’t…but I need it! The…the visions will stop when I have more, right? The pain? My pursuers? They’ll go away…Yeah…it’ll help…Just a little bit…”

  Sweat dripped down my forehead as I begged for the agony to stop. And then it just did. As quickly as it had come, the pain vanished, leaving me gasping for air but otherwise unharmed as far as I could tell.

  I stepped back, pressing myself even against the cool kitchen wall, trying to ground myself as unease crept in, whispering that I was on the brink of something too big to handle. My hand was already turning the cap of the pill bottle…maybe just to relax now…my fingers were already stretched in…a pill was already in my hand…shoved in my mouth…in my throat, swallowed. My eyes were drooping before I knew it, pupils dilating in more of a placebo effect than what the drug actually was doing to me.

  “Ahh…wait, what?” My words choked off as a faint glow appeared before my eyes, like some kind of digital overlay projected straight into my vision. Soft, pale blue light traced across my field of view, the letters crisp and surreal:

  [The Integrational Event has occurred. Planet “Earth” has been integrated into the Multiverse. Prepare for Genesis.]

  A shiver shot down my spine, and I gulped, eyes widening as a mix of thrill and disbelief washed over me. I slapped myself across the cheek, pinched my wrist—whatever quick tricks I could think of to check if I was dreaming. But I was still here, fully awake, staring at that bizarre message.

  “Oh. Yeah, right. I don’t need more reason to hope…gotta do it now…right now, it’s getting worse, why the hell did I take more?” I stared, half in awe, at the translucent screen that floated inches from my face. The white text pulsed gently, as if it had a heartbeat. It looked like something straight out of a game, unreal yet somehow too vivid to ignore. It was at a point of being rather nonsensical already. What the hell is an integrational event? What’s an integration? I’d had a little wine earlier, but I knew I wasn’t tipsy, and I didn’t feel particularly high at the moment. It would take much longer, and I could surprisingly think quite clearly, more than normal in fact…What else would it be if not that, though? The hazy edges of an old dream nagged at me, something I’d woken from this morning. Just for a second, it felt like I could almost reach it, but the details stayed just out of reach, fading away.

  The fear and pain was real, icy and insistent, and I tried to shove it away, to convince myself that this was nothing more than another hallucination. I’d seen plenty of those—why should this be any different? Why should it not be just another one; even if this felt completely different than any of those, and I’d never had one remotely similar to this?

  The screen’s soft glow held my gaze for too long, and dizziness began to tug at my vision. Hugging my arms to my chest, I sank to the floor, curling up as the whole scene pressed down on me, a weight that didn’t belong. I peeked over my arms, glancing at the hovering screen as if it might vanish if I just blinked. I felt ridiculous, cowering like this, like some kind of…coward. Oh, how I hated it. Born too late to explore the earth, born too early to explore the stars, born right in time for this to happen.

  I stretched out to touch the image in front of me, and it seemed to flicker, part almost as my hand passed through it, but didn’t disappear. The only thing that kept me lucid, in control of myself, when overcome with this type of persistent delirium was the idea that if I were to touch it, it would go away. That theory had always been correct until now, which meant…it meant I had to accept that at the very least, it wasn’t entirely imagined.

  Even though that faint doubt lingered, nagging at me, I refused to accept it. But what if those old sci-fi novels I’d read–no, it couldn’t be. Why now of all times? Right when I was just about to-Still, what if they were more than just fiction? What if I was actually right about to be transferred to a fantasy world; that would be awesome, would it not? Could this be some warped prophecy? Or maybe a message from beyond, something cosmic or divine? Conspiracy theorists would go wild with this; I was sure of it, and if I dwelled on it much longer, I’d be one of them, stringing together the impossible to make sense of this madness.

  I didn’t actually desire that though…I didn’t desire any reality where I would accept it, when I knew it wasn’t real.

  I forced a laugh, feeling the absurdity creeping in, my voice starting to shake more and more with each word as I tried and failed to write it away. “No… just… no. This is a solid prank. Really, whoever’s behind this—projector, hologram, whatever tech you’re using—it’s impressive, really, but just quit it! Let me out of here! I’m serious!” I called out, my voice shaky despite the forced laugh. The whole scene was starting to crawl under my skin. I slammed my fists into the tile behind me, the cigarette still held between two fingers crumpling against it. Remembering I still held it gave me enough reason to glance at it, and see that it still was letting out a faint trail of smoke. I squeezed its tip more as in to stop this, even crushed it underfoot, a fruitless attempt, as the smoke continued to be produced, and an increasingly large amount kept coming out. By the time there was enough smoke to create a cloud larger than I had ever made, I realized the world was against me in every endeavor I may have.

  “What weapon to use…where’s a knife when you need it most…fuck…what do I do right now?” I would do just about anything to cut off this... whatever this was. I had to end everything now, I don’t have a choice or I’ll get too lost in what I’m seeing to be able to. The screen stayed, clear as day, floating steadily in the air, nearly all I could see through all the smoke, which had now spread through the room. It had to be a ploy by Greg’s men; maybe they wanted me to do their work for them.

  I turned back to look angrily at the blue screen. “Go away,” I muttered, swiping at it again. My fingers passed through the projection, but it didn’t budge. “I said, go away! Leave!” I tried again, fingers cutting through its pale light with no effect. “Leave me alone! I don’t need this right now!” I finally gave up, slumping back and gazing at the direction of the ceiling, letting the strange, not so infinitely unusual yet surreal moment sink in. If it wanted me to believe it was real, then it would have to prove it. Nothing up to this point had been able to succeed in that up to this point.

  “If everything is God’s plan, what’s your fucking plan for me?” I shrieked, gesturing my hands out wildly. “You make my life miserable and then give me a reason to live it-Is this his way of getting me to live–or are you trying to kill me by suffocation instead? No, Alaric, get yourself together…they’re not even real…not real, not real!” I slapped the side of my head a few times, providing no new coherence. “Well, God, I appreciate the effort, but I don’t believe in you anyway, so…so…Oh shit…I really need to do this fast, the hallucination isn’t leaving…I dulled it already, I took the pill, I just have to do it now!” I promised myself aloud, still stifling tears and shaking myself vehemently.

  If it wasn’t clear to you yet, I, Alaric Ashford, am a coward. I can’t kill myself no matter how much I might tell myself I will. I can’t go and talk to someone without fearing rejection, I can’t take risks, no matter how small. I can’t kill myself. I can’t step out into the world and carve a life worth living. I can’t face nor confront those I’ve wronged, and I can’t kill myself. I can’t even move.

  I’m stuck here, glued to the floor, the world around me as numb as I feel inside. There’s still some air but I can’t take in oxygen, my lungs refuse to draw it in. My hands hang uselessly at my sides, incapable of bridging the smallest distance. I stand here, utterly paralyzed, without cause or reason. The tidal wave of emotion I’d grown used to riding, the crushing force of feeling, has passed me by entirely. I’d neglected the wave, let it die out, grow smaller, but never forgotten it. Now, for the first time, there’s nothing. Just an empty, uncharted silence where even despair feels out of reach. My breath was as fleeting as when I stood outside that building, dodging burning timber to run inside–You aren’t supposed to think about that, Alaric. Clear your mind…think of the present…do as you were told.

  “Oh, what a joke…I don’t even feel high. Wow! Fine! Fine…damn if I’m not crazy I don’t know what is…If it’s what you want me to do, brain a toast, to God! To the fucking creator of the universe, and what hopefully is the end of it!” I drank. “Now’s your time to show that I’m not an idiot for giving that hope, and you’ll get my approval, but I’m talking to no one, so good luck with that one. Ha! A toast, to a stupid fucking screen in front of me. A shitty toast to you apparently not wanting me to commit suicide all of a sudden.” I drank again, starting to feel just woozy enough for this to seem more normal than it was. Before my hand could reach for the crinkled plastic bottle filled halfway with water, he was there.

  “Welcome, lucky winner!”

  “You…you’re God...””