Maximus had no grand ambitions. He lived day to day, trapped in a solitary routine. His life had become a monotonous cycle, a kind of self-imposed isolation that had turned into his refuge. Since his parents died in that accident when he was just a child, he had been sent to an orphanage, a place that should have been a space of support. However, all he found there was pain. The other children quickly noticed his vulnerability, and the bullying didn't take long to follow. Every taunt, every blow, shaped in him a constant fear of the outside world.
This is how he developed agoraphobia, a fear that kept him imprisoned within his home, unable to connect with others, unable to work. A working life was out of his reach, and he lived off a disability pension. His small house, located on the outskirts of the city, was his fortress. But "fortress" might not have been the most suitable word to describe it. The structure was visibly deteriorated, with chipped paint and a roof covered in weeds that clung to the walls as if trying to devour what was left of it. He had no visitors, and no one cared about him. That house, hidden among trees and shrubs in a forgotten suburb, was a reflection of his own life: dilapidated and lonely.
That night, Maximus had listened to the news, as he did every day. They said a storm was approaching, that the torrential rain could bring floods and hurricane-force winds. The population was advised to evacuate to shelters prepared by the authorities. But Maximus didn't even consider the option. The idea of leaving his house and facing others in a crowded shelter was terrifying. Just thinking about it made his stomach tighten. He was sure the storm would pass without major complications. In fact, no one had come to check if he was still in his house. Maybe the authorities had assumed it was abandoned, or perhaps his agoraphobia was so well-known that no one dared to come.
The rain began to fall with unusual intensity. Lightning briefly illuminated the room through the thin curtains, casting ghostly shadows on the worn walls. The wind lashed the windows, making the glass panes rattle. Maximus looked outside but saw nothing but darkness. The weeds surrounding the house seemed to move as if they had a life of their own, dancing in the rhythm of the storm.
Fear and anxiety started to take over. He knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep with the storm raging so fiercely. He rummaged through his drawer for a Xanax, his only ally on nights like this. He took it with a glass of water and collapsed onto the bed, hoping the medication would give him the relief he needed to sleep.
With his eyes closed, the sound of the rain and wind became more distant. He thought about his parents, about those days before the accident. What would his life have been like if they hadn't died? Maybe he wouldn't be so alone. Maybe… but those thoughts were useless. It didn't matter anymore. The only thing he could do now was keep going, or at least, try. The pill was beginning to take effect, and Maximus' body started to relax. Little by little, his mind drifted into a deep sleep.
The last thing he remembered was the roar of the wind seeping through the cracks in the house, like a sinister whisper lulling him into the darkness.