On January 9th, at Serinity Country's capital city, Serenthia, it had been a glad evening, and the winter breeze still whistled past. The city felt lively; it was brightly lit up by multicolored lights, and despite the time already being 11, there was no hint of the city falling asleep yet.
In such a crowded city, there was a street that stood eerily quiet and empty with only streetlights flickering amidst the cold. He was a man walking there on that silent road slowly while shivering by the killing chill. He kept his left hand leaning on the wall to be able to move forward. By each step, the crimson drops of blood fall on the white snow so perfectly to stain deep red.
"Fuckkk. it hurts," he whispered weakly, his voice shaking.
"Isn't there anyone here?"
He staggered, his bloodied hand holding onto his stomach. Someone had stabbed him; the proof told it all – his white sweater around the wound was dripping red. He trudged on, one painful step at a time, down an empty street, each step draining the little bit of strength he had in himself. His breaths came heavier, ragged, and labored as if with every inhale the fight to stay alive became tougher.
Blood drooled down on his forehead from the gash he had struck, spreading that to his face and obscuring his dashing looks almost completely. His eyes became blurry as he was stung by the cold wind, but he kept pushing forward, leaving a grim red trail behind him.
Finally, his strength gave way, and his legs buckled under him. He fell backward down onto the icy snow-covered path with a heavy thud. The fall splattered blood across the pristine white surface, the vibrant red stark against the untouched snow. His head hit the ground with a dull crack, a sharp jolt of pain flashing through him before a numbing cold took hold.
His blurry eyes gazed up at the bottomless, dark sky as gentle snowflakes quietly brushed against his face. The freezing touch of the snow did not help the ache in his body but gave him an unusual sense of calm, as if the world itself was whispering his end. Frosted air escaped his lips in shallow puffs and grew weaker with every exhalation.
A faint, bitter smile tried to form on his lips as his trembling hand was pressed to his abdomen, trying to stop the warm blood pooling beneath him. It seeped into the snow and colored the ground with its sickly palette of white and crimson.
"Looks like. my time has come," he murmured, his voice but a fragile echo in the stillness. With an effort he strained for his last words: "How did it come to this.? How did I end up like this?"
Cradling his chin on his folded arms, Billy Scott slowly closed his eyes to reflect how he had ended up in this miserable situation.
Few minutes ago...
On the same road, Billy Scott was walking while staring at his mobile. Every step he took echoed with the soft crunching of snow beneath his feet. He noticed five missed calls on his phone's call list and all under the name "Mama."
"If I go home now, Mama won't let me off easy," he let out a sigh to himself. Anger seeped into his voice as he spoke up once more, "But not only am I late and didn't answer her calls… great." Sorrows flooded through him as he pushed his phone back into his pocket and walked faster. He did not let the extreme cold bother him; he moved forward with the sole purpose of reaching his destination in the least amount of time.
As he walked, Billy heard a distant sound.
He stopped his steps and focused his senses. The sound was thin but unmistakable: someone cried and voiced an urgent plea for salvation.
Without any thinking, Billy ran in the direction of the noise and started to run faster with every step. The cold air burned in his lungs, but he wouldn't stop. He finally reached the scene-a man was trying to grab the bag of the woman. She was fighting back, clutching the bag hard in her hands, screaming for help.
Without losing a second, Billy charged forward and tackled the thief.
Both fell onto the snow, rolling apart as powder scattered around them. Billy was up in the next moment, swatting off the loose flakes.
"This generation can't even show respect to their elders," the thief spat as he rose to his feet, his weak frame shaking with each move. "Looks like I'll have to teach you some respect, kid."
"Respect? Hah, don't make me laugh," Billy retorted, settling into a fighting stance. "If you want to fight, then hurry up. I don't have all night."
The thief growled in frustration and lunged at Billy, swinging wildly. But Billy dodged the attacks effortless, his movements fluid and precise. The thief lacked any real technique, and Billy countered every move with the skill of an experienced fighter.
Within seconds, Billy managed to overpower the fellow, pinning him to the ground, locking his arms.
"You okay, ma'am?" he questioned, looking at the lady. But to his dismay, she was already gone, having scarpered during the commotion. A flash of disappointment crossed Billy's face.
"Seriously? Not even a word of thanks," he said, letting go of the thief a little. "Guess no one's here to witness my heroics."
Billy reached for the phone and decided to call the authorities. Just as he dialed, there was a sharp pain piercing his belly. Amazed, Billy looked down and saw that the thief had taken advantage of the moment in which he turned his head, pulling out a pocket knife to stab him in the gut.
Billy froze, the shock overwhelming him. But the thief didn't stop-he stabbed Billy again, driving the blade deeper before staggering to his feet and attempting to flee.
With gritted teeth, Billy clutched the thief's wrist in one and his abdomen with the other. The thief fought hard, slamming Billy into a nearby wall. It was an awful impact that had Billy's head slamming against the wall when he lapsed into a daze. In the struggle, his mobile phone fell from his grasp and was never seen again.
Current…
Billy lay still on the snow covered ground, with his eyes to the black sky above. Tears streamed down from the corners of his eyes, maybe because of the ache or bitter realization of his condition. His breaths became deeper, and every exhalation visible against the cold air.
"Mom… it feels like I'll meet you for the first time now… and maybe… I'll see dad too," he whispered faintly, his trembling hand clutched his abdomen tighter. "Mama must be worried… I couldn't even call her…"
A bitter smile crossed his lips as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "My time has come…" he muttered, his voice fading. "Sorry, Austin…
With those words, Billy's eyelids slowly closed, the world slumbering into quiet once again.
But then a sound came crashing through the stillness. Crunching footsteps in the snow, shot and frantic. Someone was running toward him, the rhythm gaining speed with each step.
"Hey, kid! Are you okay?! " A soft yet panicked voice called out, breaking through the numb silence with the warmth of a winter's breeze.
Billy's eyelids quivered and opened with a slack, indistinct gaze. Through the blur, he saw her—a figure kneeling beside him, her presence glowing against the cold, lifeless backdrop. Her chestnut hair spilled like cascading silk from beneath a hooded pink sweater, its soft fabric dusted with snowflakes. Her pale complexion seemed to drink in the moonlight, making her seem almost ethereal, as though she were woven from the snow itself. Her eyes, green and wide, shone with worry, anchoring him to reality; her gaze was gentle and urgent, as if pleading with him not to go away.
She tried to pull out her phone with shaking hands, speaking into it in a hasty tone. In his daze, her voice seemed distant, yet it was a tune that pierced through the numbness. She was calling for help; that he knew.
As his strength waned, the cold seeped deeper into him, wrapping around his chest like a frozen chain. Still, he summoned the last flicker of his voice. His words came out in a fragile murmur, childlike awe.
"Are you… an angel? Did heaven send you… just for me?"
A faintest smile creased the bloody lips as he looked at her face, soft and glowing like a dream, and in this moment, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.
His breathing slowed, his vision again growing dim. His last sight was of her, haloed by the snow falling around her, her concerned voice carrying him into the darkness like a lullaby.