The neon glow of the Los Angeles skyline bathed the streets in a warm hue, offering an inviting atmosphere that felt like a mother's embrace on a cold summer night. For most, it was a city of dreams, a spectacle to behold, with extravagant towers reaching for the stars and luxury cars gliding effortlessly along palm-lined avenues. But for Axel Collins, there was no warmth coursing through his veins. He sat next to the window of his tiny apartment, looking out through water-stained glass, waiting for a miracle that never came.

A single tear traced down his battle-scarred face, a grim reminder of a glorious past that now felt distant. The familiar aroma of burnt nicotine and sweet vapor hung in the air like an oppressive shroud, adding to the weight of his memories. In this vibrant city, where dreams sparkled and hope glimmered, Axel felt adrift and forgotten, drowning in an ocean of regret. The nightlife pulsed with energy all around him, yet here he was, trapped in the shadows of his apartment.

'This time… This time, she'll definitely pick up the phone this time.' He told himself for about the hundredth time this week.

It's been a month since Elise walked out of that apartment door. The two met by chance fifteen years ago at the dinner where he used to work part-time. She used to have those nerdy glasses, funky braces, and even those baggy clothes. They'd dream in their youths of a warm suburban home, a green lawn, and a dog they'd name Sandy but now, to Elise who now sports high heels, buttock-pouting lips, and an extremely haughty attitude, these are all nonsense. Her ambitions of a grandiose wedding, a luxurious lifestyle driving either a Lamborghini or a Ferrari, and having an imposing penthouse near the beach started between a couple's banter to an imposed promise that made Axel utterly dumbfounded, bewildered, and speechless. She dismissed his pleading to stay as she packed her bags and left without hearing the rest of it.

Each day blurred into the next, forming a monotonous cycle filled with hollow afternoons crammed with watching films about love, appreciating novels they once read, looking at the stars, and reminiscing through their old photographs, which were once the things they enjoyed as a couple. Now, they felt like mere background noise and greyscale ambiance amplifying the silence of his life.

'Should I start doing a live stream of eating about ten pounds of fried chicken instead?'

He joked to himself, a fleeting smile breaking through his sorrow. Sleepless nights haunted him, echoing with the relentless whisper of 'What if?'

'What if she came knocking on the door at this very moment?'

'What if I looked out the window and saw her outside?

'What if I call her just this instant and she comes back to me?'

'What if I just wait for her a bit longer before I sleep?'

'What if I said the right words before she left?'

The list goes on and on as he rolls around the bed, stands around, checking who's outside by the window, and calls her unreachable phone number.

He stood up from his bed, sleepless, not even noticing it was daytime already, then, he turned his gaze to the streets below, where the vibrant chaos of life was relentless and, paradoxically, felt like a taunt to his own melancholy. How could the world continue to spin when he felt so utterly lost?

Time itself had become a strange creature, elongating in moments of his clarity while rushing like a bullet when he lost himself in the fictional realms of fantasy novels, the tales of heroes battling impossible odds. If only his adventure would arrive soon, saving him from his miserable existence. His thoughts tasted as sweet as honey, yet reality twisted his gut with a knife, mercilessly making him face the cruelty of it all. The ticking of the clock felt like the embrace of emptiness, eating away at his consciousness little by little while putting his thoughts in complete disarray.

The Autumn past him like a gust and Winter was merely a cold breeze on his skin as Axel didn't even care about life anymore. The man he used to respect back at the orphanage, the best friend who knew him for the longest time, and his brothers-in-arms who remembered him, they all called and even left voice messages asking if he needed any professional help, yet not even one call was returned.

Remembering the life-and-death situations on his deployments, he pondered if the morphine on the medical kit he always carried around would give him the numbing sensation of fleeting happiness that he yearned for, or perhaps having a drink, even though he had never touched alcohol in his life. But maybe a sip could offer a momentary escape from the heaviness that weighed him down. He argued with his rationality with these irrational solutions he was coming up with, that might, in turn, soften the edges of his bleak reality.

He took a puff from his electric cigarette and in turn, gave him another idea, 'Maybe I should visit one of those dispensaries nearby, that's at least legal and safe.'

He couldn't help but chuckle at his crazy ideas to instantly alleviate his pain, but deep down he feared that he would tumble too far and lose sight of the person he once was. Yet, as the days dragged on, escape became increasingly tempting. He spent countless nights staring into the darkness, caught in a web of bleak thoughts, each one pulling him further from himself.

Night after night, as the sun descended and the stars blinked into existence like faded memories, a peculiar voice slithered into his mind, teasing him with cryptic messages:

"When the night itself collapses, put your hands up in the sky like a pillar to hold it up."

"Our Spirit will forever live with every man and woman! Humanity shall not fall here!"

"We killed our way to the stars, to the sky, and to the firmament. We did it before, we can do it again."

"Humanity will clench victory to all of existence! We will step on the bones of millions of races on the sea of stars!"

Was he slipping into madness? Perhaps it was the late nights spent saturating his mind with psychological theories and sci-fi fantasies that had made him lose his marvels. He clenched his jaw, drawing a shaky breath. What kind of purpose do these whispers in his mind want to know, questioning his humanity and existence, he was seeking answers to every question he heard. Desperation clawed at his sanity, blurring the lines between the dream world and stark reality.

Suddenly, a piercing siren sliced through his reverie, and he felt like it poured ice-cold water on his head, he sweated profusely while leaning his head against the window looking at the ambulance fading in the distance. The sound reminded him of his fellow soldiers who went to the mental ward due to trauma, depression, anxiety, and heartbreak. He needed to escape from the heavy weight of his thoughts, away from the suffocating solitude that had wrapped around him like a shroud.

That's when he felt it, a strange compulsion pulling him toward the vibrant streets, a subtle guide urging him to reconnect with life once more. Hoping it would distract him from his spiraling thoughts, he pushed himself into the night, he huffed nicotine from his device once more, the vapor from his orifices clung to him like an unwanted shadow, a physical manifestation of his despair.

The moment he stepped outside, people laughed, their voices intertwining in a raucous symphony, but their joy felt like a mockery and ridicule, an audible reminder of his own desolation. All of a sudden, a chill swept through him as this time, it was the voices of the people whom he used to call brothers ringing in his head, people who were now six feet under, this time more lifelike and vivid, as if they were blaring at his ears, it made all his hair stand on end.

"I can't feel my legs anymore, I'll stay here, you all can go!"

"Leave without me! I will hold them off so everyone can retreat!"

"Sir, I'll bleed out in ten. I'll have my final stand right here."

"Tell Mom and Dad, I love them and I'm sorry."

While he walked into the crowd, he started hearing battlefield noises, was he having a traumatic flashback? Now, he was certain in his mind that his fortitude built over the years had collapsed and he needed some help, some guidance, or just someone who he could talk to about this.