The light stings my eyes. My skin hurts. My bones hurt. No, everything hurts. My body is incredibly sore. I roll around, trying to avoid the blinding light above me. I place my palms on the ground beneath me, only for the heat of the ground to send a sharp jolt through me. I yelp and open my eyes.
A white-hot sun hangs directly overhead, searing through my eyelids. I squint, instinctively raising a hand to block it, but it's futile. The light cuts through everything. As I try to look around me, I notice it—silence. It's unnerving. No distant hum of cars. No voices. No footsteps. Nothing. It's just me.
The asphalt beneath me is hot, gritty, and coarse against my skin. I feel its rough texture pressing into my hands, my legs—my body sprawled awkwardly across the road. The heat radiates through my clothes; the air around me is heavy and thick. I push myself up, feeling the strange sensation of my limbs, as if they belong to someone else. My throat feels dry, like I haven't spoken in days, and my skin prickles with the oppressive heat. The sun above feels closer than it should with its rays biting into my exposed skin. I shield my eyes again, blinking hard, but the brightness persists, almost like it's mocking me.
For a moment, I sit there, unsure of what to do, caught between confusion and the urge to move. The world feels distant, as if it's holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. But nothing does. It's just me, alone.
I take a deep breath as I look around me. A wide, cracked concrete road stretches ahead, the silence pressing in around me like a heavy fog. The city looms above, its towers of grey concrete, skeletal and lifeless, stretching into the sky like fingers reaching to grab the scorching sun above. Long shadows cover rusted cars, broken streetlights, and billboards. The air is thick with dust, and every breath feels heavy. The city screams in exhaustion; I swear it's begging for death.
No wind, no birds, no cars, no voices, no movement. Just concrete, cracked and crumbling, slowly being reclaimed by nature. Vines cling to the sides of the taller buildings, their tendrils creeping up the walls like fingers reaching for something long lost. Piles of debris gather in corners—shattered glass, pieces of broken furniture, remnants of a city that used to be alive but, even now, is not dead.
Sitting here, I feel small, insignificant in the vast emptiness and, surrounded by the ghost of a city that once thrived. The hollow sound of the place seeps into my bones, and it's hard to tell where the concrete ends and I begin. It feels like this place—this forgotten, abandoned city—could swallow me whole without anyone noticing.
Or maybe it already did.
The thought flashes into my mind out of the blue. I jump up as it settles, the flash of urgency accelerating my breathing. I need to get out of this sun. I need to get somewhere safe. I need to get home.
But… where is home? What am I doing here? Who even am I?
I stand there, in the middle of the city's corpse, being battered by the sun, and I wonder who I am. I try to think, to remember, but my mind refuses to comply. I look down at my body—a pair of sneakers fits tightfirmly around my feet, my trousers are black cargo pants, and my T-shirt is a dull, weathered grey. Then I see it.
Across my left forearm, scratched into my skin with obvious fury by something very sharp, are three letters, scarred deeply into my flesh. A single word that sends ripples through my soul. Dread fills me in a way so primal I can't interpret; goosebumps crawl up my skin. A shiver down my spine. I feel bile rise up my throat as I read it. My breath quickens, adrenaline surging through my brain, firing a rush of energy through my body.
"RUN."
That's what it says. As I read it, I know what to do. I don't hesitate. I run.
I launch myself from the ground, sprinting down the cracked road with everything I have. A fog of confusion still fills my brain. My limbs still feel like lead. The sun burns my flesh. Yet I ignore all of that.
And I run.
I taste my own sweat as it flows down my face, my clothes clinging violently to me. My heart drumming in my chest, drumming almost as violently and urgently as my steps as I trample the concrete beneath me. I avoid the shadows. Why? I don't know but I just know to. The silver-grey sun floating ahead, burning me as I run, is what's keeping me safe. I know. I just know. So I keep running. I keep running under the sun.
As I run and feel my body slow, I know more. I know when to turn. I know where the shadows are. I know. I know more as I run. I don't know everything. But I know enough to not stop running. I know enough to run as fast as I can, to regulate my breath, to keep my eyes on the road, to not stare at the sun, even though it's probably the only thing keeping me safe.
Time runs as I sprint, the world around me little more than a chaotic, searing blur. The wind smashes into my ears as I run even faster. My feet pound against the ground in a rhythm that seems to sync with my heartbeats, faster and faster with every passing second. My vision narrows, the heat and exertion overwhelming me, but still, I run.
The sun seems to chase me, relentlessly blazing overhead as I race down the cracked asphalt. The shadows grow longer, and the day darker, but still, the sun burns. It's something—a beacon, a guide, a warning—urging me onward, away from the shadows, whatever they are. The things that want to catch me. To stop me. To silence me. I can feel them—silent watchers, the creeping dark creatures waiting for me to stop, their icy fingers reaching out for me as I run, run, run.
In the distance, I catch a glint of something that shimmers, reflecting the dying sunlight. It's a structure of some kind, massive and angular, a jagged monolith rising from the concrete jungle. A moment of clarity cuts through the chaos, and I know that's where I need to go, if I want to survive the night. If I want to live. If I want to run again tomorrow.
The city stretches before me, a desolate wasteland bathed in the dying light of the relentless sun. My lungs burn, and my legs scream in protest, but the thought of the watchers spurs me onward. Their silence is worse than any scream or roar; it speaks of a cold, dark, and calculating malice.
CLICK.
A clicking sound echoes from somewhere behind. Shivers run down my spine. I dare not look back.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
The sound begins to increase in frequency, almost as if these watchers are growing excited with the disappearing of the sun, as if they are preparing for a hunt.
CLICK.
CLICK, CLICK.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
I feel tears stream down my face in despair. This is the end. I am so close to the building, but I doubt I can make it before the sun disappears, before the watchers catch up to me. I try to keep pushing my body, to keep running, but every breath is agony. Every step is torture. My arms stopped swinging hours ago. This is how I die.
No!
The thought of rebelling against this death fills me with more energy, making me forget my hunger and thirst, my exhaustion. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. At that moment, I catch a glimpse of my surroundings. Red. There's red everywhere. Glowing red orbs move around the city, watching me. They are eyes, a thought tells me. And in that moment, I know I had never been alone in the corpse of this city.
Ahead, the monolithic structure looms larger, its angular silhouette a stark contrast to the crumbling cityscape. As I near, the building seems to pulse. An unnerving hum fills the air, growing louder with every step. With a final burst of desperate energy, I lunge for the entrance, a gaping maw of darkness at the base of the structure. I gasp. I feel the shadows grab my heel. A bone? A hand? A bony hand grabs hold of my heel, its claws digging into my skin. Blood from the wound cools my foot.
I hear it. Right behind me. The voice of what now holds my feet. The voice is wet, yet dry in a way. Raspy. Cracked. Disgusting. And filled with hunger and malice.
"Not fast enough, meat."
I let out a blood-curdling scream as the creature dragged me back. I thrash wildly, but it was futile. my arms flailing around me. My screams don't cease for a second. I feel snot flow down my face. into my mouth. My eyes sting from the rush of tears
Silence
That's all my screaming meets. Cold, lifeless, indifferent , silence.
I grab onto the boundary of the building screaming for help.
"HELLLLLPPPP!!!!!!!"
My fingers dig into the concrete as I am pulled away. I grab harder. The thing pulling me is stronger. I feel my fingers tear at the concrete. Friction eating away at my nails. My fingertips being torn away.
I scream louder. I scream till my throat cracks and bleed. But all I meet is;
SILENCE
Cold, lifeless, indifferent,silence…. And then I remember. I pick up a stone and I claw three letters onto my forearm, reopening a wound that might never close
***
The light stings my eyes. My skin hurts. My bones hurt. No, everything hurts. My body is incredibly sore. I roll around, trying to avoid the blinding light above me. I place my palms on the ground beneath me, and the heat of the ground sends a sharp jolt through me. I yelp and open my eyes. A white-hot sun hangs directly overhead, searing through my eyelids. I squint, instinctively raising a hand to block it, but it's futile. The light cuts through everything.