A vast cratered field sprawled out in all directions. Bodies burned, creating plumes of sickeningly sweet smoke that billowed upward into the crimson sky above as the sun started to set. Blood soaked the dirt beneath those who were dead or dying, and in the center of the largest crater were two figures.
A young woman stood panting over an Impaled young man; her sword pierced through the metal cuirass adorning his chest. The sword was an intricately crafted rapier with gilded gold accents and a shining platinum blade that made the wound smoke around the edges where the blade touched.
"Why? Why did you do this?! I don't understand. Weren't we—" The young woman sobbed, cutting herself off; her eyes quivered, the color of quicksilver, as her tears fell onto the man's cheek. Her black hair fell in a waterfall of inky darkness around her angular face and tickled the man's nose.
The young man coughed, crimson blood splattered across the woman's face, and his once shining crimson eyes started to dull. His blood pooled beneath him, staining his white hair.
"I guess… this makes the fifteenth time I've—" he coughed again; his breathing was ragged and wet, and blood was filling his lungs.
The girl frowned," Fifteenth time? What do you mean?"
"Maybe… the other me will finally… finish what we started."
The young man dipped his index finger in his blood, traced a pattern over his heart, and suddenly his body flared with light.
The girl was taken aback as the light flashed even brighter," what are you—"
Luminous brilliance flooded from his eyes and mouth. As the rays of light crescendoed, they suddenly vanished, and the man's body was limp, lifeless, and cold.
He had died.
'My name is… well, I guess it's not important.
I mean, maybe to some people, a name is important, but for me, it's just a thing—a thing that my parents gave me, their parents gave them, and so on and so forth.
Names are meant to be important. They're meant to be pieces of you that shape who you are as a person. Obviously, it isn't all about names when it comes to who you'll be in life, but let's be honest, you definitely aren't gonna like someone named Keith, and what the fuck kind of name is Abner?
Like, seriously? There are people out there named freaking Abner?
Okay, okay! I need to calm down. It's just a name.
Anyway, like I was saying, names are important to people—at least, they are to most people. I never really cared for my name all that much, and honestly, after our mom died, I just stopped caring completely.
Some time ago, I just stopped being able to hear it. And a small part of me always thought it was because I had the feeling I could've saved her.'
"Hey, #?!&$," he pulled his eyes away from the computer screen. The flashing icons of NPC's dying let him know he was already being missed. He couldn't pause the game, even if it was single-player; the devs weren't that nice.
His sister stood in the doorway; her long black hair fell around her face in curtains, and she glared at him with her simmering brown eyes.
She didn't really like him all that much. A few years ago, he had been her favorite person, but that changed when their mom had died, and he just stopped caring. Everything changed.
"I kept calling for you," she crossed her arms angrily, her brow furrowed, and her head cocked, annoyed.
He blinked once, twice, three times," huh?"
"Ugh! Mom wants you to go down to the store and get chicken broth. Think you can handle that?"
He looked back to his game. He had died a few seconds ago, and the screen flashed red.
You have died
He stared back at her," She's not our mom, and why don't you do it?"
"Are you fucking serious?! You've been in your room for a week! You haven't even gone to school!"
She wasn't exactly wrong. It was barely four days into his junior year of high school, and he really couldn't be bothered enough to show up. He'd been playing this game the entire time. It wasn't exactly new, but it was one of his favorites, and he was extremely close to one hundred percenting the game.
What did it matter if he missed school anyway? He'd probably move up after taking supplementary lessons at the end of the year and do the same thing for the following year.
He turned back to his computer screen and pressed continue. The mission he had been on was later in the game, and collecting a few items in this particular mission was the last achievement he needed.
The screen went black.
"What the—"
His sister swung his chair around and dangled the monitor cord in front of his face," Go. Get. The. Chicken. Broth!"
She was really pissed if she was talking slow like that.
"F-Fine." He stood to his feet, the numb sensation of pins and needles from sitting all day felt uncomfortable, and the vertigo of standing too quickly made him dizzy.
"Mom needs it quick, so run down and come straight back," she dropped the monitor cord haphazardly and walked out of his room, slamming the door behind her.
'Jeez, what pissed her off?'
He kept on the old red and faded t-shirt he wore with some indistinguishable logo on the front, picked out a pair of blue jeans, and left the safety of his room. The rhythmic sound of a knife chopping vegetables told him his stepmom was already making dinner.
He sat on the couch in the living room and grabbed his shoes from the entryway. The well-worn black and white sneakers slipped on without issue, and he grabbed his house keys from the hook next to the door.
"I left some money for the chicken broth on the coffee table! And don't forget to take a jacket with you, #?!&," his stepmom called, and just like always, his name was just static in his ear.
"Yeah, yeah!" He pulled on a black hoodie that was hanging on the coat rack. He didn't know if it was his or not, he didn't care one way or the other, so he collected the money from the coffee table
He stepped out of the house, and the chilly January air misted his breath, rolling out in lazy spirals in front of him. The neighborhood was empty, but that wasn't strange; it was getting dark, and a deep chill was setting in after all.
'Maybe I should've brought a better jacket.'
But the thought of walking back in and having his stepmom nag him about having told him to take a proper jacket played in his head.
"Screw it," he pulled the hoodie tighter around himself and trod down toward the store. Each step seemed to sap more and more warmth out of him; his hands slowly started going numb, so he stuffed them in his pockets.
A street light turned on up the road, and then another, and another,' guess it is pretty late.'
After a five-minute walk, he finally caught sight of the store. It wasn't big or flashy; it was owned by an older couple that had lived in the area for a while. Surprisingly, there were quite a few cars around. He would need to cross the street to get to the parking lot, so he pressed the little button on the intersection pole for the sidewalk.
A few cars passed by lazily, and he idly wondered where they were headed. Were they heading home from work? Or were they people who preferred to work at night, so they were headed to work? Either way, he wouldn't know, so he headed across the street when the pedestrian walk sign flashed.
But just as he stepped off the curb, a truck barreled through the intersection, narrowly missing him as he stepped back.
The driver had the nerve to honk at him.
"The lights are red for you, asshole!!!" He gestured furiously up at the light, over at the pedestrian walk sign, and then made the universal arm gesture that said: "Shove it."
He fumed for a few seconds, wishing he could cuss the guy out to his face, but instead, he settled on muttering angrily as he crossed the road.
The store's neon light shined from the windows all around the building, staving off the encroaching darkness of the approaching night.
The inside of the store blasted him with a sudden wave of heat as the automatic doors slid open. The halogen bulbs overhead assaulted his eyes, nearly blinding him.
'God damn! Who needs lights this bright?'
Up at the register, the cashier, a girl a few years older than him, was holding her hands over her head and stretching. Another guy in front of the register held something out to her.
It wasn't hard to find the aisle where the chicken broth was, so he grabbed the closest one and headed up to the counter.
The cashier was still stretching for some reason. She looked at #?!& weird, standing behind the guy who was still holding something out to her at the register.
"Are you fucking deaf," the guy, holding a metal-looking thing out, shouted.
"I… I…" the cashier looked behind the shouting guy at him.
'What do you want me to do about it? I don't work her.'
The guy turned and looked at #?!& and suddenly, the metal thing was pointed in his face.
His mind turned to scattered static,' metal… snake hand tattoo… gun!'
"Don't fucking move, kid," the gun jumped slightly, and the man swung it between the cashier and him," Nobody fucking move!"
Time seemed to freeze.
He could see the beads of sweat roll down the robber's forehead, the dirt beneath the fingernails that gripped the gun, and the paranoid twitch in his eye as he looked between the two.
The gun was pointed away for a split second, #?!& took a step back and bumped into a display.
The display crashed to the ground, scattering candy.
The gun swung back around, and a deafening *bang* filled his ears.
At first, it felt like a light pinch in his gut, but then a burning heat spread from his stomach to his chest and down to his legs. Something warm and wet welled up, staining his shirt a deep red.
'Blood?' His mind unhelpfully mused.
All the world's noise turned to a dull thrum like he was wearing noise-canceling headphones. The cashier's muffled shouts were drowned out, and the gunman's muted steps as he ran out the door thudded dully. The ground rose to meet him as his legs gave out, and he fell onto his side.
He couldn't feel the impact, just the burning heat of the bullet in his abdomen.
His world was turning colorless, his lethargic heartbeat thumped in his ears, and it took all of his energy just to keep his eyes open.
'I'll… just… rest my eyes for a se—'
He was unconscious for what felt like seconds, but when he opened his eyes again, he could see the interior of a vehicle. It was cramped, with a bench beside him. An EMT shot up from it and shined a small light in his eyes," You need to stay awake. Okay? Can you hear me? I said you need to stay awake!"
"Fug uff," he slurred, just wanting to sleep, but the constant light in his eyes wouldn't allow it, and the rhythmic beeping of some machine nearby didn't help.
The gurney he was on was uncomfortable, and with each bump the ambulance hit, his stomach flared with pain.
Bump, wince, bump, wince.
A hand gripped his, the sensation was dull and far off, but he could feel it. His sister swam into view; her hair was disheveled, and her makeup was smudged with tear streaks," big bro, please don't die! You're an asshole, but I don't want you to die!"
He blinked hard and looked at his sister," Why're you here? I was gonna get the—"
She squeezed his hand a bit tighter," When you didn't come back after a few minutes, Mom got worried. She sent me to make sure you were okay, but when I got down there, you… you were… there was so much blood."
He laughed; the sound was weak and choked," Of course she did. That… lady—"
His head slumped back, and he passed out again.
"Bro? Bro?!"
Everything was muddled. He could hear shouting and the faint feeling of himself being jostled.
"—osing to much blood— what is his blood ty—"
"No! Please, please, please! Don't die, Nate!"
The constant beeping stopped, the pain in his body went away, and finally, everything was completely silent for him.
'I can finally hear my name, and it's when I die. Go figure.'