The sky died at five. It's seven now. I just got home. Walked slow. Head down. My bag clings to my shoulder like inherited debt. My uniform reeks of sweat, dust, and a little fear.
Streetlights flicker. Asphalt's cracked. The air is cold, but not fresh. Like the breath of someone dying but not allowed to die.
I like coming home late. The later it gets, the less I have to see them. The darker it is, the easier it is to disappear into the shadows.
My mom… the woman who claims she birthed me, gets home at ten. Her lipstick is always smudged. Her neck smells like cheap perfume and something I don't want to name. She says it's work. But she always brings home money… and tiny wounds on her thighs.
My dad… Ugh. That bastard is glued to the living room chair. Bottles circle him like an altar to a failed god. Eyes hollow. Reeking of vomit. Sometimes he screams. Sometimes he just stares at the wall, like he's searching for a past that already rotted.
Me? Just a kid no one asked to be born. A walking mistake.
"Ha…" Breath slips out, not a complaint, just the last drip of strength. "…I don't wanna go to that damn house." My own voice sounds unfamiliar. Broken. Quiet. Almost like a whisper begging for forgiveness.
My steps are slow. The shadow on the sidewalk looks more honest than my face. I pass shuttered stores. Their empty windows feel like the eyes of people who never ask, "What's wrong?"
My house is just three turns away. But tonight, it feels like three hells.
I walk even slower. If I could, I'd get lost. Or fall. Or get stolen by a demon. Anything… as long as I don't have to open that door. That little hell-door I call home.
The streetlight flickers. Dull yellow spills across cracked pavement. My shadow sticks to the ground. Thin. Small. Hair a tangled mess, like cut rope.
I look like a corpse trying to live again. Failing.
"Ha! Dumbass! Should've asked for more!"
"Ugh, his mom's gonna bother me again!"
Those voices. I know them. Branded behind my ears like bedtime demons. Them. Those damn guys from school. The laughers. The bruisers.
Usually, they just pass by. But now… their steps come close. Closer. My heart doesn't beat—it resists.
I want to hide. But where? This sidewalk's too bright. This night's too naked.
…
Too late. They're in front of me now. Two long shadows. One hand lands on my shoulder.
"Well, well. Look who it is." Arrogant tone. Crooked mouth. Empty eyes. They look like people, but they're not.
"You're Yren, right? Second year?" His smile's a blade. Sharp. Proud. Disgusted.
"Hey."
SMACK.
My head jerks to the side. My cheek burns. The sting cuts straight to the jawbone.
I say nothing. Mouth frozen. fight or silence. But my hands won't move. Neither will my feet. My soul's in a cage.
The hand slides from my shoulder to my collar. Pulls. Hard. My throat catches in the grip. I can't breathe.
"You ignoring me? You wanna die?"
He's too close. His breath smells like stale cigarettes and rot.
I stay quiet. He pulls harder.
"Fucking bitch."
THUD.
A punch. Not light. My body crumples. Slammed into mud-stained concrete. Cold. Wet. The afternoon rain left its mess behind.
My uniform soaks up the dirt. Filthy. Freezing. But I'm more disgusted with myself.
"Why's she flopping like that? Like a dead dog."
The one who hit me rubs his knuckles. The other one raises his phone. Click. One moment of my ruin, captured forever.
I can't move. My body's numb. Blood trails from nose to mouth. Tastes like rusted metal dipped in tongue.
"Ugh!"
Fingers yank my hair back. My throat stretches open—my neck left bare beneath him.
"Pathetic piece of shit." He squats down, staring over my skull, like I'm trash that breathes too loud.
In my head, I scream. Let go of me… let go of me…
"…let go of me…" It slips out. Quiet. Dragging.
"Oh?" He pulls harder.
"So you can talk. Thought you were mute. What was that? Let go?"
He glances at his friend—then laughs. The kind of laugh vultures might make in heat.
"Forget it. She's broke. No cash in a trash can like this." His friend spits near my feet. His eyes say I'm not human.
"Good point."
He lets go of my hair. I fall back into the filth.
But—why is his foot—
THUD.
My eyes widen. Breath caught in my throat. His kick lands in my gut. Right there. The same place dad punched last week.
The pain doesn't cut. It burns. From the inside.
I curl. My body folds in on itself. Hands over the stomach already destroyed.
Steps again. Coming back. I shut my eyes.
Scared.
Scared.
Scared.
"Look at she! She's scared! Kekekekek!"
His shoe slams into my head. Hard. Heavy. My left ear goes deaf. The world turns one-sided silent. Cold mud clings to my cheek.
They curse. Mock. Laugh.
And me…
I'm still. Not crying. But my eyes tremble. The tears beg to fall. Tears I've kept buried like sin.
I hold them. I hold them. Even as my insides scream to give up.
SMACK—
Something hit the bastard's head. A dented soda can. Didn't sound loud, but it was enough to make him curse.
"Shit! Who the hell?!" They looked around. Panicked, pretending not to be. Searching for where the can came from.
And at the end of the street… A shadow. Heavy steps. The silhouette growing longer. Thicker. Closer. Clearer.
"Me." That voice. Low. Deep. Dead. "Me, asshole."
My eyes cracked open. Blurry. But bright. I didn't know him. And judging by their faces—neither did they.
Tall. Not just tall, a tower. At least 6'7, maybe more. Streetlight right above him,
but his face… dark. Blurred. Glitched. Were my eyes broken? Or was he not even human?
The orange, the one who stomped my head, stepped forward. Chin up. Chest puffed.
"You wanna die, huh?!"
But his voice… cracked. Leaking fear out of his throat like a broken pipe.
The shadow blocked everything else. The tall man leaned in. Lowered his face to match orange's level.
"You're the one looking to die." His words weren't a threat. They were a verdict. Signed. Sealed.
orange flinched. "What the hell do you—"
tuk—
His hand, huge, shaped like a gun. Left hand. Touched orange's forehead.
"Bang."
...
Instant. orange dropped. Right beside me.
I saw it. A hole. In his forehead. Bleeding. Melting slow like wax from hell. My body reacted—crawled backward, trembling. Panic. Cold. Metallic panic.
"W-w-who the hell are you!?" His friend. Eyes wide. Pupils shaking. Stepping back like a baby chick.
"I-I'll report you to the police—!"
"Bang."
Another hole. This time through his right eye. He fell too. Same dirt. Same mud. Dead. Both of them. Dead. Right in front of me.
I... I...
And then he was in front of me. As fast as a shadow. Crouched down. Too close.
His face was still a blur. But his eyes… red. Burning. Sharp like God's forgotten wrath.
My body shook. Like wires snapping under the skin. Cold sweat crawling from my temples to my palms. Not me. Don't pick me. Let me live. Please. Please.
"Long time no see."
My head jerked back like he'd yanked something invisible. Terrified—but unable to look away. My eyes locked on his. And he smiled. Teeth white. Aligned. Like a trap.
"Satisfied?"
...What?
"Are you satisfied?" He asked again.
What does he mean...?
"I mean—look. They're dead. The ones who hurt you. Aren't breathing anymore. Dead. Right in front of you. Are you satisfied?"
His smile grew. Wider. Hungrier. Like he wanted to swallow me whole.
You ask me… satisfied?
My heart was banging itself against my ribs. My breath short. Fractured.
Was this... when I die?
"No." His voice was flat. "You won't die unless I say so."
His hand, large, freezing, touched my cheek. The kind of touch snow forgets to be ice. My chest tightened.
"Answer me."
"Are you satisfied?"
My mouth opened slowly. Heavy breath escaped. "…No. I'm not satisfied."
I whispered. But it was honest. I'm not satisfied. Because it wasn't me who killed them.
His grin bloomed wider. "Good."
"That's the answer I wanted."
He pulled his hand back. Stood tall. His shadow swallowed my entire body.
"This meeting was a mistake. I only came to say the world is about to change. So get ready."
I slumped, weak. My head a mess. Change? The world? Does that mean... my life is gonna get fixed?
"I wish I could stay longer. But I have to go."
...He talked like we used to know each other.
He turned around. His back—massive. Heavy.
"W-wait... what about the bodies...?" The blood was still fresh. The stench stabbing my nose like a curse.
He stopped. Glanced back over his shoulder. "Leave them. Go home."
...Home?
"Yren."
THUMP—
My heart stopped. Just for a seconds. The world hushed with it. He said my name. Even though I don't know him.
And then he vanished. Swallowed by the shadows. Like a dream murdered by morning. I was still on the ground. Still staring at the place where he disappeared.
Yren.
...There's something familiar. Something too close. But I don't know what.
Footsteps. Someone's coming. I have to leave. Now. These weak legs—come on. Get up. Run. Before this world breaks again.
It won't stop. The memory—it loops. Again. And again. Etched into the soft wall of my brain like dried blood that won't come off.
Who was he? That thing. That man who killed with his bare hand. His hand. His hand… Who the fuck was he? Why did his eyes feel like they knew me?
"Long time no see."
That sentence still hangs in my head. Did we... meet before? Bullshit. Total bullshit. "The world is going to change," he said. Fucking lunatic.
Maybe he was just a god-tier criminal. Maybe I was lucky to still be breathing.
"Where the hell have you been, girl?! Coming home this late?!"
…Snap. My head turned immediately.
That voice. The bottle-holding, body-rotting man. Dad. Or so he calls himself.
He stood at the doorway of the house that looked more like ruins. Red eyes, reeking breath, wheezing like a dying truck. And behind him…
…Mom. On the floor. Bleeding. Her head wounded. Still.
I—
My tongue froze. My feet, locked. Run? But where? To him? Or to Mom's limp, ragdoll body?
"Why so quiet, huh?! Come here!!"
His voice pierced louder than any ambulance siren. My hands gripped the edge of my school skirt until it tore. My nails dug into my palm. But I walked. Because if I didn't—it'd be worse.
My steps were shaky. This house was small, but the walk toward him felt like dragging my own body to the gallows.
His eyes… Terrifying. Drunk, sharp, ready to stab. His right hand held a half-full bottle. His left rested on his waist like a king of trash.
I glanced at Mom. Still not moving.
Mama… I couldn't do anything. I—I was scared.
I stopped in front of him. Close enough for him to hit me without even stepping forward.
The stench… Rot. Alcohol, sweat, and the filth that never left his body. My fists still clenched my skirt. My eyes lowered. Breathing heavy.
His hand landed on my shoulder. Cold. Solid. "Why do you look... so damn ugly."
Ugly?
His eyes scanned me from head to toe. "Just got back from school?" I nodded slightly.
"Pathetic."
Pathetic. You call me pathetic? Have you looked in a mirror? You're a drunk loser. Disgusting. Torn shirt, beard like weeds, stinking like a landfill. You are the pathetic one.
"You're a worthless girl."
Crack.
My head lifted. My brows pulled down. My mouth opened—then bit.
"What…?" I slapped his hand away.
"I'M LIKE THIS BECAUSE OF WHO, HUH?!"
My cracked voice exploded.
"WHOSE FAULT IS IT?! WHOSE?! IT'S YOU!! BECAUSE OF YOU!!"
It kept pouring out. Everything that had rotted inside me for years, vomited in one scream. No tears, but my voice had already poisoned the air.
"Hah… hah… BECAUSE OF YOU—!!"
SLAP.
His hand. Across my face. Hard. I nearly fell. My cheek burned. My mouth split. I gasped. Blood on my lips, salty, angry, painful.
But—suddenly… he looked scared?
"Y-Yren…"
His voice cracked. His hand dropped. He stepped back.
What? Why was he—scared? Worried?
His eyes shifted. From rage to panic. His lips trembled. "Go... go help your mom." He stepped over her. Like she was nothing. Like she was garbage.
My hand touched my cheek. Still cold. The blood dripped down to my neck. Trembling. Shaking.
"Stop… enough…"
I hugged the rage. Clutched the hatred.
"DIE… DIE…!"
He froze. Looked back. I ran. My body lunged. My small fists, fueled by massive fury.
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!"
I hit him. Again. Again. As hard as my rage allowed. As deep as the hell I'd buried inside.
"Yren, stop!"
"I WON'T STOP UNTIL YOU'RE DEAD!!"
He backed off. Panicking. Cornered. His foot stepped on the bottle. CRACK—! He fell. But I kept going. Climbed on him. Pounded. Over. And over. And over.
"DIE!!"
"YREN!!"
CRACK!
A bottle smashed against my head. The world froze. "A-agh…" Warm blood spilled from my temple. My vision blurred.
"Fucking…"
That was the last thing I said. Before the world turned red. Then black. Before I sank into a cold, dark, silent ocean.
Am I… Dead?
Just like this? Is this all? The end? No revenge?
...God. You're cruel.