"E...Ed..Edie... Edie!! Wake up! Please... I beg.... Edie!!!"
Eddie woke once more. The same nightmare, relentless as ever.
He stared at the mirror across the room... and met the eyes of a stranger. A stranger he had grown used to. It had been so long since he'd seen his true self in that reflection. Now, only vacant grey eyes stared back. A hollow face, pale as ash. Cheeks hollowed, skin clinging to bone...
He glanced down at his hands-dry, brittle things. The bitten nails, the torn skin around them-they repulsed him. He could feel the faintest tremor in his fingers, a subtle shiver that crawled beneath his skin. Nausea rose in his throat.
Dragging himself from the bed, Eddie moved to the window. Outside, the sky hung heavy and colorless, a smothering grey that blurred the world. The air itself seemed laced with dust and dread.
He opened the door and stepped into the narrow hallway, where dust gathered like forgotten memories. Slowly, he descended the rotting stairs. Each step felt like it pulled him deeper... drained him further. The house murmured with echoes of days that were once warm and golden-days not so far behind, yet now out of reach, as if they belonged to another life.
Eddie reached the bottom of the stairs. The house was swallowed in grey light, thin beams seeping through the slats of boarded windows. Dust hung in the air like it had nowhere else to go, and the silence was deep, pressing.
But then, like a flicker of warmth in the cold, the past crept in...
The kitchen bathed in a pale morning glow. His sister crouched low near the counter, trying to sneak pieces of bread fresh from the oven, stifling a giggle when their mother shot her a knowing glance.
"If you're going to steal food, at least wait for it to cool," their mother sighed, but there was a softness in her voice, the kind that made Eddie feel safe.
Their father sat at the table by the window, frowning at the newspaper, shaking his head at the rising prices printed in bold.
"Soon we'll be paying gold for a sack of potatoes," he grumbled, but without real anger. It was more of a ritual complaint, part of the rhythm of their mornings.
Eddie could almost feel himself sitting at that small wooden table, swinging his legs, listening as his father and sister exchanged harmless jabs while their mother stirred something on the stove, always half-scolding, half-smiling.
There had been noise here once. Laughter tangled with irritation, warmth behind every nag and complaint. It was imperfect, but it was alive.
And now... only silence.
The house around him stood hollow, drained of color and life. The kitchen door sagged on its hinges. The scent of bread and stew had been replaced by dust and mildew.
Eddie's chest tightened. The echoes of that morning still clung to the walls, stubborn, refusing to let go...
Edie kept walking... taking in the ghosted building that once was home...
The living room greeted him like a mausoleum. Cold. Silent. Heavy with a history that refused to fade.
Eddie lingered at the threshold, eyes sweeping across the grey-lit space. The furniture stood draped in dust and time. The floorboards whispered beneath his weight as he stepped further inside, slow and cautious.
And then, he saw it.
A shape in the far corner, seated in the shadows where the weak light barely reached. At first glance, it seemed like part of the room itself-an old figure carved in black, worn, and smooth like river stone. Head bowed. Hands resting quietly on its lap. Still.
Eddie's heart wavered.
He didn't move closer yet. He knew the shape too well-the slumped shoulders, the way the fingers curled loosely inward, as though caught mid-thought. Like whoever it once was had settled into that chair and simply... stayed.
The room hummed faintly with memory... such sweet memories.
The paper-thin curtains trembled at the edges, disturbed by some forgotten breeze. In the faintest echo, Eddie could almost hear the crinkle of newspaper pages, the low muttering of someone keeping tally of prices, always complaining about the cost of living.
He closed his eyes. That voice had once filled this room, familiar with the creaks in the walls.
Eddie's throat ached.
Finally, he crossed the last few steps and sat beside the figure, lowering himself into the brittle couch. The air here was thicker, colder, as though the shape beside him absorbed the warmth.
He stared ahead, afraid to meet its gaze.
"Hey," he murmured, voice fragile, barely audible.
The figure remained still, cast in that same black sheen, skin and cloth fused into one lifeless texture. But the sadness carved into the set of its shoulders was unmistakable. A weight pressing downward, as though the grief inside it had been frozen in place.
Only then, as Eddie sat there-elbows on knees, mirroring that familiar posture-did it settle in.
This wasn't just anyone. This wasn't just a figure.
"...Dad," he finished, barely more than breath.
The silence around him swallowed the word whole.
Eddie waited for a while, staring at the floor, collecting the pieces of himself. Then, without looking at the figure beside him, he broke the silence.
"So... how are you?" His voice was soft, but it carried a hint of forced normalcy, like someone visiting a hospital bed and pretending things weren't as bad as they seemed.
He rubbed his palms together, gaze distant. "Yeah... I know. Same as always, huh?" A hollow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it came.
"Are you... It is better for you here, isn't it? I mean, like this? Quiet. No papers to read, no prices to argue about, no news to make you mad." His voice caught on the edge of the question, laced with something deeper-resentment, maybe, or grief.
He stared at the statue's lifeless hands, resting on its lap. They seemed so familiar, despite the blackened, stone-like surface.
"I wish you'd say something, just once," Eddie whispered.
But the figure remained still, as it always did.
"...I used to think you gave up," he murmured, eyes fixed on the cracks beneath his feet.
"But maybe... you just saw it coming sooner than the rest of us."
He finally looked at his father, his voice choked from all the dusts floating aimlessly.
"I get it now," Eddie whispered. "How easy it is... to sink."
His breath caught, but he forced a bitter smile.
"I don't blame you anymore."
Edie took out his lucky coin. The coin his father has given to him... he gently placed it on his lap. Then he said, "I gotta give up on chances, dad... after all, you didn't believe in that nonsense either. But thank you... for making a kid believe that there was such a world with good luck."
Edie stood up and left there... he left everything behind... everything.