I headed downstairs rubbing my eyes. I have to admit I tend to cry a little more than an average person, probably, but I think I shed more tears yesterday than I normally would.
As I left my room and headed downstairs, though, the smell of toast from the kitchen was soothing, and the sound of Brian setting out the plates on the table was comforting.
"Good… morning, Brian."
I greeted him, yawning in between.
But he said nothing, his back turned toward me. The table was already set, so I sat down. I buttered up my toast first and took a few bites before adding strawberry jam. The marmalade jar was also on the table. These days, Brian didn't ask me why I kept insisting on getting marmalade although I never seem to actually eat it myself.
By the time I was halfway through the second toast, I felt something was off. Brian hasn't said a word so far, and he was still by the sink with his back toward me. It didn't look like he was doing anything in particular either. He just stood still.
"What's wrong?"
He kept silent and it made me nervous. This wasn't how he usually behaved. Was he having late regrets about pawning that watch? The guilt weighed heavily in my heart.
After some more hesitation, I finally worked up the courage to speak to him. I got up and walked over, tapped him gently on his shoulder, and asked, "Are you okay?"
"I'm sorry, Bree."
That's all he said, without turning around.
"No, I am sorry," I said in response.
He then turned and when I saw his face I got too scared to even scream.
His eyes were missing, and from those empty sockets blood dripped down like thick red mud. His lips were tightly closed, his face pale.
As I stood there trembling, he just stood there 'looking' at me, with a heavy color of regret clouding his face.
"Brian—"
As I spoke his name, his mouth opened, and something—something I couldn't even begin to describe except as a thick black fluid—started to crawl out of his mouth.
To my great shame, but out of sheer horror, I turned and ran. I tried to go upstairs back to my room, but as I took my first step onto the stairs, they started to crumble. The whole house was shaking, while the walls closed in on me, wailing.
I ran outside. Under any other circumstances, if the world turned crazy, I would have stayed in my room under my blankets, but this time I had to get out. My home wasn't safe.
When I went out, I immediately noticed that the sky had turned blood red in color. The familiar streets have become warped and distorted. The corners at its end were no longer curved, but instead the street was straightened all the way to the horizon. My heart thumped irregularly like an engine of a getaway car that broke down in the most unfortunate moment. I stumbled forward, and placed my palm on a tree to steady myself.
The tree shivered as if my touch felt cold to its bones and when I looked up, I saw its leaves were all blocky, like bad pixelated graphics.
Freaked out, I started to run to one end of the street. I didn't know where it would lead to, but I knew I had to get away. Somewhere—anywhere—that would be safer than this place.
My lungs felt like they were going to give up at any moment, but it was a choice between dying while trying or dying standing still.
And of course, I fell.
I fell forward and as soon as I hit the ground, the concrete surface turned into ashes. A great flame rose and engulfed the entire neighborhood in an instant, but there was no sound—I could hear nothing burning.
And despite me kneeling on the ground, I could feel that I was moving forward. The street, now covered in ash, was taking me in one direction I knew I shouldn't go. I turned around and desperately started to crawl the other way, but the street moved way too fast. I turned again to where it was taking me, and in the distance I saw a faint figure that was getting closer by each second.
Dread filled up the gaps between my heartbeats, and fear ran along my veins throughout my body. I couldn't breathe yet I didn't feel like I was going to faint. Instead, I was feeling more awakj e and focused as I got closer to the black figure that stood at my destination.
Once the street stopped moving me, I saw the figure standing, looking the other way. It was wearing a jet black suit that seemed impossibly dark, as if it sucked in all light and nothing reflected off it. The figure then turned. I saw its face. Beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
As my heart ached, the beautiful being spoke, expressionless.
"Marmalade."
The entire world collapsed inward, silently, and the broken pieces of sky fell like shattered stained-glass panes.
I was unable to move, unable to look away. Just as one particularly massive and sharp piece of glass was about to land on its point and pierce my right eye and the final scream of my life escaped my lungs, I saw Senne's black-flame-covered face close to mine.
"Senne…?"
It was Senne.
She stood next to my bed, leaning over, her face inches away from mine.
"I'm hungry, Bree."
That's all she said.