Brian woke up again in that same run-down apartment — same old cracked walls, same smell of stale whiskey. His bare feet dragged across the cold floor toward the bathroom. He caught his reflection in the fogged-up mirror — a mess of a man staring back. A thick beard covered the lower half of his face, and for a moment, he barely recognized himself. It looked like years had passed since college.
He picked up the razor beside the sink, eyes fixed on the sharp glint of the blade under the flickering light. His blue eyes looked tired — older, hollower. Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?, It's hard to tell anymore.
The bathroom light buzzed, blinking like it was dying too. He smeared shaving cream along his jaw and under his nose. The blade flashed as it met the light.
Shk! The first clean stroke cut through the rough stubble.
"Shit! Damn beard," he muttered, pressing on.
Kssk! "Ow! Motherfucker!" His voice echoed through the apartment, followed by silence — except for the sound of bottles rattling as he moved. The floor was littered with empty whiskey bottles, glinting like little ghosts in the morning light.
He stepped out of the bathroom, now clean-shaven, and just as he did, his phone started buzzing on the bed. Brian picked it up, took a deep breath, and answered.
"Yeah, Kate? What's up?" he said, voice low and hoarse.
"Brian, I'm already at the ceremony. Hurry up — they're about to start." Her voice was quiet, like she was whispering inside a church.
"Alright, I'm on my way."
He hung up, rubbing his face.The veins in his eyes looked like they might burst. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his gaze fell on a photo hanging crooked on the wall — a family picture, taken long ago.
A bald man, smiling, held a small boy on his shoulders. The mother stood beside them with a fishing rod in hand, morning light glimmering on the lake behind them. It was the last time they'd all been happy — the last time they were whole.
"Goddammit!" Brian yelled, voice cracking.
He grabbed an empty bottle and hurled it at the photograph. The glass shattered, pieces scattering across the floor.Then he collapsed face-first onto the bed, eyes shut tight—
—and opened them again to witness the glow of stained glass light.
Now he was sitting in a vast church. The colored light poured across his face, painting him in red and blue. In his arms, he held a holy book, gripping it like it was all he had left.
Before him stood a black coffin, surrounded by white flowers — too peaceful for what it held. A priest in a dark robe read from a floating holographic tablet, his voice echoing through the empty pews. There weren't many mourners — just a few in black, heads bowed, hands folded.
Everyone rose to their feet, stepping forward to lift the black coffin together. Brian took his place at the front left corner, the weight pressing down on his shoulder as they carried it through the church doors and toward the waiting black hearse outside.
The afternoon breeze stirred the oak leaves. Beyond the church gates lay the city's public cemetery—green grass, rows of headstones carved with names that had already faded from memory. The sunlight was warm, but the air felt heavy. Pigeons cooed low and mournfully as the priest's voice echoed over the open grave.
Mourners stood around the pit, silent and dressed in black. The gravestone read:
"In Loving Memory of Helena Celeste. Dixon."
Kate stepped closer, slipping her hand into Brian's.
The priest raised his holographic tablet and spoke in a solemn tone:
"Helena Celeste. Dixon — her fate was never to carry the weight of the world alone. Malady did not define her end, nor was she ever truly alone. Her son, Brian, will carry on her legacy. We never know the day our breath will cease, but the greatest day of all is the one spent with family. May the Father above guide her to a place free from pain and sorrow."
When the priest finished, silence fell. The coffin was slowly lowered into the earth, flowers dropping in one by one. By the time the ceremony ended, the sun had already begun to set.