The rain hasn't stopped in three days.
Not heavy, just that annoying drizzle that pretends to be important. The kind that soaks through your clothes without any dramatic thunder to make it worth it.
I kick a pebble off the path, watch it bounce between graves. Perfect aim. Mom would've told me to stop being disrespectful. Dad would've ignored her. He was good at ignoring things—people, mostly.
Three graves. Two close together. One off to the side. The distance still bugs me. Like the ground itself didn't want them to be family anymore. Maybe it's right.
The flowers I brought last week are gone—probably blown away, or maybe someone finally cleaned up this place. I stand there long enough for my shoes to start drinking mud. I don't cry, don't talk, don't do anything dramatic. The dead don't care for monologues.
My reflection in the wet marble looks tired. Or maybe I just am tired.
Hard to tell these days.
Something about my shadow looks off, though. It's stretched weird under the lamplight, kind of lagging behind me like it missed a cue. I stare at it too long and laugh quietly. "Yeah, even you're done with me, huh?"
The wind answers by smacking rain into my face. Figures.
By the time I get home, my clothes weigh more than I do. The apartment's dark, cold, and exactly as lonely as I left it. I toss the keys somewhere—they make a nice little clink before disappearing forever.
I grab the pistol from the drawer. Not because I'm planning anything. It just feels… grounding. Dad's old gun. The same one he—
I stop that thought. Some memories don't deserve the spotlight.
I toss it onto the table and collapse on the couch. The cushions smell like dust and regret. My chest hurts a bit—tight, deep, nothing new. Probably stress. Or karma.
My hand shakes when I reach for the remote. No reason. Just shakes. Great. Another weird thing my body's doing lately.
Then there's a warmth spreading under my ribs. Not nice warmth—wrong warmth. Wet warmth. I look down. My shirt's blooming dark, the way ink spreads through paper.
"Oh. That's… new."
I try to stand, but the floor gets creative and tilts sideways. The remote hits the ground before I do. There's ringing in my ears, faint, like rain on metal. My shadow stretches across the tiles, a step too close to me. I could swear it moves.
Probably the light. Or my brain finally giving up.
My knees hit the floor. Everything smells like rust and rain. I try to say something, maybe an apology, maybe a curse, but my mouth just fills with the taste of iron.
"Guess that's it," I mumble, half-laughing. "Finally off the family tree."
The world folds inward quietly. No thunder, no drama. Just the sound of rain tapping on the window, patient and endless.
Then it all goes dark.
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