The weight of the world was nothing new to him. At nineteen, he was supposed to be young, reckless, maybe chasing dreams but life had other plans. After their parents had died, it fell entirely on him to care for his little brother. That responsibility wasn't just heavy; it was suffocating. Two jobs barely enough to keep a roof over their heads, barely enough to pay for food. Exhaustion was a constant companion, sleep a luxury he rarely afforded himself. And still, every week, he seemed to get fired from one job or another.
Not that it mattered. The boy still needed him.
And the boy… the boy didn't lift a finger. Not really. He just sat in their small, worn apartment with his nose buried in that damned book Ashes of the Apocalyptic Future. Day after day, page after page, eyes wide, completely consumed. It drove him insane.
"How can you just sit there reading that trash all day?!" he'd snapped more times than he cared to remember. "You think that book's going to feed us or pay the rent?!"
His brother would just glance up, silent, eyes soft and oblivious to the fury burning inside him. That only made it worse.
It was a slow afternoon, the bus crawling through traffic on the way to his second job. He barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. His brother was there, tucked beside him, utterly absorbed in the same book, muttering lines under his breath as if the words themselves mattered more than the world outside.
He felt the familiar surge of irritation rise in his chest. "Not this again," he muttered, swatting the book lightly.
But before he could say anything else, the bus jerked violently, tires squealing against asphalt. The world tilted. Screams erupted. Metal groaned. Time slowed.
The impact threw him forward. Pain shot through his arm, his side, his legs but that wasn't the worst part. His little brother… the boy had been thrown across the aisle, laying motionless on the floor.
"Help! Somebody help him!" he screamed, scrambling toward him.
All around, chaos reigned. Adults pushed and shoved, climbing over seats, shouting for their own lives. Everyone was focused on themselves. No one noticed the small, fragile figure on the floor. No one but him.
"Run! You need to run and leave me." His brother's weak voice cut through the chaos.
"No. I'm not leaving you!" he yelled, gripping his brother's shoulders.
"It's okay… you have to… it's okay." Tears burned his eyes. "Just… I… I wish… I could see a proper ending to my favorite story…"
He froze. A lump formed in his throat. His heart hammered painfully as he stared at him. "Shut up," he choked, voice breaking. "Stop talking about that dumb book!"
But there was no response. His brother's eyes flickered, a faint smile ghosting over his lips as he whispered, almost inaudibly, "I just… wanted to see… a proper ending…"
Then silence.
"No! No! Don't you dare leave me!" he screamed, shaking him, rocking him, begging him not to go. His tears fell freely now, streaking down his dirt-stained face, mixing with the blood and grime. "Please! Wake up! Don't leave me!"
The fire trucks arrived moments later, the noise deafening, hoses spraying water, jaws of life grinding against metal. Hands reached for him, pulling him out, dragging him away from the wreckage. But he didn't care. His arms were still reaching toward the fallen figure, his screams echoing across the twisted, burning remains of the bus.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" he sobbed, clutching the empty space where his brother had lain, the book slipping to the floor, open to a page that would never see its ending.
Everything blurred the flames, the chaos, the screaming, the rain of shattered glass. All he could see, all he could feel, was the boy's last words, etched into his memory.
And somewhere deep in his chest, amidst the agony and grief, a single thought took hold: If I could… I would give you that ending. I promise… I will.
The world ended there for him. Or perhaps, it was the beginning.