Ash flew through the air, and an uneasy silence lingered over the destroyed streets of what was once called the world. A boy, about seventeen years old, knelt atop a high-rise building, letting his feet dangle. But his thoughts were far from light. He knew that if he jumped down now, it would all be over.
These thoughts didn't always cross his mind, but sometimes he wondered if life was even worth living in this broken world.
ARIN!
Someone called his name. Arin flinched and stood up. From the stairs came a strong, slightly older man, known as King, because he was the so-called leader of the small group that Arin had been part of for some time.
King walked up to Arin and looked at him with a proud gaze. Then he took Arin's hand and patted him on the shoulder.
"Hey, are you feeling any better?"
King shook his head after the question and quickly added, "It's okay… you don't recover from that quickly, boy."
Arin turned his gaze away from King and looked down. Below, mutants were roaming. They looked disgusting and brutal. Just one glance was enough to make anyone shiver—and Arin felt goosebumps rise instantly. He quickly looked away.
Then he nodded and spoke, "Now… she's one of them too, isn't she?"
King's proud expression vanished, replaced by a sadness that weighed heavily on his face. He only nodded slightly and didn't say a word.
Arin sighed and stared at the red, ash-stained sky. You couldn't even see the sun properly. He sighed again, then asked, "King… do you have something for me?"
King pulled a knife from his pocket. The knife was completely black, but at first glance, it was obvious that it was razor-sharp.
But there was no reason to be happy.
"Now, Arin… you know who this belonged to. We… could only save this," King said. He lifted the knife along with a necklace. The pendant was a golden bird.
Arin's eyes sparkled with glistening tears. In a strange, almost joking tone, he said, "She always said… the bird stands for freedom."
He started laughing, but quickly the laughter turned into painful crying. Tears streamed down his face like a waterfall. King placed the items beside Arin and silently walked away.
Before he descended the stairs, he added softly, "Hey… if you feel like you need a break, you can go get water for us. Maybe it'll distract you, okay?"
Arin nodded and turned away so no one could see his tear-streaked face.
He had always told her, "We will rebuild the world." But now, Arin realized that the world wasn't just broken—it was completely destroyed.
He took the knife and tucked it into his pocket. The necklace, he hung around his neck. He stood there for a moment, holding the pendant in one hand, staring at the bird, and laughed softly.
"I wish I could fly like you," he whispered.
Arin wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve and headed toward the stairs. After climbing for a few minutes, he reached his room.
The entire building had thirty-seven rooms. Sometimes two or one person lived in a room, but a few rooms housed entire families. Arin wanted nothing more than a family, but after the death of his friend, he didn't even know what he wanted anymore.
Arin stood by the window, staring out. He sat on his chair, his backpack open in front of him. He placed his knife inside, along with a revolver loaded with ammunition, and on the side pockets, a wooden club. He pulled on a green jacket, tied a black band across his mouth, and slung the backpack over his shoulders.
He opened his room door and headed down the stairs. At the bottom, two people greeted him. He wouldn't call them friends—they had only been kind since the incident. Arin nodded back and continued on.
He saw King standing by the exit. King said, "Alright, come back in one piece. You know, Arin… blood… it attracts them. So be careful, okay?"
Arin nodded and waved. Then the iron door opened, and a little ash blew inside. The air suddenly felt stifling, and the heat was intense. Arin stepped outside, and the door closed immediately behind him.
There he was—standing in the destroyed world. Everywhere were ruins and ash. The fires had been burning for so long that it felt as if they would never die out. Arin stretched briefly and then started running. He looked around carefully, three times, and gripped the wooden club—but luckily, the mutants were somewhere else at the moment.
As he ran, he muttered to himself, "Alright… don't bleed… get the water from the source… and return. If mutants show up…" He stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to stay calm.
Arin knew exactly where his goal was. The group had found a source of water long ago, enough to last a few months. Every two weeks, the group would go to fetch water. Usually, they went in groups—but in the past months, theirs had shrunk by about fifty percent. Many had now turned into mutants out there…
How did he know he wouldn't end up like them? Arin let out a short laugh. "Yeah… I don't know," he whispered.
A little while later, with ash on his face, Arin finally reached the water source. He filled three bottles and immediately noticed how much heavier his backpack had become. He quickly set it down and sat by the source. His face reflected in the water—brown hair, ice-blue eyes. Considering Arin was born in winter, it was kind of funny that his eyes were so icy blue. Even if ice was just a myth, there had once been a whole icy land.
Arin scooped water into his hands and lifted it, but half slipped through his fingers. He felt the water on his hands—that was a luxury. He took what remained in his hands and splashed it on his face.
Then he stood up, hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders, and started running. He wanted to get back to the group before nightfall. But Arin was too lost in his thoughts and stumbled over his own feet.
"Woah—" thud
The backpack's extra weight made him crash even harder to the ground.
"I… should… watch… out—no, please…"
Arin saw blood running down his knee. Now the fest had begun.