Ronan learned to live with silence.
Not the peaceful kind , he hadn't known that in years but the hollow silence that followed screams. The kind that pressed against the inside of his skull long after the world had moved on. Three years had passed since the blast, yet every night his mind returned to that single moment: the flash, the heat, the way his son and wife's hand had slipped from his grasp.
If I had been faster.
If I hadn't taken that call.
If I hadn't chosen that café.
Thirty years old, and already a man hollowed out.
The office lights flickered off one by one as Ronan shut down his system. Manager. IT company. Decent pay. Respectable title. All meaningless things that helped him survive the days without having to feel them. Work was easy , machines obeyed logic, people didn't. And grief certainly didn't.
Outside, the city breathed in exhaust and bustle . Trains roared beneath the streets like mechanical beasts, punctual and uncaring. Ronan adjusted his coat and merged into the evening crowd, his reflection staring back at him from glass windows—sunken eyes, stubble he forgot to shave, a man aging faster than time intended.
A sudden impact slammed into his shoulder. Ronan stumbled, irritation flaring for half a second before confusion replaced it. The platform edge loomed behind him. Someone laughed - high-pitched, broken. He turned just in time to see wild eyes, foam at the corners of a stranger's mouth, fingers clawing at his chest.
"They're watching," the man whispered, voice cracked and frantic.
Then Ronan fell.
The world tilted violently. Air rushed past him as the platform disappeared above. His back hit the tracks hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. Pain exploded , but there was no time to scream.
The train arrived like judgment.
Metal shrieked. Light consumed everything.
And then...
Nothing.
No pain.
No sound.
No thought.
Cold.
That was the first thing Ronan felt.
Not the sharp cold of winter, but something deeper , an ancient chill that seeped into his bones. His eyes snapped open as he gasped, lungs burning as if he had been drowning.
He sat up abruptly.
Trees surrounded him.
Not the manicured kind from city parks, but towering, giants with bark as dark as dried blood. Their branches twisted overhead, blotting out what little light filtered through a sickly gray sky. Mist curled low along the forest floor, clinging to gnarled roots like grasping fingers.
Ronan's heart thundered as panic surged.
This isn't possible.
The smell hit him next—damp earth, rot, something metallic beneath it all. The air felt wrong. Heavy. Oppressive. Every breath carried an eerie chill that made his skin prickle.
"Hello?" His voice echoed, swallowed too quickly by the trees.
No response.
His mind raced. Hospital? Hallucination? Coma? But the ground beneath him felt solid, the cold too real. He pushed himself to his feet and froze.
His hands were pale.
Not just light—but deathly so. The faint bluish hue beneath the skin sent a spike of dread through his spine. His fingers trembled as he pressed two against his neck, searching desperately for a pulse.
Nothing.
He checked again. Harder this time. His wrist. His chest.
Nothing.
His breathing turned ragged. "No… no…"
Staggering forward, he nearly slipped and caught himself just in time. At his feet lay a shallow puddle of water, perfectly still, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.
Ronan slowly knelt.
His reflection stared back at him.
His face was ashen, lips faintly blue, eyes duller than he remembered—like a corpse pulled from icy water. The man in the puddle looked wrong. Empty.
Hands shaking, he reached up and pressed his palms to his cheeks.
Cold.
Unnaturally cold.
He dragged his fingers across his skin, across his jaw, his neck—everywhere the same lifeless chill. No warmth. No pulse. No proof of life.
Memories crashed into him - the platform, the shove, the tracks, the oncoming train.
"I… died" he whispered.
The words felt heavier than any pain he had ever known.
The forest offered no comfort. The mist thickened, curling closer, wrapping around his legs as the temperature seemed to drop even further. Ronan stared at his reflection once more, dread settling deep in his chest.
If he was dead...
Then where was he?
The puddle rippled slightly, and with it Ronan thought, "Am i finally dead? Can I now be finally together with my beloved wife and son ?"
Just as Ronan thought these words something stirred in the corner of his eye , he tried to focus on that "something".
But as he focused , he felt his consciousness slipping away.
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