5 Shattered Reality

After the first game

A gentle touch on my shoulder jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to find a middle-aged woman looking at me with concern etched across her face.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

"Yes, I'm fine," I replied shortly.

I was seated on the ground in front of a comforting fireplace, the warmth strangely soothing. How had I ended up here?

The last thing I recalled was the haunting image of Randy's lifeless body and the devil's chilling laughter echoing in my mind.

Now, the term "automode" suddenly made sense.

Surveying my surroundings, I couldn't help but notice the chaos unfolding before me. People were embroiled in heated arguments, their tempers flaring as if they were on the brink of violence.

"Where are the police and military? When are they going to intervene?" one man demanded, his hand gripping the collar of a black-skinned man in a military uniform.

The black man tried to keep a level head. "Calm down. They'll come to our aid. I'm sure of it," he assured, attempting to defuse the tense situation.

Despite his efforts, the argument persisted, fueled by the terror of the day's deadly game.

It was becoming increasingly evident that our government had collapsed, and I couldn't help but wonder if this catastrophe was unfolding worldwide.

Even with all our technological advancements, it seemed nearly impossible to combat the relentless hordes of monsters that now roamed freely.

Suddenly, the woman extended a bowl of soup and a piece of bread toward me. My stomach rumbled in response, and I accepted the plain sustenance with gratitude.

I didn't know where she got that food, but it seemed like some people volunteered themselves to be a cook, since I could see many people lined up to get it.

It makes sense since humans need that, even when the world was in the midst of the apocalypse.

"Here, you need to eat this," she said kindly.

I didn't complain about the blandness of the food; hunger had long overtaken any gourmet expectations.

"Are you sure you're alright? I can only imagine how terrible it must have been, especially witnessing your friend's death like that," the woman, inquired further.

She introduced herself as Nadya and her daughter, Nia. I found it somewhat perplexing that people could be so sociable in such dire circumstances.

"Yes, I'm just a bit shocked, that's all," I replied.

There didn't seem to be much reason to delve into introductions or personal histories, given the transitory nature of our interactions.

In this apocalyptic world, the third rule was crystal clear: never get too close to anyone. Adding another burden to your own was the last thing you needed.

Nadya smiled warmly at me and continued chatting with her young daughter, Nia. I couldn't help but wonder how such a young child had survived this ordeal.

Had her mother carried her through the chaos? The specifics remained a mystery.

Suddenly, Nia's tearful voice cut through the conversation. "I don't want to be here, Mom. I want to go home."

Her mother, Nadya, consoled her gently, "I'm sorry, darling, but for now, we need to stay here, okay? We'll return to our home soon. So please don't cry."

A pang of empathy welled up within me, perhaps stirred by guilt over my inability to save the children I'd encountered during the first game.

I reached into my bag, searching for the chocolate bar I had taken from the convenience store. Without a word, I handed it to the child.

Nia's tears ceased, and she looked up at me, saying, "Thank you, mister," with a heartwarming smile.

Even in the midst of this chaos, the resilience of a child-like Nia was nothing short of inspiring.

After a meal, I wandered into a nearby building. It wasn't big, maybe used to be an office with a receptionist's desk.

I needed to use the restroom urgently, and when I looked in the mirror, I saw dried blood on my face. I panicked and tried to wash it off with trembling hands.

The memories of what had happened to Randy and me kept replaying in my head, giving me a terrible headache.

I felt guilty like never before, desperately trying to imagine a different ending where Randy and I survived. But deep down, I knew I couldn't change the outcome.

Still, I didn't want to give up, to find the right scenario while I and Randy would survive. But none of it seems right, because I can't...

Randy was dead.

He was dead and I couldn't get him to come back to live.

My breathing got heavy, and my heart raced. I leaned on the sink, struggling to stand. I was overwhelmed by a mix of feelings—anger, disappointment, and sadness.

I couldn't...

I couldn't save him...

In my frustration and sadness, I punched the mirror, breaking it into pieces and cutting my hand in the process.

I hold the pieces and press them to my palm as I get closer to my wrist, specifically the arteries.

There were 100 more ways to die in the apocalypse, one of them was to kill yourself as you still have freedom with your own death.

The more I pressed, the more blood splattered, a grim reminder of the dire situation I found myself in.

I was lost, unsure of my next move, but one thing was clear—I couldn't bear to be here, alone and isolated any longer.

And with all of the things that happened, it shouldn't be Randy who died, it should be me.

But then, I feel scared. If God was so cruel to make this sick game, what happened afterlife then?

My hands stopped and I dropped the glass.

I didn't want to die...

I'm sorry Randy, your friend indeed a coward.

As I lay on the toilet floor, I wondered how my life would end. I noticed my hand still oozing blood, and with a wince, I shifted my position to sit down.

Fuck, this hurt more than I expected. My head started to get dizzy, it must be because I lost a lot of blood.

Fumbling through my bag, I hoped to find a bandage to tend to the injury. To my dismay, it held nothing but two bottles of water, a snack, and my extra clothes.

How dumb I am to forget basic medical supplies!

Then, I found the shirt in my bag and tore a piece of it. You see, I always carried a spare shirt with me, not just for comfort but because I couldn't stand sweltering heat or the stench of sweat.

With makeshift bandages fashioned from my clothing, I carefully wrapped my wounded hand.

The pressure helped stanch the blood flow, and I inspected my hand, relieved to see that the bleeding had ceased.

After a prolonged silence filled with contemplation, I finally mustered the resolve to honor Randy.

I rose from my somber resting place and made my way to where he had met his fate.

Staring at his lifeless body stirred a whirlwind of emotions within me, a tumultuous blend of pain, sorrow, and smoldering anger.

The anguish of being unable to save him was like a heavy weight on my chest.

In that agonizing moment, a glimmer of hope fluttered within, a fragile belief that the body before me wasn't Randy. But beneath the surface, I carried the weight of certainty - it was him.

With a sigh, I willed myself to set aside the emotional turmoil. I had a mission to accomplish, and I couldn't afford to let my feelings obstruct the path forward.

I carried Randy's body to a suitable spot and used a shovel to dig a hole in the ground. Then he placed his body in the hole.

As I gazed upon the body, memories of his once vibrant face, his blonde hair, and his piercing blue eyes came flooding back.

They were now all but memories, sealed within the ground beneath the makeshift headstone.

Exhaustion began to overwhelm me, and I could no longer walk. I collapsed beside Randy's grave, under the vast night sky, which now revealed its splendor with the absence of artificial lights.

In my dreams, I found myself gazing through the massive aquarium into a breathtaking oceanic expanse.

The rhythmic sound of crashing waves filled my ears, accompanied by the enchanting song of a distant whale.

Then, the majestic creature swam into view. It was a colossal marvel, simultaneously graceful and powerful. As I turned to my side, I was met with the sight of Randy's smiling face.

It was a moment of peace in the midst of the chaos.