Her
763 Words
Khaled had experience with falling before. During his training, the sensation had been different—exhilarating, thrilling, purposeful. Fear and adrenaline had danced in tandem as he completed each mission. But this time, it was different.
The air pressed thick against him, suffocating, heavy as if it sought to drag him under. His body screamed, consciousness slipping like water through his fingers. He welcomed it. He was ready to die. The last thing he saw was Ship 035—the place that had caused him the most pain, the torture he had endured flashing through his mind like a cruel, unending movie. Why show me this? he wondered. Why not happiness?
At last—at last—the darkness claimed him. Completely. Absolute. He was gone.
But the nanotech would not surrender him.
It glimmered and shimmered across his metallic skin, responding in panic and despair as if it too did not know what to do. Then, as if obeying a higher will, it formed a protective cocoon around him, shielding him, preserving him. It obeyed only its neural link. Its purpose: keep him safe.
The spear pierced the Earth’s atmosphere, crashing down and landing with a thunderous thud. The impact rattled the ground but drew no eyes, no attention. Inside it, Khaled remained unconscious, cocooned, trapped in his own mind.
Inside, the nightmare never stopped.
Urth. Pale. Cold. Methodical. Fingers tearing into flesh, peeling skin, breaking bone. Reassembling him. Over and over. His screams echoed in the cocoon, unheard, relentless. Days bled into weeks, and only then did his panic dull. Only then did the nanotech respond, loosening the cocoon. The spear cracked, shattered, and the metallic sheen dissolved back into him.
He was naked once more.
He woke to sunlight blazing on his body, searing, grounding him in reality. Groaning, he tried to convince himself it was a dream, another illusion—but it wasn’t. Earth. He was on Earth. Alive.
“No,” he whispered.
He pushed himself up. Sand slipped beneath his fingers. His chest heaved. He had jumped. He had chosen death. And yet—he had survived.
“Why?” His voice cracked.
He dropped to his knees, screaming into the sky, into nothingness.
“No! Please—let me die!”
“God, let me f*****g die!”
He slammed his only remaining fist into the sand again and again, sobbing. Tears streamed freely, unrestrained. He had survived—and it was worse than death.
Anger rose in its place, raw and unrelenting. He breathed heavily, his chest heaving. Revenge burned hotter than the sun on his back. He wanted Urth’s head in his hands. Wanted to tear him apart, make him scream, feel the same terror he had been forced to endure.
He began to walk. No direction. No plan. Only one thought: kill them all. The mad scientist. The aliens. Give them a taste of their own apocalypse. He would be their reckoning. Their extinction. Their goddamn doomsday.
He walked for hours. And hours. Dehydrated. Starving. Every step painful, his bare feet blistering on the scorched earth. On the ship, they had fed him, maintained him, forced him into a weapon. And now, he was nothing but that weapon—no longer human, only a force meant to kill.
He slowed. Stopped.
To his right, partially buried in sand, lay a broken structure. Big Ben. Crushed. Barely recognizable. But he knew it. Beth had wanted to see it one day—with him. The memory almost brought him to his knees. He did not go closer. Did not allow himself the weakness. He turned away, letting it fuel his rage instead.
The sun scorched him until evening crept in. Hallucinations danced across his vision—the scientists, Urth—watching, taunting, waiting. It only drove him forward. Every imagined face was a step closer to vengeance.
And then—something impossible.
He saw her. Beth.
A silhouette a kilometre away, standing in the desert night. Real. Not an illusion of heat, not a mirage.
His exhausted body did not care. He ran, full speed, panic and desperation etched across his face.
“Babe” he whispered as he reached her.
She had not disappeared. She was real.
His right palm touched her cheek, warm against his cold skin. Real. He leaned closer, feeling her heat against him. Real.
And he crushed his lips to hers, the kiss melting his soul with joy. Her lips soft and tender and warm.
Real.
For the first time in eternity, the nightmare lifted, if only for a heartbeat.
- Writer
