How it all started
949 Words
Lucas Anderson wasn’t paying attention.
The biology teacher was explaining cellular respiration, something about ATP production and energy transfer, but Lucas had already passed the final-year exams for this subject months ago. He knew the material. He’d known it long before the semester started. Sitting in this classroom felt like being trapped in slow motion.
His phone rested against his thigh, hidden beneath the desk. On the screen, the last chapter of a w*******l finished loading. He skimmed quickly, already irritated. The hero stood bleeding, surrounded by people he had sacrificed everything for. There were long speeches, regretful looks, trembling hands. Lucas barely read the dialogue.
Then the betrayal happened.
No hesitation. No real remorse. Just fear and excuses. The hero died smiling, grateful even in his last moments.
Lucas let out a quiet scoff without meaning to.
“Tch.”
The sound carried.
“Lucas Anderson.”
The teacher’s voice cut cleanly through the room.
Lucas looked up, phone already sliding into his pocket.
“You’re disturbing the class,” she said, not angry, just tired. “This is biology, not your free time.”
“I wasn’t talking,” Lucas replied.
“You were,” she said calmly. “And you’ve already passed the final-year exams for this subject. You don’t need to prove anything here. Just sit quietly and let others learn.”
A few students snickered. Lucas didn’t react. He leaned back in his chair and nodded once.
“Okay.”
The teacher turned back to the board and continued as if nothing had happened. Lucas stopped thinking about the novel almost immediately. Heroes like that always died. Trusting people blindly never ended well. He didn’t dwell on it. It wasn’t worth the mental space.
When the bell rang, Lucas was already standing.
After school was where his real life began.
He changed clothes in a cramped bathroom, folding his uniform into his bag before heading straight to work. His first shift lasted three hours, stocking shelves and unloading boxes for minimum pay. He didn’t complain. Complaints didn’t fix anything. When the shift ended, he grabbed something cheap to eat and caught a bus across town for his second job. Dishes. Grease. Heat. The kind of work that left your hands numb and your thoughts empty.
He was barely eighteen and already tired in a way sleep didn’t fix.
By the time he headed home, the city had gone quiet. Streetlights flickered. Shops closed. People disappeared into buildings that felt safer than the streets. Lucas checked his phone as he walked. No messages from home. That was unusual, but not alarming. His mother worked late sometimes. His sister forgot her phone just as often.
Their apartment building came into view. Old. Narrow. Dimly lit.
The door to their apartment was open.
Lucas stopped.
His chest tightened, just slightly, the way it did when something didn’t line up logically. He told himself there were explanations. His mother might have stepped out. His sister might have forgotten to lock it. He took a step closer.
He heard voices.
They didn’t sound human.
They weren’t loud, but they were wrong in a way he couldn’t immediately define. The tone carried weight, layered and uneven, like sound wasn’t meant to work that way. Lucas pushed the door open.
The smell hit him first.
Blood.
The living room looked destroyed. Furniture overturned. Dark stains smeared across the walls and floor. His mother was on her knees, restrained by something that looked like shadow pulled tight into shape. His sister was tied nearby, shaking, crying softly.
Standing over them were figures Lucas couldn’t process.
Too tall. Too thin. Their bodies bent in ways they shouldn’t. Their eyes reflected light that wasn’t there.
“What…?” Lucas whispered.
His mother saw him.
Her face drained of color.
“Lucas!” she screamed. “Run!”
Her voice broke. “Don’t come in. Run as far as you can. Please!”
Lucas didn’t move. His legs wouldn’t listen. One of the figures struck her, silencing her mid-sentence.
“Stop!” Lucas shouted.
He dropped to his knees, hands shaking. “Please. I don’t understand. Take anything. Money, me, whatever you want. Just let them go.”
The figures turned toward him slowly.
“You are irrelevant,” one of them said, its voice layered and unnatural. “But you have arrived early.”
His mother looked at him one last time. Tears ran down her face.
“I love you,” she said quietly. “Always.”
The blade fell.
Lucas screamed her name until his throat burned.
His sister struggled against her bindings, sobbing. “Lucas, help me. Please, I don’t want to die.”
He crawled forward, nails scraping against the floor. “I’m here,” he cried. “I’m here, I swear.”
The second blade fell.
Something inside Lucas shattered completely. Rage, grief, terror all collapsed into one violent force. He lunged without thinking. The impact came instantly. He hit the wall hard, the air tearing from his lungs.
One of them approached him, towering overhead.
“Your bloodline must be erased,” it said.
Lucas tasted blood. His vision blurred.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered. “I swear I will.”
The figure tilted its head.
“You won’t.”
The blade flashed.
There was no pain.
No body.
Just nothing.
Lucas existed in a void that wasn’t darkness and wasn’t light. There was no sound, no direction, no sense of time. Not heaven. Not hell. Just absence. And grief. Heavy, endless, crushing in a way he couldn’t escape.
He couldn’t scream.
He couldn’t cry.
He could only exist.
And that felt worse than dying.
- Writer
