Food cans – particularly, pet food cans. They filled the racks to the brim. Aren shuffled his legs through the milky floor, wearing a red tie over his milky white shirt. Cat food, cat food – he noted every sign for it. His lovely partner, Cara, would be waiting for it.

  Though, his heart wrenched – at times. Wondering if he had bolted the house’s door shut or not. The neighbourhood wasn’t safe. And cats can’t shoot guns – he never taught Cara. Yet there was a gun in the bedside shelf.

  Nahhh I shut it.

  People rolled around the carts in peace and calm. Children scurried and brawled. Too peaceful and usual the world around Aren was, for something to happen.

  He rolled his eyes, smirked, and danced around the store till he finally asked a worker.

  “Ah, umm, where is the cat food?”

  “Oh, sir. It’s from the left most corner’s rightmost corner’s farthest corner’s shelf.” Worker replied with a worker's smile.

  Tough going boy, but that didn’t help.

  Aren nodded. Then he glided through the maze for the next hour. Finally, he brought the cat food to the counter.

  “Is this all?” The counter girl hovered her hand over the cans, “And Jerry, how many fucking times have I told you not to put your pen, pencil, or bubblegum on my side!”

  Jerry, from a corner, grimaced. Counter girl turned back and checked out the food.

  “Thank you for the purchase.” She mumbled. Aren nodded and exited.

  Black clouds covered the city. And on the ground, the city wore tiaras of skyscrapers. Light and dark – every window lit with soft lights against the black clouds. Though most of it was smoke – just slow poison.

  Asphalt road, and on the asphalt road, cars zoomed. Highway, in particular, and especially, at night, bore the weight of dashing cars. In one of them, in a red Ford, Aren was driving home.

  “A day without the booze is a day that is of goose and –” Aren flicked the stereo. The radio channel switched…

  Light yawns made his eyes water.

  “Yeah, Ms Cera, absolutely, you are absolutely right – this is breaking news, breaking news and there is no doubt about that. Ms Cera, switching up to you, what do you say about this, like what are the consequences, we, as normal people, as normal citizens would face because of this carelessness from the military and by the way, in every sense, this isn’t the first time it is the case.”

  Aren stopped at this channel and yawned again.

  The radio blurted out, “Yes, you are right, Mr. uhh, Wellington? – Yeah, it is Mr Wellington, Ms Cera, and the real question of this channel, though, is what is the society going to do against this threat created by the carelessness of the military's research team. Here, I, your lovely host, is asking this question on behalf of – I’ll answer Mr. Welliton, so please calm yourself down for a moment – It’s Mr. Wellington…”

  What a joke! Aren chuckled.

  “From the military, an alien prototype has escaped and –”

  Aren flicked the stereo again and the radio started to sing songs.

  The large gap between highway and his house – the fifty-four Burrock streets – smoothly narrowed.

  Liquid sounds of a widespread river could be heard to the left of the city. To the right, it was all a glimmering city and smoke.

  Roadside lamps lit the face of the pedestrians. Couples, young and old, or children, following their parents, were running across the sidewalk. Air pressed on Aren’s face from the open window.

  “Will I get the promotion?” He mumbled to himself, “The hand holding Celina’s is the fucking director of the company, isn’t he? And that sick, no, repulsive dude is always against me for some reason, or more like he is against every man.”

  He sighed.

  “I know I look fucking ugly now,” He ran a hand over the scarce hair on his head, “I’m thirty-five now for god’s sake, spare me of the office pollitics, will you?”

  His eyes stopped at the front mirror.

  “... Yeah I look ugly.”

  Nonetheless, the tires rolled through the road. In an hour, he was inside the garage. He swivelled the keys. The engine stopped. The headlights switched off.

  Aren stepped out and swung his hands – stretched his back. The bones popped and a large smile occupied his face. After all the damn overtime, he was back to his house – relaxing, rejuvenating, and playing with Cara.

  He grabbed Cara’s food from the backseat, hopped through the lawn to the front gate. A key chain hooked on his finger – hand rummaging through it. Lightly humming along with it, he was, a bittersweet country side song.

  He found the key, inserted the key, and turned the handle. It didn’t move.

  Must be stuck.

  Aren pushed the door, kicked the door, then rammed his shoulder. Still, it didn’t move.

  His breath hastened. Yet, he restrained it. Key was inserted, again, and a twist. He turned the knob, and pushed. The door slid open.

  Shit! Was the door open? I locked it when I thought I opened it, and then opened it with the second try? No, that can’t be happening, and wait, Cara must be fine. Yeah, it's just the door that was left open, not like anything happened…

  Aren calmed and stepped inside. Unusually, Cara wasn’t at the door, waiting.

  Did she leave when the door was open? No but she should be back right? Wait, calm down first.

  He stood at the entrance of the dark hall. One door to his left, and another at the front-left. Similarly, there were two doors to his right. Leading to the first floor, stairs were in front of him.

  Why didn’t the lights switch on? Did Cara hide because she was afraid of the dark? These goddamn lights, they ruined the mood.

  Aren switched the light on, and closed the door.

  A sound – a tap and a creak, from above. Aren stiffened. Yet, the next moment, a trembling Cara whined in his mind. He dashed up the stairs; the wood creaked.

  He turned to the corridor. It was dark, so he switched the light on. He barely stepped forward and another sound to his right, this time closer. His neck snapped, and he caught sight of a man. Standing beside the window, dressed in all black, the man had his neck turned toward Aren.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Who are you!?” Aren shouted. His eyes instantly side-eyed his bedroom. The room that kept his gun.

  I can run and get –

  Aren tensed. The man was brandishing his revolver.

  His breath fastened. He stepped back, and met his back to the wall. He wanted to run but Cara… she must be inside.

  The man bent, and pushed the revolver on the ground. Over the smooth flooring, the revolver travelled just before Aren, after a few collisions.

  What is he?

  Aren glanced at the man. Then he quickly leapt at the gun, and took a stance at the intruder– holding the gun by both hands.

  “Who are you? Where is Cara? I swear, I’ll shoot you?”

  Barely audible it was, but the man scoffed.

  “Cara? You mean the cat?”

  Aren’s eyes widened.

  Is he fucking lounging? Why is he leaning on his leg? He isn’t afraid? I’m holding a gun, and I know damn well how to shoot? Is he taking me for a pushover? No wait, Cara? Did he…

  “Where is she? I mean the cat. Her name is Cara.”

  …Why isn’t he answering?

  The floor slightly creaked – Aren stepped forward.

  “Stand straight and answer me if you wish to live. Where is Cara!?”

  The man scoffed again. Aren was closer so it was much clearer.

  “You live alone with a cat? In this big house?”

  The fuck is up with him? Aren grit his teeth.

  “I asked you a question. I asked you a different question, didn’t I? I asked you… a different question. So answer me, this moment, or I’ll fill your body with holes.” He sighed, “Where is Cara?”

  The man leaned on the wall beside the window.

  “And what if I don’t answer?”

  Aren’s face contorted, “I’ll shoot you to death then.”

  “And what if I killed it?”

  “You–” Aren staggered a step.

  “Just killed a cat you know.” The man shrugged.

  No way. He’s lying, right?

  “You are lying.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Silently, they glared at each other.

  “Who are you? Why would you kill Cara? What do you want from me? Do you want money? Please, you can’t have killed the cat.” Aren’s grip loosened.

  “You want to check for yourself?”

  “Why? But why would you do that? I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you. I asked you how much do you want for Cara. I’ll pay you. How much?”

  “It’s already done. It’s dead.”

  Aren reeled back. His stance broke.

  “Oh!” The man chuckled, “I should’ve just asked you for the money. You could’ve paid me more than ten thousand, right?”

  No way.

  “Ahh,” The man sighed, “What a shame. I don’t really like killing cats either, and honestly I like to kill humans better. Always way more expressive and fun.” He flashily swung a knife out of his sleeves.

  He killed Cara?

  Aren clenched his fists. He jerked back and held the gun tightly. He pulled the trigger. But the trigger didn’t pull – his fingers didn’t move. In a moment, he realized the reason. His palms were severed from his hand. Blood gushed and his palms thudded on the floor.

  The man chuckled, standing behind Aren now. “I’m fast. Aren’t I?”

  Blood dripped off his knife.

  “Ahhh!” Aren fell on the floor. Having landed first, his knees hurt. But without hands to support, he fell all the way down.

  “Yes!” The man raised his hand and face. He frantically arched his back, “That is exactly the reaction I was missing. Yes!”

  Aren’s vision showed a flimsy screen. His consciousness was fading.

  Did Cara die? And I guess I’m dying too, huh? It hurts. It fucking burns.

  “Come on, dude!” The man crouched beside him, and grabbed his hair, “Scream more! Come on. This is why I do this job.” He pulled his hair, shaking his face.

  I’m not gonna survive this blood loss. I’m dying. Am I gonna join Cara? Only one I knew. So I guess, yeah.

  “Tch,” he smashed Aren’s face on the floor, and snatched his revolver,”You are no fun.”

  Three consecutive shots to his body, and he threw the gun. Then, for a moment, he looked at the blood covering the space. Another moment, he disappeared.

  Teacher had a hand tied behind his back. The other, rubbed the chalk on the board. He wrote ‘soul’ on the topmost center, and quickly drew a circle around it.

  “What do you know about souls?” The teacher slammed his weight on the desk, eyeing the students.

  A hand rose; the teacher nodded.

  “Isn’t it the life source, Sir.”

  “Yes. And?”

  “What we eat.” The girl mumbled.

  “Yes. Right.”

  Aren viewed the scene like a ghost – invisible. But the teacher turned towards him. Aren flinched. The teacher’s eyes were stark white – devoid of any iris.

  “Wake up.” The teacher whispered.

  “Huh?”

  Aren leaned in.

  “Wake up!” The teacher shouted.

  An unbearable screech it was, and in an instance, the scene collapsed into darkness.

  “Ahhh!”

  Aren jerked up on the floor. His face immediately scrunching to the coppery smell of blood. His own blood. He felt his palms drenched in it.

  Wait! My hand!?

  Aren stared at his palm. His lips parted but said nothing. He interlocked his palms, surveyed them. From the wrist, or the flesh, or the fingers – all normal.

  How is this–

  Blood trickled from his hands, and was soaked by his clothes. He gagged, now feeling it all.

  He rested a firm hand at the railing beside him to prop up – to not strain his back. But he hopped up like a kangaroo.

  Huh?

  He looked around – blankly. Then he rested his hand on his back, and swiveled it around. His high school’s football warmup.

  A moment or two passed by and the body rolled so smoothly, it felt alien.

  He slapped his forehead.

  What is happening? What the heck is happening? What is everything? Wait, Cara? Is she alive too? And what was that dream? Was all of it a bad dream? I–

  He paused. His hands had rolled to his head. His head was full of hair.

  He dragged his finger across his head again. This time slow and smooth, feeling the lush hair.

  Wait, what is this? What is happening? I have got to check this? What is this? What is this hair? A wig?

  Aren dashed. In a couple of leaps, he was standing before a mirror. His hair full, his skin fresh, and young. His eyes gleamed blue.

  A long inhale, and he started hyperventilating.

  Blood was fresh on the floor, walls, and items. A couple of flies buzzed around the room, savoring the aroma. A weird miasma of death had engulfed the place.

  …Nothing normal at all, like his usual life.

  I need to hold my breath. I’ll find the answers as I go.

  Aren focused on his breath. A couple of conscious efforts, and the breath calmed.

  First, Is Cara alive?

  Aren shivered. His teeth gnashed.

  I can feel my surroundings a bit, and I know she isn’t here. But nope, hold it, Aren. We will find that man. She might just be, no, she is alive, for sure.

  He fixed his eyes at his reflection.

  Souls, do I have to eat souls? Or does this mean something symbolically like in some dreamish way?

  I grew young, and my wounds healed, and I’m stronger now. Are these some kind of powers? Did the man give them?

  Nope, why would he?

  It seems to be something else. Something I don’t know.

  Aren rubbed his chin.

  Asking these questions is banging my head on the walls of a fort. They won’t fucking open. I need to do something practical. Something I can actually do.

  Aren turned around, and he spotted his revolver lying on the floor.

  Ah! I remember he shot me in the back. His fingerprints, perhaps if I’m lucky, I can get some clean ones. I need to call her!

  Aren didn’t think twice and leapt across the railing, on the stairs. He faltered but stabilized. Then he dashed to the hallway. Just beside the door, over a rack, his phone rested.

  I need to call– Wait. My voice!

  “Ahhhhh”

  He spoke out, testing his voice. His nose twisted.

  Tch. It’s too young, and has lost all its old age raspiness. And though this is worth celebrating, I can’t call her like this, can I?

  I’ll have to become a new client.

  He looked at the phone and it was well past three o’ clock at night.

  I’ll have to fucking wait for the day.

  He grumbled. And he did wait for the day – unslept the whole night.