𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒

Awoken

It is a truth universally acknowledged that you desperately need new friends.

The ache in your legs grew with every passing second that you kept standing.

'Where the hell is he?' you thought, carefully scanning the empty street for a familiar head of ginger hair. Once again, to no avail.

You crossed your arms and started tapping your foot. A chilly wind crashed against your form. You sighed deeply. Leaning your head against the display window behind you, you stole a glimpse of your wristwatch.

11:00 AM.

An hour.

You were standing outside, in the brutal winter cold, in the same spot, for an entire hour.

'Why bother telling me to come if you're not going to turn up in the first place?'

It was at 2 AM last night when you were woken up by a call from your best friend, Oscar. He begged you to meet at this exact place to discuss the looming group assignment for English, leaving no room for questions as he hung up soon after. No amount of calling back, leaving voicemails or texting reached him. It shouldn't have surprised you to see that you were the first to arrive.

After the first twenty minutes, you wanted to go home. But an unknown force glued your feet to the ground. It was a force so strong, like a death grip by a deity sealing you to a fate from which there was no return.

At least, that was what Oscar would have said if he were here.

Really, you were just lazy and you had nothing better to do.

You spent the hour memorising your surroundings. A lone street shrouded in thick fog, with empty stores on either side of the tarmac. Opposite where you stood were a barber shop, bakery and dollar store - all crusted over with decay and peeling 'Closed' signs hung on their doors. The only sounds were your stuttered breaths and the whooshing of icy winds that cut through your skin, making it painful to move a single muscle. No other signs of life were detectable.

Although, if you concentrated hard enough, you could barely hear rasping voices carried by the wind. They were whispers of angered souls that spoke in a language you wished you couldn't understand.

'How dare the temple refuse my offering! The fruit had gone off only for a few days. The gods should be grateful I bothered to worship them in the first place,' said one voice.

'Curse that peasant girl for dirtying my vase with her mangy hands. If she just stopped being so poor and worked hard for once in her life, maybe then she could afford to wash herself,' said another.

If today wasn't bad enough, now you could somehow interpret the ancient language of the Karens. Or you were going insane.

Either way, you could pin the blame on Oscar.

You looked up at the grey sky. A loud rumble echoed through the air, when–

Great. Of course it was raining.

You cursed under your breath, shrugging off your backpack and scouring through its contents.

Genius. You forgot your umbrella.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you made a break for it down the street.

Thunder cracked overhead. Your knee-high Wellington boots splashed in every puddle you came across. Your hair and clothes darkened with the rainfall as it beat down in powerful waves.

'How long is this street?' You were running for at least five minutes, yet there were no signs of the sidewalk ending. Like an infinite reel of cement, with sky-high buildings that repeated themselves in a pattern.