𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂? .ᐟ 𝘮𝘩𝘢 𝘷𝘢𝘳.

DEATH

THE sound of the rain, falling down on your figure and what surrounded you was multi-faceted - a sharp, percussive impact as the drops hit hard surfaces, the soft, muffled tap on grass and soil, and the white noise hush as it falls in a steady curtain; the peaceful melody drowned out by the headphones on your ear. Puddles form, reflecting the gray clouds above in rippling mirror-like surfaces. In front of you is one of the rainwater pools: your shoe steps on it, watching as the crystal globs speckle away at contact. Your eyes gaze down, meeting the reflected ones on the water and it casts back your expression, moody and so done with life.

Your phone vibrates, and your hand slips to your pocket, pulling the device out of it. Giving a peek at the screen, it's a call coming from the group chat with only Amber and Sylvia in it. Sighing, you bring it up to your ear under the hood, swiping right on the call, "Do you two have nothing better to do with your lives?" You start, sauntering haphazardly.

Sylvia jeers, propping up a pillow under her elbow, "Says the one who I bet is roaming like a street thug." Amber chortles, her hand skimming over her keyboard, eyes reflecting the bright screen of her pc, "Yeah, I bet her fatass is looking for something to eat too."

You stomp on a puddle, eyebrows furrowing as you look up in front, "Both of you kill yourselves, I'm not."

Your footsteps echoed as you lifted your gaze from the rain-soaked sidewalk. Looming ahead stood a faded building with flickering lights barely illuminating the night. Glass doors were propped open yet the empty lot beyond told of amusement long since passed. Its neon signs are dark, colorful posters advertise games long since unplugged, their pixels now dormant. Through the windows, rows of arcade cabinets stand silent and empty. You peer inside, rain droplets streaking the glass. Dust coats everything, muting what was once a frenzy of flashing lights and cheerful chimes. But ghosts of the past linger - you can almost hear the cacophony of digital sound effects and cheers of victory that once filled this place. Your breath fogs the window as you scan the silent machines, memories of your own happy memories here rising up.

An old Skee-Ball lane sits forlorn, its racks devoid of tickets. You remember the thrill of rolling those heavy balls, hoping for a perfect shot. Over in the fighting game area, characters are frozen mid-battle on darkened screens. You stole many hours here, mastering complex combos against tough opponents. Now only cobwebs occupy those seats.