Seven Ways To The Abyss

LULL....

Damian woke, cold and stiff, sprawled across the floor. Every muscle ached, and his body throbbed with the toll of his relentless training. Blinking against the harsh morning light filtering through grimy windows, he looked towards the woman pinned against the wall. She’d slumped forward, motionless, yet her chest still barely rose and fell, the sickening rhythm of someone condemned to live beyond their suffering.

Enough. He was tired of her haunting cries, her pleas, her terrified, vacant eyes staring out from the ruined remains of her face. He forced himself upright, his joints creaking as he approached her one last time, vines coiling around his arms in readiness. He plunged them towards her heart, a final attempt to end the torment—for both of them. She convulsed, a strangled scream tearing through her ruined throat. And still, she did not die.

Damian recoiled, frustration clawing at his insides. His experiment had only shown him the depths of his own inadequacies—again. He felt unclean, his mind muddied with rage and failure. And as the woman’s sobbing began anew, he turned away, deciding he’d waste no more of his time or thoughts on her. Instead, he’d clean up. Maybe it would steady his mind.

As he scrubbed and swept, methodically rinsing blood from his hands, wiping down walls, and clearing away the nightmarish remnants of his experiments, a strange calm settled over him. He found himself drawn into the simple rhythm, the quiet solitude of the task, but in the stillness, his mind drifted to her—Sofia. That cursed, defiant face, her words slicing through his memories, taunting him even in her absence. He couldn’t fathom it, the way she lingered in his thoughts. This wasn’t hatred, nor was it fear. But she… occupied him, filled the empty places in his mind, the way his own failures did.

The day passed, his hands moving in steady motions as he restored some semblance of order to the home he’d overtaken. As evening approached, he bundled up the bloody refuse, bits of flesh and bone, and took the “trash” outside. The sunset cast a deep, warm glow over the landscape, tinting everything in shades of red and gold. For a moment, he was still, his eyes locked onto the horizon, and a memory washed over him, unbidden.

He saw his brother, silhouetted against a setting sun just like this one. He was young then, a mere boy, watching his brother—strong, unwavering, training for hours beneath the amber sky. Damian remembered the smile that crept to his lips every time he saw his brother at sunset. He had been his world, his aspiration. And now? That warmth faded as swiftly as it had come, and Damian felt only the hollow ache of memory.

“Rest in peace,” he murmured, more to himself than the horizon.

But as the words left his mouth, another vision invaded his mind—bloody images from the war that had stolen his brother from him, the battle where he had failed to protect him, failed to avenge him he should not have run, he should have fought, but how would he have fought of he was so Goddam weak. A bitter taste coated his mouth, and he clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. His weakness had cursed him; his weakness had robbed him of his brother, his blood. Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself back to the incinerator.

Damian dumped the trash onto the smouldering pile, watching it begin to hiss and burn. As the flames devoured the remains, he barely noticed a presence behind him until he heard a faint, polite cough.

“Thank you for lighting it up,” a cheerful voice chirped. Damian turned to find a girl with a dustbin bag at her side, her dark eyes bright and curious. She looked at him expectantly, tilting her head as if waiting for something. “Mind if I throw this in?”

Wordlessly, he stepped back, not caring to engage, but as she flung her bag onto the flames, she turned to him with a smile. “I’m Mika, by the way. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around before—are you new here?”

Damian kept his gaze on the fire, trying to ignore her probing eyes. “Something like that.”

“Oh, well, welcome to the neighbourhood.” She held out her hand, and he hesitated before offering a quick, reluctant handshake, his fingers as cold as his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but Mika showedno signs if leaving. She leaned in closer, inspecting him as if he were some curious creature.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked, undeterred.

“Damian.” His voice was a low, reluctant rumble.

Mika raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across her face as she seemed to pick up on his disinterest. “Not much of a talker, are you?”

Damian’s patience thinned. “No.”

She laughed lightly, shrugging off his cold response, and leaned back, hands in her pockets. “Well, it’s nice to meet you anyway, Damian. If you ever need anything… or maybe a break from burning trash at sunset,” she said, eyeing the flames, “just give me a shout. I’m only a few doors down.”

Before he could respond, she turned and disappeared back down the path, leaving him staring after her.p

He turned back to the flames, but the sunset seemed dimmer now, the peace he’d briefly felt slipping away. His fist tightened, and a grimace crossed his face as he was left alone once more, wrestling with memories, weaknesses, and the ghosts of those he couldn’t shake.