Life Has Become Better

[Dogs231]

S031: ABHISHEK PANICKER — CONTINUED FROM "Great Plan for the Transformation of Nature"

By now, it was the dead of night. The dying embers of the fire Abhishek had left behind were little more than memories, the ashes of polaroid pictures. By now, he could barely remember what it had looked like, how many sticks it had, or how long he'd kept it burning. All those details had faded away hours before as he trekked toward the town.

That was fine.

By now, he had reached his destination. It wasn't a difficult journey—at his leisurely pace, Abhishek hadn't even broken a sweat—but it was certainly long. He'd underestimated the distance. But, ultimately, it hadn't cost him anything other than some wasted time. He hadn't even caught a glimpse of anyone in that timespan.

That was fine.

As he opened the—unlocked—door and stepped forth, there were no thoughts about the danger that might lurk within the home's depths. Any reasonable person, himself notwithstanding, would be asleep, long consumed in their rest. If anyone had the advantage, it was him, with his weapon in hand alongside the element of surprise.

He pulled the flashlight from his bag, clicked it on, and scanned it around the entrance. Nobody was home. Abhishek shut the door behind him, then locked it. He wasn't about to make such an obvious mistake. Then, he took a step, then another, and began to move from room to room. Every single one was uninhabited, abandoned, and cold.

He took the steps up, each step accompanied by a wailing creak, and explored the upstairs, from the bathroom to the master bedroom, his final stop in the journey. As above, so below—or the other way around. He smiled. That was perfect for his purposes. Nothing nefarious, but he wasn't one to keep company for long.

He looked around the bedroom. Empty, save for the ever-watchful eye of the camera in the upper-right corners of the room, where the western and northern walls intersected. Silent as the grave, except for his frigid breaths and the titter of laughter on his tongue. Home, for a time. Not for long, but enough for him to rest.

Abhishek sat down on the side of the bed—now his bed—and slid his bag to the side, then propped his weapon against the nightstand. He looked up at the camera—or, from another perspective, past it, to those beyond, in another world. The young man gave a friendly wave in its direction, unreciprocated by the metal contraption. Then, he spoke.

"Hey. It's been a while since our last bit of chit-chat. Still alive and kicking. So, I bet you're dying to know:

"If I had planned to abandon the fire, why'd I stay and fight over it? The reason is pretty simple. You might even have a guess already. But, I'll answer, for your sake—because, if nobody else, I know that you'd want to hear about it. Give you some closure. Since, well, it's statistically improbable that I'll live to get home.

"The reason is spite. I just couldn't let those two—you know who—keep that sense of smug self-righteousness. And, yeah, I'm a bastard for that, whatever. I know you feel the same way. At the very least, I knew, from the moment they stepped out of those bushes, that they'd try and grandstand even as they tried to rip that fire from my cold dead hands."

Abhishek chuckled to himself and let his head fall. Then, he breathed in, sighed, and looked back up at the camera. A smile crept across his face, but not as wide as the slasher grins he'd given the others back at the campfire. It was almost weak—like, at any moment, it could turn upside-down to a frown.

"That's my reason. And, uh, again—maybe I'm not a good person. It was selfish. But, at that moment, I proved my point. And nobody could stop me from saying whatever I wanted and doing whatever I felt was the thing to do. And, you know, it's fun—just like the forums were. Maybe it's a bad influence, but, you know, I'm already a bad influence."

His smile crept further. It strengthened.

"See you later. I need to get some rest. You should too."

Then, he turned his eyes from the camera, buried himself beneath the tattered covers of the bed, and rolled onto his side. The bed was large enough for two—a space at his side—but he was the sole occupant. Soon, the rises and falls of his chest grew smaller, and he drifted into the abyss himself.

And, eventually, he'd rise, on a different day, in the same place.

S031: ABHISHEK PANICKER — CONTINUED IN "Your Honor, Survival of the Fittest."