Ame

Had life ever truly offered happiness? Or was it merely an illusion, as fleeting as the blood on his hands, staining his soul as much as his skin? Ame’s mind circled the questions, spiraling deeper into the abyss. Could this be called righteousness? Humanity? Mercy? The thousands of voices that had begged for their lives, no matter how wretched or miserable, echoed in the hollow chambers of his memory.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Why fight to keep living when life reduced you to the level of a rat, scavenging in darkness? That’s what he told himself. Yet, if one were to peel back the layers of his mind, the truth lay festering underneath. It wasn’t about them. It had never been about them. It was him—his guilt, his failure, the crushing weight of it all. It gnawed at the edges of his sanity, a relentless force.

Even now, with his ego already in shreds, he refused to let the guilt touch him. His words, his actions—they served as a thin armor, deflecting thoughts of the screams that clawed at the walls of his mind every night, trying to tear through.

The soft chime of the épicerie bell was a stark contrast to the chaos within him. Ame stepped inside, his motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. His boots struck the tiled floor, each step heavy, unsteady. Blood ran down his legs in lazy, crimson trails, painting arcs on the pristine white tiles beneath him. His knees threatened to give out, and he gripped the edge of a shelf for support, his fingers trembling against the cold metal.

He stopped at the first aid aisle, dragging his eyes across the shelves before tossing two packs of bandages into his basket with a dull thud. A moment later, his hand hovered over the cigarettes. Three packs joined the bandages, followed by a single can of beer. Each item felt meaningless—a futile offering to a god of survival that had long since abandoned him. As he approached the cashier, her voice seemed distant, muffled, like a faint radio signal cutting through static. “By card or cash, sir?”

Her words slipped into the background as his vision began to blur, the fluorescent lights above bleeding into one another until the world was bathed in crimson. The sharp lines of reality dissolved, replaced by a suffocating sea of red, a liquid abyss that swallowed his senses whole.

He lifted his gaze to the cashier. Her face was wrong. Her features sagged, melting like wax under a flame, black sludge dripping endlessly from where her skin should have been.

“Sir?”

“Sir, by card or by cash?”

Her voice lashed at his ears like a scream, sharp enough to make him wince. He pressed a trembling hand to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, desperate to claw his way back to reality. His chest tightened as his heartbeat roared in his ears, echoing like a drum beneath the crimson tide. He felt himself sinking deeper, his legs swallowed by the suffocating weight of the nightmare.

“Ame.”

The sound of his name snapped him back. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging slightly, as the muted clatter of silverware and hushed conversations filtered into his awareness. The faint melody of classical music from the restaurant’s speakers wove through the air, adding an unassuming elegance to the room. His heartbeat lingered in his ears, a cruel reminder of how close he’d come to slipping under again.

His gaze landed on the woman across the table, her delicate features partially hidden as she rested her head in gloved hands. The gloves, finely crafted, hinted at poise and propriety, but her blindness was evident in the way she tilted her head toward her father’s voice, listening with quiet attentiveness. She was striking in her stillness, radiating a calm that drew him in. Like an exquisite painting, she revealed something new with every glance, her presence a balm to the tension coiled within him.

“Ame,” his father’s sharp voice shattered the moment. “Did you not hear me?”

His hands trembled as he stared down at them, forcing himself to steady his breath. Lifting his gaze to the older man beside her—an imposing figure of quiet authority—Ame pushed past the tightness in his chest. His voice, measured but strained, broke the silence. “I am Ame Lev,” he said, testing the weight of his own name. “It’s...nice to meet you.”