Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuuuu-

What did I agree to? So, this guy I really like, and I’ve been talking to him for a while. Ben, his name is- finally asked me out on a date. He’s funny and smart, and has got one hell of a body. Totally my type. So I was ecstatic when he asked.

Of course I agreed, not even reading his full message. He had a tendency to write long paragraphs to me over explaining stuff, so I’ve gotten into the habit of just skimming through. I did see one word, though. ‘Abseiling.’ I didn’t know what it meant, and I just thought he was doing that thing where he uses big words for no reason. (He’s a writer, so- force of habit, he tells me.) I didn’t look it up. …I should’ve looked it up.

Goddamnit, I should’ve knew something was up when he told me to wear something I can move in.

He told me to meet him at the top of a building. Romantic, right? I didn’t think much of it, but I noticed a familiar creeping dread as I ascended in the elevator.

He greeted me at the top, wearing a goofy grin and what looked to be… climbing gear? And a helmet?

I laughed, and made a crude joke about me not being that rough, but he just looked at me confused.

…then he explained what we’re doing. I didn’t think to object for some reason, I guess I was just too… stunned to say anything. He helps me strap in with the gear he brought for me, bonked my helmet, and proceeded to… jump off the building. Well, jump is a exaggeration. He more… shimmied.

But he went down nonetheless. And I got to the edge, and looked down, seeing him dangling there by a rope, feet pressed against the side of the building, his hands beckoning for me to join him. He was still grinning, telling me not to worry, that he’s a professional.

I felt sick. And then I jumped.

My stomach drops further than I did, the rope catching me. I dangle there, the only thing keeping me from dropping god knows how many feet down is a rope. I feel dizzy, my heart pounds in my chest. I scramble, grabbing the rope, and making myself be upright.

“Not bad,” Ben grins. “Most people don’t make it this far.”

I manage a shaky smile in his direction, and he starts teaching me how to go down, demonstrating. I’m trying not to show that I’m scared, but man is it hard. I feel nauseous, but follow like he did, lowering myself.

Okay, I tell myself. This is okay. I’m fine, just don’t look down.

I hesitantly glance down.

OH SHIT WE ARE REALLY HIGH UP WHY AM I DOING THIS AM I STUPID?

Ben is talking casually like nothing is happening, and we’re not dangling off a building.

“So,” he starts, tilting his head. “Dinner after this?”

“I- uh,” I stammer, trying not to think. “I’m actually feeling a bit… nauseous.”

He immediately is concerned. “Really? If your not feeling well, I can get you back up on the roof-“

“No, no! It’s fine!” I insist. “It’s just…”

I stare at the side of the building for a moment, trying to come up with words.

“…I have a fear of hights.” I mumble finally.

“Oh shit.” He says simply.

“But!” I exclaim before he can say anything else. “Maybe… this’ll be a way to conqueror my fear?”

He stares at me, before a small smile appears on his face. “Just let me know if we need to get on solid ground.”

I nod, and he takes my hand wordlessly as we start going down.

He resumes talking, and I notice… that it’s actually helping. His hand is big and warm, and… solid. We continue inching down the building, just making conversation.

We’re on the ground before I know it. My feet hit the concrete sidewalk, and I just stand there, blinking at the ground.

“Hey?” He pokes my face. “You okay?”

“That… wasn’t so bad.” I admit slowly, startling myself with this realization.

“Great! Maybe we can go again to-“

“Hell no.”

Flowers. Such beautiful things, dainty and delicate One wrong shake and the petals will fall A flower shop. A attempt to savor the bright colors of the plants To give them to your lover. An old man wearing a red coat. He’s balding, grey hair thinning with age He’s here for a single red rose.

A pattern, I’ve noticed He comes in every Wednesday morning. He barely speaks. The only words he says is “one red rose please.” I’ve memorized the way he says it. It’s giddy, the way he says it. Like he’s a teenager giving a rose to his crush. I asked him once about it. He shook his head, grinning. He never did answer me.

He stopped coming one day. Weeks went by And I eventually stopped getting his order ready every Wednesday morning. A old lady enters the shop, smiling at me warmly. Grey hair with streaks of white in it. She leaned on the counter, with a twinkle in her eye, and said “One red rose please.”

I always said I wanted to be alone. Always pushed everyone away, claiming to not need anyone.

I never knew how wrong I was until everyone started disappearing.

At first, it started as a rumor. Just a simple rumor of ‘have you heard of people disappearing?’ Then a teacher disappeared. Then students. The principal. And at that point, everything became full-fledged panic. People started shutting themselves inside, but every day they’d disappear no matter what.

The government didn’t know what to do. Nobody did. We went to war on ourselves over arguments of how to fix this, killing thousands. The war never technically ended, there was just… very few people left at that point. The government disbanded officially when there was only five members of the whole system left.

And now… here I sit, on a roof of some building, looking down at what used to be my hometown. The sunset paints reds and yellows across the sky in vibrant slashes. The town is silent. Crashed cars and lost items litter the streets below.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen another person. Two years, maybe? Three?

I’ve searched all the houses in my area. Breaking down doors and screaming into the empty houses, crying, begging for anyone to answer me.

I just wish I wasn’t alone. If anyone sees this… I am dead. I’m sorry, I held out as long as I could, but…

…I guess I wasn’t strong enough.

Don’t forget.

-Anonymous

Highschool reunion. The concept is fun, in my opinion, but in actuality… It sucks ass.

But, here I am, sitting awkwardly with my former bullies and pretending to chat politely with them. They look so different, although the looks they gave me were the same. Jealousy. Anger. Hate.

I’m able to hear the words they regret not saying- a curse thanks to my mother, who was a self proclaimed witch. I’ll be honest, I never believed her until our last conversation. She screamed at me some sort of curse in a different language, and… now I’m stuck like this.

‘I wish I told her I loved her.’ This is a common one for me to hear, and I’ve been hearing it a shit ton around me in this cramped room.

I hear my name suddenly, in the many ‘I wish’ statements.

‘I wish I told Chloe that I loved her.’

It’s a girls voice. Familiar, but I can’t quite place why it is. How did someone have a crush on me? I was a mess in highschool.

I look up suddenly, feeling eyes burning into the side of my head.

My eyes lock with a girl from across the room, and I realize who it is. It’s Jenna, easily the prettiest girl here. She was quite popular in highschool, too. Long, dark red hair tied up in a bun. Fair skin, dark brown eyes that you could get lost in. She’s wearing a pretty loose floral dress, that’s a rich blue color.

She was also one my worst bullies. She made fun of me for being openly gay, made fun of how I flinched whenever someone came at me too fast.

A group of men surround her, trying to get a peek down her dress, or trying to get her attention. But she stares at me.

Her eyes widen slightly as I look back at her, her face flushing ever so slightly.

She doesn’t look away. Neither do I.

A sly smirk climbs across my lips, and i wink at her.

Her face flushes harder, and she quickly looks down.

I go back to pretending to be doing something on my phone.

“Okay, hold on a goddamn minute.” I laugh nervously, slowly backing up away from the armed man.

He stares at me blankly, eyes cold from behind the full-faces gas mask he wears, which I notice is covered in… brightly colored stickers. The rest of his outfit is dark, a black hoodie, pair of long grey cargo pants, and black boots.

He holds the gun steady in two hands, aimed directly at my face. My back hits the wall, and I shoot a panicked glance behind me.

My breathing is ragged, my heart racing in my chest. I hate the fact that I’m scared.

He nods in my direction. “Put up your hands.” His voice is muffled from the mask, but sounds low and rough, the type of voice that’ll make anyone’s blood freeze.

I slowly raise my hands, unsure what else to do. He just came out of nowhere, honestly. Seriously caught me off guard. There was no warning, no… alarms, no nothing to show that there’s a intruder in the building.

He continues staring me, analyzing me with those dark brown eyes that almost look completely black.

“Why are you here?” I manage with a shaking voice. “What is your goal here?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s what.” He snaps, jerking the small handgun toward me again.

I have never been a smart man. Never one to shut my mouth when told to. ‘You’re as stubborn as a ass,’ my mom used to say to me. ‘And just as talkative as one, too.’ I think she was just angry that her son was just like her, just like my grandmother said. Sort of a generational curse, I’ve realized.

“So uh,” I start again, glancing to the side over to my desk. “Why here, of all places?”

“What?”

“I mean, why try to ambush here? Pretty sure you’ll have better luck ambushing a farmers market.”

His eyebrows stitch together into a scowl, his already dark eyes seeming to darken more.

“Well,” I start, talking very fast in hopes he won’t just shoot me. “I’m just saying, this place is rather… boring, nothing really to steal except paper weights and-“

“I should just kill you now.” He interrupts, his voice a deadly calm. “That’ll save me the hassle of your smart-ass mouth.”

My mouth snaps shut, but something in me keeps nagging at me to keep arguing, to keep trying to reason with this man. I mindlessly fix my tie, clearing my throat. A dry silence lays between us as he just keeps staring…

“Give me a reason not to kill you.” He suddenly says, gesturing with his gun randomly.

“Um.” I blink at him, startled by this sudden demand.

I stare at him, and again my eyes are caught by the bright stickers on his mask. I notice some Hello Kitty stickers plastered all over, along with a random assortment of other brightly colored stickers.

“Do you have a kid, or something?” I ask, looking in him the eye as I talk. “I noticed the stickers.” I gesture to my own face.

He visibly hesitates, unmoving for a second.

“Yes.” He finally answers. “I have a son. He’s quite fond of stickers.”

I snort without meaning to. “I can tell. How old is he?”

“Turnin’ 7 soon.” He half-nods, seeming slightly proud.

I smile, my eyes going squinty as I do so. A genuine smile, not the fake one. “Awe.” I mumble.

“Me and my hus…” I start, suddenly stopping. I clear my throat loudly before continuing. “Me and my spouse have been trying for a kid, but so far no luck.”

He raises a eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. I notice he’s absentmindedly lowered his gun, so it’s pointing at more of my stomach than my head.

“Ah, we’ve gotten off track.” I half-shrug, running my hands through my hair. “Where was I?”

“Beggin’ for your life.” He says, no hint of humor in his voice.

“Right, right, of course.” I nod.

I pause for a moment, trying to quickly come up with a reason for him not to kill me. I keep eye-contact with him even though I hate it. He keeps glancing away, I notice.

“Ah, I’m a guitarist in a band.” I add. “Not a good band, of course- but don’t tell those idiots I said that. It’s a band we’ve had sense… highschool?”

My eyes slide off him, suddenly distracted by the thought.

“Damn, it really has been that long, huh?” I mutter under my breath. “Almost 10 years of doing shitty covers with a bunch of stoners in a basement…”

I almost forget the current situation, lost in thought. “Yeah, Marv originally started it. He was going dumpster diving, found a butt-load of instruments. His mother was not pleased in the slightest.” I chuckle quietly, remembering how she glared at the instruments like they’d attack her. “He called us up, we got them cleaned and tuned as best as a bunch of 17 year olds can, argued about who would be on what instrument.”

I tilt my head. “Pretty sure we came up with the name ‘Suicide Squirrels’ by seeing this fat fucking squirrel jump from a rooftop.”

I go silent, lost in the past life I lived so long ago.

I suddenly see the man completely lower the gun. A slow, deliberate motion.

I look back over to him, smiling sheepishly. “Whoops- kinda got distracted.”

He shakes his head, sighing loudly. “Goddamnit,” he whispers, just barely audible.

Stuffing the handgun into his waistband, he turns on his heel, and starts toward the door.

“Tell anyone about this and you’re dead, Paul.”

He slams the door behind him, and I just stand there, frozen. That… worked? How in the hell? I’m not sure how long I stand there, until I suddenly snap out of it, pulling out my phone and dialing Marv.

“Yellow?” He answers causally.

“Marv you won’t believe what just happened…”