He reached into his pocket,
fingers grazing cold steel.
This was it.
No turning back now —
you bitch boi, he thought.
He stepped forward.
But it felt like miles of concrete stretched between them.
Eyes locked.
Mind fraying.
Hand trembling.
Can I…?
I have to.
A shot rang out.
He hit the subway floor —
memories flooding in like smoke.
I was never a bad kid…
Was I?
Fuck, man — I can’t see.
These memories…
they’re slipping.
Fading like light behind smoke.
Sirens howled above —
another lost soul.
Another one tossed on the pyre.
A memory lingered —
his mother, beautiful, holding him like she never let go.
“Why, mijo?
You were meant to be better than us.
Get up… get up.”
He blinked.
Hand to chest.
The floor was cold — but he rose.
Pain carved into his left side,
just shy of the heart.
Blood soaking through.
The crowd frozen,
wondering how the hell he was still standing.
He turned —
locked eyes with the man who shot him.
The one he was gonna rob.
“Sorry… I’m trying to…”
He collapsed.
It was a cold, dark December night
when the paramedics came to light —
a young man dying,
no turning back.
They found him on the floor,
souls from the underworld
still holding on.
But time is not told by shadows.
Life is felt
from the latter.
Holding on to the steel,
he knew this was real.
No way to lie —
he had somebody waiting to cry.
But the moment froze,
and his life…
dropped.
The shooter, the one who was alive
Who have I become?
Who am I now?
It hit him —
it all came from the doubt.
But he was still breathing.
Still bleeding.
And somewhere out there,
someone was waiting.
Because love waits for all,
even beneath
the darkest clouds.
Sinister †Publications 
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