Why feel at all?
Everything's been decided for us.
A blessing, wouldn't you say?
Or do you want to fix it all by yourself?
Can you ward off death?
Stop the floods, the fires, the decay?
The only thing you can stop is a heartbeat.
What can any one person do in the face of disaster?
…Cosmic Calamity?
…Death?
…
Dying is terrifying. You know that well. The dread alone can drive you mad. Fear can drive you mad. It pushes you towards terrible choices.
You can't stop it. It will happen anyways. Sooner or later.
After the sun’s "energy emission," the government told everyone to stay inside. Skepticism died the next morning. Your neighbor warned: never be alone at night, lest the pale Visitor find you.
It isn't wise for a young woman like you to have your doors open to potential Visitors during the nights of this cataclysm. You learned to check for signs. Like perfect teeth, dirt under nails.
Only four days into this and you've killed two. A cashier lady and a babushka.
What if you kill too many in a fear of death? In your fear, you'll only bring death closer.
Some hope the sun will finally burn the ground to ash or fade into darkness. Others see the end on their own terms. Your neighbor is gone. FEMA hazmats prance about, taking guests who never return.
Everyday you check yourself for signs. Just in case that loose cannon of a vigilante came knocking during the night. He shot a whole group of FEMA quarantine escapees. The haze of rage in the eyes of an armed man is more terrifying than any Visitor.
As usual knocks came at night, he was bundled in a coat, skin blue. Chin length hair. You thought he was a girl.
“Might I find some p-p-peace in your home?” he stuttered so quietly. “Others b-b-burn in the sun. I wrap myself in layers and still feel on the verge of fr-freezing.”
Coat guy.
That's what you decided to call him. It's eternal torture he was going through; often sitting hunched over with his hands over his head. It didn't make you pity him, it drew you to him, and vice versa.
There's a type of sanctuary. He became clingy; physically and with trust.
A part of you wished he hadn't trusted you so dearly.
Three others were in the room when it happened.
“Something has been on my m-mind. For a long time. It might be why I feel so... c-c-cold.” he began meekly.
“It usually ends b-badly, but maybe n-not this time. Under these c-clothes is, I believe, the reason for my c-c-cold and loneliness both.” he stammered a murmur. Fingers curling under the bottom of his sweater.
“Look.”
The void in his stomach exhales a freezing gravity. Bloody clumps replaced the forms of everyone in the room but you.
“No... N-Not again. I didn't m-mean to.” he almost whimpered. “I didn't w-want this. I swear I d-didn't.” he crumbled. When you raised your gun he didn't even flinch.
“D-Don't let me stop you. Waiting is worse than d-d-death.” he bemoaned faintly.
Minds, damned by insanity.
Neither space nor society needed him. And yet you didn't shoot him. He was a Visitor and yet you kept him around. If he wasn't foolishly in love with you before he is now.
He's been trying his best to be helpful around the house. Clumsy and still clingy. You don't know how to grapple your emotions yet. Emotions don't even have room in this world. Sweeping felt grounding this morning. Then you felt him behind you. Arms wrapping around your shoulders.
"Mmph, so w-w-warm. Thank you, t-t-thank you, I'm s-sorry…" he whispered. Everyday he has to resist the urge to crawl inside your skin. Be with you the only way that would guarantee eternal warmth. You've been too good to him. Dragging out the inevitable is more painful than a swift end. No one envies the living. He believed the eyes are a window to hell, not the soul. His soul burned out long ago. That’s probably why he felt so cold. Under his clothes is a hunger that defines him, yet you are the only fire he's ever been able to sit beside. He’ll drink your pulse even after the sun forgets; consumed by your light.