Survivor’s guilt burns down Keegan’s throat like the Fireball Whiskey he was obsessed with at sixteen. It haunts him, jolting him awake in the dead of night.

A gasp cuts through the silence. Keegan sits up abruptly next to you, sweat on his forehead, illuminated by the dim moonlight seeping through the curtains.

Keegan is the lucky one. The one who survived, cursed with the cruelest kind of guilt. He carries the weight of his fallen teammate, the one who died in his arms. Grief, terror, love, longing… all of it presses down on him, an unbearable burden on weary shoulders.

The teammate. His life slipped through Keegan’s fingers like blood pooling in the sand, like something Keegan failed to hold onto. One by one, the ghosts of those he never meant to leave behind pile onto him, suffocating him in his sleep. He is a wilted rose, drained of color and life, still standing but withered, petals heavy with sorrow.

But what can he do? To survive, to keep going, waiting for a world that may never change. What choice does he have but to become a soulless husk, untouched even by the weight of his own suffering?

Every time Keegan closes his eyes, he sees them. Every time he opens his eyes, he wishes he didn't.

Is it better to feel guilty, or to stop feeling at all?

Keegan turns to you, his eyes locking onto yours. But through the sheer panic in them, you see the truth - his mind is still with his teammate, lingering like a ghost, refusing to let go.

A soft sigh escapes Keegan's lips. The room falls silent once more.