Archive of Our Own

“I cook a nice dinner for you just to throw it up”. The chair screeched against the floor as he jerked up from his seat. “You ungrateful piece of shit”.

I hovered right before the door that led out of the kitchen and into the hallway. My gaze wasn't late to meet his own, though I had no response to offer other than a silent stare, frozen and shrunk in my place. I discerned the fire in his eyes all too clear, the trembling tips of his fingers and his almost bared teeth towards me, like a growling dog uncertain whether it should lash out at last. He had, indeed, attempted to cook something for me - two boiled eggs that was. It might have been the “nicest dinner” that man could ever imagine making.

The bang his fist made against the table had me jump and halted my breath.

“I should’ve fed you nothing at all,” he spat without raising his voice.

“I told you I couldn’t eat. You forced me to.”

He didn’t like my answer. His empty gaze grew even wider than before, as if having heard the most absurd news possible. What he precisely wanted to hear, I could never know.

The friendly yet menacing role he’d so eloquently played the first time he knocked on my door was nothing more than that, a false, luring image. The fixed grin carved across his face as I stared at him through the peephole seemed kind of a petty attempt to soften my vigilance, even hilarious at times. I had never been more naive in my entire life.

The first few days of keeping me a prisoner in my own house, he’d provide me with no food at all. A piece of bread, perhaps, once each night, most of which had already gone bad. I hadn’t been hungry whatsoever, and I could not bring myself to grow an appetite. Spending most hours of the day locked in my room, wasting away, all I wished for was to fall into a coma and quietly rot in ignorant bliss, dismissing the events unfolding all around me. Sleep, however, failed to pay me a visit, and more often than not, all I was left with was a stinging pain in the lower half of my body, relentless and never ceasing to let me rest the way I so desperately begged for.

After five days of him staying in my house, he offered me a normal-sized meal: canned beef and a few more slices of bread. I hadn’t been able to take more than three bites before pushing the rest away. Swallowing anything at all made my insides turn.

He hadn’t fancied that gesture either.

“That’s it?” he had asked. His face portrayed curiosity rather than agitation, he looked surprised even. “You should be starving by now.”

“I’m okay”.

I could barely hear my own voice. I was certain he’d grab my leftovers and smash it against my face, though instead he’d uttered not a word further, and just cleaned up the table. I wondered if he’d thought, It’s still too early for him, he’ll get used to it.

He wasn’t all that calm and collected now.

“You can’t keep doing this forever, you know.” There it was again, that soulless smile. “Sooner or later, you’re going to feel the starvation building up inside your bones. And when that happens, you’ll eat whatever I lay out in front of you, even if it’s just shit.”

No, I wouldn’t let that much time pass. All I needed to do was to retrieve my shotgun, the very one he’d taken away from me, and then I could just press the edge against the roof of my mouth, and everything would be put to an end. His empty threats flowed over me like a river over stone. Nonetheless, the only feeling I could never brush off was when he’d hold onto my arm and run his bony fingers against my skin.

I’d linger, petrified. His touch paralyzed me.

“I want to lie down,” I muttered, my eyes stuck on the floor.

He didn’t speak, not for a good two minutes. I was aware that he was studying me, a thought which only made me draw back even more. Why did he have to hear me vomit? Why did I have to be so god damn careless all the time?

You fucking idiot. You get what you deserve.

“Stay.”

My heart plummeted. I wavered as I was, slightly hunched with my arms hanging limp. I could not bring myself to look him in the eye, all I wished for was to disappear, to vanish off the face of the earth, fall into a five-year coma, perhaps. To dissolve into a place where space was infinite and time stopped would be all I ever needed, yet that sole desire was untouchable.

Moving sluggishly, as if not to startle me, he stepped closer. My eyes leveled up to his sternum, and all I could look at were his bare chest bones, showing through his pale skin. The wholeness of his presence intimidated me, the way he hovered around my house, the manner in which he surveyed me from top to bottom, his abnormal height that nearly touched the ceiling; and he was aware of that. I could read through his aloof, grinning eyes that he took pleasure in watching me draw back and flinch at his every movement, and he even more enjoyed taking advantage of that.

Seeing his hand drawing near, my eyes sealed shut. Long, bony fingers caressed the outline of my face, running through my hair and embracing my jaw. If I pushed him away, he’d grab me by the throat and thrust me against the floor. I had never come to comprehend how such a slender, lanky creature possessed twice my own physical strength - that amount of inhuman power was his own way of making me feel small, of having me understand that I am weak, and puny, and vulnerable. Perhaps that was the reason why that grin could never be smeared off of his dry lips; he was very well aware of his own superiority.

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. He was now hunched over my head, his cold stare digging into my own.

“Stay,” he repeated, still grasping my jaw. “Keep me some company, will you?”

“I’m tired.” I kept my voice firm, as solid as I could. At least, I think I did.

He jerked his head in a disapproving manner, “Are you trying to hide away in your room?”

I swallowed. I sucked it all in.

“I’ve got a bad headache.”

He giggled, a sadistic and contemptuous laugh. “Is your head the only thing that hurts?”

All I was left to do was gape at him, disoriented at last. He genuinely wanted me to answer that question, only to see the sense of shame and humiliation surface across my expression. I would not grant him the satisfaction, I’d rather stand there and glare back at his derogatory smile than fulfill his desire to hear what he wanted.

As far as I knew, everything hurt.

Two knocks on the door jerked me awake.

As my eyes flattered open I checked the time, about 2 am already. I’d managed to catch some shut-eye for no more than an hour before somebody was once more standing on my porch. I had been taking in strangers in need of shelter for a week straight; tonight, however, silence prevailed, for the house was empty. Last night FEMA paid me yet another visit. They took two people, the last ones who’d been staying with me, and among them was my neighbor’s daughter. I could still hear that little girl’s screams ringing across the halls as those bastards dragged her away, and all I was left to do was watch it happen with the barrel of the agent’s gun pointing at me.

I swore I would never answer that door again. I would keep my eyes fixed through the peephole, and I would back away. Tonight, my bones ached to sleep.

The banging continued. I lied still, staring at the ceiling. Give it some time, they’ll get bored and leave.

The second time I’d seen the little girl, she was bawling whole, quivering outside my threshold.

“They… They killed my daddy.”

The kid’s face was swollen with tears running down her puffy cheeks.

“Who did?”

“Visitors… Daddy was talking to them, and they killed him! They left laughing about it, laughing!”

Begging and whimpering and screeching in an ever-lasting cycle of tears and dread only to lose her in the hands of those hazmat suits. The promise I’d sealed with her father to take care of her turned out hollow at last, phony even, for I proved to be incapable of keeping safe even an eight-year-old.

The banging persisted.

Fucking hell.

I jumped to my feet, grabbed my shotgun, and headed towards the entrance. Despite the fact that the house was now vacant, I kept all the doors firmly closed. I couldn’t bare passing by the hallway and catching glimpses of the blank living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the storage room, for regardless of the quietude that now prevailed, the spilled blood had yet to dry completely, and turning my head, all I could see was that kindergarten teacher pulling the trigger and dropping onto my feet - the back of her head spread out like a fully bloomed rose. No matter how long I scraped the floor clean and thoroughly washed the furniture, I was convinced that the faint crimson hue would never fade away.

I looked through the peephole. A man in a gas mask and a yellow suit seemed to be staring back at me, right through the glass.

“Anybody home?”

“You again?” I yelled, “Haven’t you taken enough people already?”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the assault rifle on his shoulder swayed. “Routine inspections are still running, and lower your fucking tone.”

“Where are the ones you took? When are you going to bring them back?”

“They will be sent back from the quarantine zone when the circumstances allow it.”

I slammed my fist against the door, “You god damn liar, you’re kidnapping people! All you do is terrorize neighborhoods and shoot down whoever attempts to flee.”

“For fuck’s sake…” Stepping aside, the agent extended his hand towards the ruins of burnt down houses and withered land, the deserted roads and deadly hush of the night. Before that nightmare of a scene, my house might as well have been rooted in the depths of an unearthly dream. “Are you enjoying the view behind me? That’s what happens when assholes like you get in our way. We’re not the terrorists here, we care about this city. That is one thing you just don’t understand.”

“Where is that little girl you took? Is she all right?”

He tilted his head, “Who?”

“You took a kid a few days ago. She was staying with me.”

I watched him drop his gaze to the floorboards, as if trying to recall anything at all. The way that child was shrieking, shaking, as he had dragged her away… How could anyone wipe out such a dreadful image from their memory?

“Oh, right,” He offered a half-hearted laugh, “She was admitted into quarantine. She’s gotta be just fine.”

“You cannot guarantee that.”

“Listen, buddy. My job here is to do patrols and gather as many people as needed. I don’t work in the quarantine zones, all right? Though I’m pretty sure that girl you’re worried about is in great hands, just like everybody else.”

I scoffed, there was not a single true word coming out of his mouth. Ever since the so-called ‘Visitor’ phenomenon occurred, the founding of FEMA was the cause of way more missing individuals than Visitors had been. Roaming the streets from dusk till dawn, knocking on doors and yanking civilians out of their homes, they’d build a type of military authority that no one could stand up against. Did anybody dare look at them the wrong way, they’d never see the light of day again - not that the scorching daylight was such a pleasant thing to feel on your skin anyway.

“We need two more people.”

“You’ve taken everyone.” Lowering my voice, the deafening silence across the front hall sounded louder than a minute ago. Now, there was no one weeping behind closed doors. The ones who I used to hear snivel and moan at every sunset were gone. For a minute I wondered whether it was my turn to lament and waste away.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

Silence. At last, the man shook his head. “Open the door. Let me see.”

With a heavy breath, I did as I was told. As the street lights illuminated the interior of my house, his shadow fell right onto my feet. The moment I stepped away he let himself inside, sauntering around like an elderly dog, spinning his attention left and right and scanning the unoccupied rooms in a disheartened manner; I’m certain he was saddened to realize he’d leave empty-handed.

Having reached the end of the second hall, he languidly turned around.

“Indeed." Although he was facing towards me, it sounded more like talking to himself. “There’s no one else.”

I noticed his rifle hanging from his shoulder the same way mine was. For a short while, one thought passed by my conscience; I could end him then and there. He wouldn’t be quick enough to react, I know he wouldn’t. Besides, no one would search for him, not even FEMA. People were already dropping like flies, and dead bodies were anything but a rare sight these days.

Dear God, what on earth was I thinking about?

As the agent started making his way outside, he paused to rest his gloved hand right upon my shoulder. Within his tight gas mask, I could almost see his eyes boring into my own.

“You might want to board up those windows. If somebody, or something, wants to break in, they’ll find a way.”

An abundance of inherited emptiness settled over the porch as he stepped outside once again, his hazmat uniform ruffling against the hot wind of the night. He stood idle and waited, though I was not sure what for. Among the countless destroyed residences across the land, my place was nothing but a tiny speck to be devoured in its turn. It all seemed so very quiet.

“How come you’re not taking me?”

The man hovered in his place, half-way towards my direction.

“Do you know why we only take guests from other people’s houses?” He sighed, “A person who desperately searches for a place - and I mean any place at all - to spend the night, doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Those are people who have either fled their homes or had it all ravaged. They’ve got nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Trust me, we’re doing them a favor by admitting them into quarantine.”

I bared my teeth, “Admitting them in? Do you take me for a fool? You’re abducting people off the streets. You have them follow you by force.”

“Our mission serves a purpose far greater than you’re willing to comprehend. We cannot step back from saving our city for the discomfort of a few.”

My mouth hung open, I was left to look at him without knowing what anything more to utter. Attempting to reason with FEMA was devoid of any meaning. He couldn’t listen, and perhaps, they did not know how to. Coming to be the heroes we supposedly needed was everything they wished to be.

All I wanted was to be left alone.

“Leave.”

He offered me one final glance before turning away. Treading into the shadowy path he’d come from, I heard him giggle.

“We are living for the very last time.”

The flick of my lighter illuminated the little space of the front hall. Tsk. I was running out of cigarettes soon.

The only element that caressed the walls surrounding me was a type of serenity that never used to reach the steps of my front door, that kind of unbeatable soundlessness I could not remember the last time I’d tasted. Glancing through the peephole, the only picture I could make out was that of a broad and immense darkness. Something told me it’d be a while before hearing from FEMA again, given that they’d rather stand by one or two weeks for me to house new people, just to snatch them away once more.

The world kept spinning unbelievably fast the last few days. In the blink of an eye, all had changed, nothing had remained the same. What would things look like two weeks from now?

Placing the cigarette between my lips, I slipped my fingers through the window’s blinds. Tonight there was no moonlight to gently tickle the dried up grass across the abandoned plots of land, merely a blanket of dreary clouds blackening the dusty expanse before me. I kept all of the lights off, even if each and every window pane was covered. For every stranger’s information who might be passing by outside, no one resided here anymore.

My ears twitched at light footsteps nearing the window. Instinctively I removed my hand from the blinds, yet soon went to open them again, forming nothing more than a thin slit. Two stray dogs popped into vision from the back side of the house, lumbering, heads hanging down with their snouts trailing the drained soil. Most probably looking for food, they either hunted any small animals they’d spot or fed off rotten carcasses, the latter being far easier to find. Even through hardly any source of light, I was able to observe their weary skeleton under their scraggy skin, bursting with sunburns and missing fur, stripping naked their bony parts. No matter how savage and aggressive they’d become because of their never-satiated hunger, my heart ached for those creatures way more than it did for any scumbag banging on my door. All I knew was that those animals didn’t deserve such an excruciating punishment of a slow and painful death like half of us actually did.

One of the dogs raised its head. With ears standing up and its tail frozen still, it released a low growl. Its eyes glared up, straight forward. The more it stared and snarled, the more its tail started to hide between its legs and its spine to fold. I moved to the side trying to catch a glimpse of whatever they were seeing, but no matter how much I pushed my head against the blinds, whatever petrified them was simply too far away from the window.

More steps ringed my hearing, clearer than a stray animal’s, heavier even.

The dogs stepped back with bared teeth and now hanging ears. I tightened my grip around the belt of my shotgun, fixing my sights in the same dark direction.

A humanoid figure emerged from the side of the glass. Both of the strays turned around and sprinted away at once. I moved my hand away from the little gap in the shades and drew back. My legs had gone numb. Shielding my mouth, I’d already stopped breathing. What exactly had I just witnessed? I didn't manage to get a full picture of that unearthly silhouette before hiding away.

Somebody was standing outside, perhaps wandering around my house. No one seeking shelter acted that way. Barely breathing, I stood idle in my place, listening. The seconds I waited felt like a bottomless eternity.

The door knocked.

The creeping sensation across my spine brought me almost three decades back. For a moment, I relived that one evening I was home alone. My Mom had gone to visit my grandmother for the weekend, and I was left with my father. He’d ordered me to pick up all of my toys and clean my room before he’d be back; I hadn’t. He’d been gone for about three hours till I heard the door knock. It’s me, he’d shouted. Open up, I forgot my keys. I don’t quite recall how long I’d stood behind the front door, holding my breath over my pounding heart. The moment he’d see I hadn’t delivered, he’d lash out on me. That overflowing feeling was no different than now. Then, I was seven years old.

Another bang, even firmer than the previous one. I took my shotgun into my hands and as softly as possible, I neared towards the entrance. It wasn’t until I was right before the door when I heard a voice.

“Howdy!’

My limbs froze, like shriveled tree branches against winter’s dry breeze. I could not remember the last time I’d hid behind the walls of my house without begging to be left unheard of and forgotten. The silence that prevailed between me and his gravelly voice tickled a note in my brain that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. That was likely the very same emotion the stray dogs experienced before making up their minds to run away. As timid as I was, I forced myself to look through the peephole.

Naked from the waist up, a lanky pale silhouette of a man lingered patiently on my porch. His hands were crossed in front of his crotch, and a thin grin formed across his chopped lips. Even through the distorted vision of the hole, I could tell he was significantly taller than me. His mouth parted to speak again in that friendly, yet dubious tone.

“Spacious house you got yourself here.” His smile widened. “I like it.”

My grip around the gun grew tighter. “I’m armed.”

“Delicious!” he laughed condescendingly. The way his face moved made my insides turn. “Despair gives courage to the coward, yes?”

“I'm not in the mood for any tricks.”

“You’re insulting me right now. I don’t like tricking people - no, not at all. I just like having conversations.”

“Converse with somebody else.”

For a second, he turned his head and looked around the dark fields surrounding us, as if checking for anybody else watching. At last, his brows drew together. “What did you think of that guy? The one in the suit?”

My heart dropped. “Have you been… watching me?”

“Those yellow uniforms remind me of something I’ve long forgotten.” He proceeded to completely ignore my question. “They must feel so important, so powerful and mighty in the role they’re playing, don’t you think? Maybe the suits will restore order. Or should we take matters into our own hands?”

We?

I shook my head. “I’m not sure what to think of them. I’m doing whatever I can.”

“And what can you do?” He got closer to the peephole, his gaze piercing through mine. “Can you ward off death? Stop the floods, the fires, the decay? You could use your brain, your hands, your weapon, but at the end of the day, the only thing you can stop is a heartbeat.”

I could hear that self-assured smile on each word he uttered.

“Get the fuck off my porch.”

“Oh, why are you acting like this? Did I say something wrong?”

“Whatever you’re looking for, this place isn’t it. So, get the fuck away from my house.”

“But it’s so lovely around here. Everything is so calm and quiet. I even think I get the reason why you prefer isolation over company.”

“You don’t have the slightest idea what I prefer.”

“Maybe.” The light breeze of the night gently brushed through the stranger’s dark, fine hair, a transparent quilt over his wrinkled forehead. “Why are you still scrambling to survive in this new, unwelcoming reality? Dogs rule the world now, and only dogs survive here. You understand what I mean, don’t you? Things will never go back to the way they were. Life changed, and you are falling out of rhythm.”

“What do you want?”

“I have met a lot of interesting people lately. You have as well, I suppose, considering how many you’ve allowed inside your little nest. However, you have been - by far - he most intriguing one I’ve come across.” He paused to tilt his head, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “You know, we could talk more freely if you unlocked this door for me.”

“Yeah, sure,” I chuckled falteringly, “Nice try, asshole.”

In his turn, the man released a type of laughter I was not prepared for, as if trying to imitate my own. From the moment my eyes fell upon his figure, that grin had failed to melt away from his unearthly features. Each hammering pulse that drilled through my chest had me question whether the gun in my hands granted me any sense of safety at all. Without a single notice, I was left all by myself in a body that wouldn’t stir and a will that couldn’t save me. The shivering sweat running down my spine screamed one distinct thing: that half-naked concept of a person was not human.

Visitor. The word I’d heard from countless other lips struck me like lightning.

Eyewitness accounts describe them as creatures that can imitate the appearance and behavior of humans.

Visitor, visitor, visitor.

I saw him raise his skinny arm forward and soon enough, his nails scratched against the wooden surface. It made me draw back.

“I feel… a lack,” he said in a lower tone. “I was born in a well of infinite depth, a never-ending hole. I bear no name and no face, and above all, I possess no memories of what came before me. I might have been somebody else long before… this,” he gestured towards himself, “Unlike your case, no one comes knocking on my door. Such a shame.”

His choice of words perplexed me. Despite my trembling hands and numb feet, despite the silent dread worming its way inside, one tiny part of me was eager to hear more. The fact that Visitors were cold-blooded murderers was the only information that was passed around. Blood-lusted, natural killers, as if slaughtering one another wasn’t already a human trait. No matter how we seemed to guard the distance between ourselves and other beings, the barrier that separated us might as well be a figment of our wretched delusions. If I were to brush his eerie smile aside, his gaze perhaps appeared just as void as my very own.

We both stand here, because we are paralyzed everywhere else.

In the blink of an eye, his fist hammered against the door.

“Open.”

I jumped in my place as I stepped away. His voice grew louder once again.

He pounded over and over. Each hit against the door was synchronized with my own thundering heartbeat, almost having me drop the shotgun from my embrace. I pointed the barrel towards the entrance.

“Stop right now or I fucking shoot!”

He didn’t answer. His mere response was to carry on with his banging, even fiercer, even angrier. Was angry the right word for it?

“I mean it, I fucking I mean it! Stop!” I heard my own voice crack.

For just a second, the thought of him breaking down the door conquered my brain. I tried to disregard that notion, their physical strength couldn’t supersede that of the average human. I began to back away even farther, the deafening noise of the repetitive strikes was taking over my mind, stripping me of the ability to think clearly. I looked around, traipsing in a frenzy state, my eyes flashing from one room to the other - I needed to hide.

One side of the door came loose. I jerked back, close to letting out a yelp as another forceful bash made the lock detach from the wooden frame. From that point on, every punch and kick of his behind the doorway caused the only barrier that kept us apart to fracture little by little. My conscience couldn’t fathom the amount of vigor he was putting into smashing it all down. Clutching the gun with palms drowned in sweat, its weight had started to feel unbearable, and so did that of my own bones. The corridor unfolding behind my back was nothing but a misty trap to fall into, and within the eternal series of noises and thuds, I felt like a deer staring into upcoming headlights.

I rushed to my bedroom. The front lock broke apart. I shut the door and hid in the corner, right next to the doorway. Shotgun in place, I stayed idle, listening. The bangs had come to an end.

With knees slightly bent and my face burning, I strived not to make any sounds at all. The house had once again sunk in utter silence, neither barks nor voices to stir up the stillness surrounding me; all I was left to do was wait.

Slow, dull steps echoed across the hallway.

Pause.

Two taps and one door of the rest of the rooms creaked open. Quiet again. Time seemed to have come to a halt.

More steps crawling near.

Tap, tap.

Another door creaked open.

At the far end of the dim hallway was my bedroom - the last place to investigate. The freak wavering outside my front porch was now inside, approaching the room I’d secluded myself without any hurry at all. There was no sign of exit, no secret passage to flee through, and I couldn’t make out the furniture in front of me; the bed, the nightstand, the television, all shapes or forms were swallowed up under a blanket of pitch-black darkness. A couple of bitter-tasting words surfaced in the back of my mind, muted as they were. This is it. I’m going to die.

The slow-paced footsteps went quiet right before my bedroom door. Two faint knocks made my heart race. The same gentle honeyed yet flat voice I heard a minute ago now sounded inches away.

“Is anybody in here?”

I hugged my shotgun tighter. With ears ringing and eyes wide open through the thick gloom, I’d stopped breathing.

The handle budged, and moment by moment, the door slowly groaned open. A light so dim as that of a ghostly moon crescent submerged most of the room into a faint, gray hue, casting long shadows on the opposite wall. My gaze gradually climbed to the window next to my bed, its curtain drawn, and on it the shape of a towering human frame. Hovering motionless as a sculpture, he stood by; and I was also there, standing alone in the middle of a dark field, for the walls of my house might as well have turned liquid, leaving him and I side to side, pretending not to be aware of the existence of one another, and merely remain like that forever, engraved in the memory of one unending night.

One brief thought captured me. I can shoot him right now, straight through the door. The blood flowing through my veins had turned boiling hot and my finger curled around the trigger. Go fuck yo-

An abrupt force shoved me against the wall.

The gun went off blindly. I staggered side to side, deafened by the blast, when a hand grabbed me by the shirt and soon enough by the throat. All I managed to take in was a shadowy figure hunched over me, squeezing tighter as he forcibly propped me up. For a moment, my feet were floating above the floor; inhaling was futile, as so was seeing. The shotgun was too large a weapon to whip him with. My limbs were going numb, I’d already started to lose any and all kinds of sensation from my fingers, my arms, my legs. I struggled to hold on to the gun in hopes of firing once more. My lungs felt on the verge of bursting; I was incapable of making a sound, barely able to release low and wretched whimpers.

I didn’t hear the iron drop to my feet. The next image I could recall was my own hands digging through the wrists locked around my throat, aimlessly kicking in the air and using my closed fists to beat someone I couldn’t see, desperately trying to let out any cry at all. Two tears escaped me from the pressure building up, rolling down my cheeks.

“Ch… S-S…”

In the blink of an eye, the very same force that kept me up against the wall, flung me onto the floor. Having minimum time to react, I’d managed to stretch out just one arm to shield my head, landing on top of the other. Chest about to rupture, I was coughing with more tears moistening my face, my narrow vision once wearing out, and once coming back.

I jerked my head attempting to center my view, my fingers feeling around the floor beneath me, searching for where the shotgun might have tumbled. The lights. I need to turn on the lights.

“What are you looking for?”

Sharp pain erupted across my diaphragm the moment my hand travelled too far, once again stealing the air out of my body. His foot continued to thrash against the upper side of my stomach, repeatedly kicking me from the dark corner of my room, kicking with a type of irresistible excitement only a child could mirror. If I made an effort to get on my feet, he’d knock me in a different spot; if I tried to drag myself a bit farther away, he’d kick me harsher, in the worst of unyielding and merciless ways. Lying on the side, shrunk into a fetal position, my lips parted to speak, to beg, to articulate anything at all. Nonetheless, each and every hit I received did nothing but drain my consciousness, gulp down my words, deplete me of breath.

He’s going to beat you to death.

I couldn’t follow where the blows were coming from anymore. I was hardly even there, caught in a hollow snare of agonizing pain.

He could pick up the gun and shoot a bullet right through your skull.

My sealed eyes prevented more tears from striving to escape.

But he’s going to make you suffer all the way to the end.

There was no glory in that kind of suffering. No one watches a stray cat perish in the middle of the road, run over by a car, except the driver himself and the starless night sky. When the sole witness of your demise is the one who digs your grave, you are truly the most forsaken you have ever been. I did not want to die like a stray animal bleeding out, howling alone for help that would never turn up.

It took me a while to realize that the unceasing attacks had come to a close. Still uncertain whether it had actually stopped or was just my imagination, I lingered in the same curled up position, covering my torso for more incoming strokes.

“You’re pathetic.”

My eyes slit open. As I trembled whole, lifting my head appeared way more torturous than anticipated. With great effort, I sought the source of the disembodied voice until I caught sight of his gloomy silhouette lurking over me. There was not much I could discern beyond a dreadful reminder of his immense height. Unlike animals, human eyes did not glisten in the dark, and neither did his own.

“Stand up. Fight for your life.”

I kept glaring at him, all I could focus on was my hollow breathing and a subtle metallic flavor on my tongue. Not quite dozing, not quite awake, his tremendous presence over me felt like a horrendous dream.

“You look awful.” He let out a rasping chuckle, “All right, I will grant you one more chance. Get up and fight like a man.”

A faint cry slipped through my lips as I fought to stand on all fours. The metallic taste in my mouth persisted, but the constant buzzing had miraculously subsided. My knees buckled as I tried to climb to my feet, impossible to make the simplest movement without a shot of stinging ache.

My nails scratched the floorboards as I grinded my teeth, “Fuck you.”

A firm grip locked against the back of my head, pulling me up by the hair. I choked out a wail as I went along with it, leaning towards his grasp to ease the pain.

“You might think cursing me makes you look fearless. But, I know.”

With his fingers locked through my hair, he hoisted me up, my back turned away. I couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face, though the grin across his lips while speaking was transparent. Gathering the strength I had left to free myself from his clasp, I yanked my body away, trying to land hits anywhere I could, mostly aiming for the arm that was holding me in place.

Adopting the same natural effortlessness, the man dragged me out of the bedroom only to hurl me onto the middle of the hallway. My mind had gone stale just as I crashed onto the floor, hitting the back of my head and collapsing onto my backbone. More grunting slipped through my teeth, each and every sensation smothered in agony.

The hallway seemed, to some extent, less dim. The moon glow appeared more than enough to navigate my gaze as soon as I opened my eyes. There was his gaping, reddish glare hovering over me, inspecting each and every aspect of my paralyzed frame. The pale canvas of his naked skin, along with the manner in which he so swiftly moved, matched that of a hazy ghost, haunting the vacant corridors I resided in, as if trapped around my own mere spirit; rather true, in a way.

“Why are you resisting?” His shoulders twitched as he offered a short giggle. “Running, always running from those like me, from the truth. Even we are a rare sight nowadays. Let alone your kind, locked in their walls.”

He caught me flinching the moment he kneeled over me, slightly raising my hand in front of my face. His touch didn’t reach for me this once, only sat as he was, viewing me blankly.

“Do it, already.” I hated the way my voice fluttered.

Little by little, his broad smile began fading, tilting his head to examine me still. “I don’t intend to rush.” His slender hand searched for my face, caressing the outline of my jaw as delicately as he was able to. I flinched, sealing my vision shut. “Too bad you ended up all alone. Then again, how long were you planning to hide away? One way or another, you’d die.”

The manner in which he uttered that last word had my body shiver.

“If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then one day. Sooner or later, you’d be gone.”

My voice came out low, coarse, “What do you care?” Hearing myself in such pitiful nature built a knot in the back of my throat.

“You'll get to know me.”

His fingers still on the side of my face, I twisted my head away from his touch. The second I pulled back, he seized hold of my neck once more, nails digging into my flesh, forcing me to look at his vast, frigid glare.

A tiny squeak of protest skipped me. The closer he brought himself towards me, the worse my chest tightened, and far above all else, the more I found myself fantasizing about what plan he’d devised to slaughter me.

If only I could carve my way out using no more than my own set of fangs, gut him from the inside, and break free right through the hole I’d dig in his stomach, just like the feral dogs wandering around the deserted streets.

I was engulfed in choking sniffles as he dragged me upwards by the throat, urging me to stand once again. Having lost most contact with my legs, I clung onto his arm to support myself, struggling to mumble any coherent words in the form of begging, a word or a phrase dipped in the simplest shriek or squeal. As soon as a second wave of tears burst out, his menacing grin took over anew.

“Don't be afraid to cry, you know,” his grasp tightened on my skin, “You cannot imagine how hard it makes me.”

My heart skipped a beat.

I refused to believe I’d heard that right; not until he’d brought my face closer to his and I could smell his rotten, suffocating breath.

“Don’t lie, you want it as much as I do.”

I tried shaking my head back and forth, my fingers digging into his stiff grasp.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

He relaxed his grip enough to let me suck in fresh air, while still restraining me in the same place. Confined to an endless chain of coughing and gasping, I had begun convulsing in a manic state. It’s not what you think, it’s not what you think, it’s not what you think.

“I have seen grown men scream like babies and beg for mercy. You are no different.” His mouth drew closer to my ear, “And yet, you make my heart flatter. Such a pretty, little thing.”

In one short, desperate attempt, my punch landed on his face.

For a minute, he wavered, his head turned with the blow, unblinking. When he ultimately swayed his attention back to me, his flaming glare penetrated my own at once. The style in which his lips parted, as if about to say something, vanished just as quickly. All he gave off was a muffled hum.

One hand on the nape of my neck and one clamped around my arm hauled me along towards a new room. We’d stepped out of the hallway and crossed into the kitchen; before I was even aware of it, I found myself lying face-down on the kitchen table. I felt his crotch brushing against my pants, consciously pushing himself against me and pinning me down.

Past my racing heartbeat, the sweat dripping down my back and soaking my clothes, the world all over me had gone numb. I was trying to boost myself up, kicking in all directions to slip away, yelling for anyone to hear.

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”

One kick must have landed somewhere; I thought he’d lose his balance, even for a split second of the time in order to jolt away and make a run for it, yet hitting him was like banging a brick wall.

“God, my friends would absolutely love you.”

“GET OFF ME!”

All of my attempts to attack him came to an end when he seized hold of my hair, and smashed my head against the wooden surface. He proceeded to pull me back and do it again, my nose being the first part to get whacked over and over, eyes darting between the wall and the hard surface. That cycle of repeated thumbs appeared to never wrap up - till it did, till he just let my head drop on the table like it weighed nothing at all.

At that stage, there was no type of physical resistance from my side. I was merely lying there, him bracing me so as not to fall onto the floor, vision flickering in and out of focus. The metallic taste previously flooding my mouth was now starting to fill up my nostrils, that same foul smell swarming its way through me. He wasn’t late to lift my head up again.

I whimpered, “No-no, please.”

This once, however, his touch proved to be gentle. Solely, he angled my gaze to meet his own, drooping over my limp figure. Even his mostly empty stare appeared a bit softer at the time, though it only had me shudder.

Pouting, I stuffed down more tears welling up in my eyes. “D-Don’t. Please.”

“Oh, you’re just adorable when you’re struggling.”

He pulled me into a kiss. I pressed my lips together, releasing muffled moans of revolt, incapable of wincing away.

He wasn’t pleased by that.

Immediately after pursing my lips, he drew back and struck me harder than I could ever brace myself for. His palm crashed against my cheek, my face slammed into the table, and the space surrounding me was absorbed in deafness. My skin blazed, and my own moans were suppressed into a soundless abyss. During the time I’d temporarily lost contact, he had quickly undone my pants, my underwear as well. The air grazing my exposed parts was enough to halfway perk me up, my chest thundering in a delirious state. Nevertheless, as soon as his touch embraced me, I froze. My flesh burned as he’d grabbed my cheeks to make me look at him.

“You either let me do this or I slit your fucking throat.”

He didn’t linger much for a response before pulling me into another kiss. This once, I let it happen. Making great effort to relax the muscles in my face, his lips brushed against mine, as well as his erection through his own filthy pair of trousers over my naked butt. He found me unprepared when he slipped me the tongue; I was fighting the urge to pull away.

There was no end to my trembling.

Once our mouths separated, he was back with that affectionate, innocent expression sculpted across his features. He went on to play with my hair, while his other hand, skinny as it was, ran over my cock. I flinched at the touch, sobbing.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, “I'll make you feel good.”

I swagged my head frantically. My penis was now enclosed inside his fist; lightly massaging it spurred a twist in my stomach, my bones crawling at the tingling stroke. Panting heavily, I summoned what little strength I had left to push myself away, change position at the slightest degree. The petting hand soon turned into a fistful of my hair in it, and I freed a painful grunt.

“Budge again and I’m breaking both of your legs.” He grabbed the tip of my chin, peering into my eyes. “Am I clear?”

All I was able to do was lie there, still as a corpse, my hammering chest flat against the tabletop, arms bent in an uncomfortable way and legs quivering each second his own skin grazed on top of mine. His overwhelming presence lurked over me, violating each and every piece of my being, each and every aspect of myself as an individual, streaming my mind into an infinite ocean of absolute oblivion.

You think he’s not going to kill you after he rapes you? Idiot.

The sight of his pale visage hanging over me evoked images of the isolation I had chosen for myself prior to this new-born, cosmic calamity crawling its way into everybody’s lives. Solitude had been my only consolation, and even though it granted me the serenity I yearned for, it did not make any exceptions for the dying and helpless.

His nails were stabbing my face. “Am I clear?”

The first couple of tears dipped in raw, unfiltered horror rolled down my bleeding nose, stuffing it even more than it already was. Not drops yielded by broken bones or bruised spots, but simply made by the staggering realization of what was about to happen. Diving deep into his gaze, I was silently begging for the tiniest scrap of benevolence to root out.

I swallowed, suffocating the weeping, and merely offered a soft nod.

Taking pleasure in my answer, he asserted himself behind me. The man snatched both of my arms, holding them in place behind my back while undoing the belt of his own soiled jeans. Immobile and restrained in the dimness of my own kitchen, I closed my eyes and concentrated on my shallow breathing. Don’t cry, don’t do him the favor. The corners of my mouth wouldn’t stop twitching. You’re a grown man. Don’t cry.

A wet, throaty spit disturbed the hush. Although there was not much I could catch a glimpse of from the angle I was prone, the edge of something moist and rigid pressed against my hole. I wiggled, burying my senses to the greatest depth of my brain. As his clasp around my hands tightened, he surged forward, thrusting into me without the slightest warning.

A raspy scream tore from me, more strident than anything I’ve ever unleashed; an extended shriek cut off by muffled whimpers and sharp inhales, striving to endure the overpowering ache from being stretched out. I could come up with a thousand scenarios of what that kind of contact compared with, and I’d be wrong a thousand times more. On certain occasions, there is no easy way to describe something that doesn’t feel like anything else.

Don’t cry, I thought, and more tears filled my already swirling vision.

“You’re literally perfect,” he mumbled, his one voice dampened through hollow moans. “So beautiful, squirming like that.”

I wailed, “It.. hurts.”

“If it hurts, it’s because you’re struggling.”

He thrusted in, the slow-moving pounds developing into mindless tugs and lunges, pulling me back and forth, fiddling with me like his personal plaything. Ramming into my rear blindly, releasing animalistic groans and parting my legs beyond their limit, there were scarcely any words I could press out within the tears.

Entwined into a ring of boundless sobs and persistent tremors, the distorted image of the room in front of me danced and twirled in a misty dream. Without pausing for a break or slowing down to catch his breath, he was slamming into me and using my arms as a handle. I could feel him delving into every aching, sniveling noise that escaped my mouth, and I despised myself for enabling that. As blood rushed through my face, the temperature of the kitchen seemed to have increased; the more he shoved himself inside of me, the hotter everything felt and the more I was losing sense from my lower body.

Penetration was a metaphor for stabbing.

It was that particular moment when I came to fathom the essence of it.

The next thing he’d told me failed to reach my ears. Eyes half-opened without really seeing anything at all, the echo of my own mewling was the only fragment that barely peeled my hearing.

The Visitor repeated himself in a louder tone, “You love this, don’t you?”

“No, no…”

The pain was growing excruciating with each second his hips fused with mine. He wasn’t quite eager to continue moving in the same steady rhythm, and he wouldn’t give me the chance to get used to one pace before switching to another, far more aggressive tempo. He was now shoving his cock inside of me in a hastened flow, stimulating his throbbing boner by hitting the far end of my hole and - almost - pulling out before shooting himself back in.

My throat was gradually getting tender from the excessive hollers and cries; along with the rest of my senses, it all began fading into a lower, desperate clamor. The spasms tingling the muscles across my body were a parallel to stomping on top of somebody’s open wound - as long as the blood doesn’t dry and the wound remains uncovered, the weight of the boot only doubles.

In the most miserable attempt, I ventured to yank my hands away from his grasp. Fool. The minute he noticed what I tried to do, the thrusting halted, his dick still inside.

An erupting pain in my abdomen had me shudder with half a gasp. No sooner had I managed to process what had just taken place, until it happened again: once, twice, three times. A blistering number of punches to the side of my stomach drained the air out of me; I was bluntly consumed by a cloud of paralysis.

“Didn't I tell you not to fucking move?”

I was stuck in an endless whirl of crying and fluttered sniffles. My lungs felt as if they had shrunk and I couldn't get them to expand for another inhale.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked it back. “You’re pushing your luck. What is it that you want, huh? Want me to break all of your bones, tear you in half? I can do that, if you so wish. I will gladly be your monster, if that's what you're after.”

Clenching my fingers behind my back, my knuckles had turned white.

“Well, tell me. What's it going to be?”

I kept whining as a combination of blood and saliva leaked from the corner of my mouth onto the table. Defiled, revolting - two meanings that sailed through the deepest layer of my mind, and they undisputedly portrayed what I was. Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty.

“I’m sorry.”

Apologizing for quailing at the hand that beats you was like uprooting your own teeth so that you wouldn’t bite back.

His tone had grown exasperated. “Are you gonna challenge me again?”

“N-No, I’m sorry.”

Suck it up.

I heard him sigh as he positioned himself once more. My lips quivered as he now began building up a steady pace, trailing his previous movements to advance even faster. My cries were now scarce, barely audible. I was praying that if I were patient enough, the pain would sooner or later become dull, and if I were to close my eyes, time would tick past. God, how I hungered for death to spring in.

He was slamming ruthlessly into me, moving as quickly as he was able. The Visitor’s free hand seemed to worship each sore spot of my half-naked body, caressing my back, fondling my thighs, and writhing with excitement while doing so. I would bitterly verge along his mellow strokes, lean against his touch and plummet headfirst into the feeblest dose of sentiment I could steal.

“You’re mine and mine alone.”

My consciousness wasn’t nearly as present as his thrashing skyrocketed and poked the zenith of his orgasm. A dissonant, electrifying growl reverberated throughout all lengths of my distant background; even behind the fog, my senses were still partly grounded, and thus I found myself succumbed to a lingering thrill of a few last throbbing hits, until the first bits of warm sperm flooded my insides. Sitting through the feeling of being loaded with cum was something I wished to be knocked out for; at least then my gaze would finally clear out from tears, and only then would I exist in the absence of agony.

His weight crushed me as he let himself rest on top, his member still pulsing while lying down over my limp body. Squeezed between his chest and the tabletop, my arms trapped and his hot breath over my ear, my thoughts floated in blissful ignorance about what was to occur next. The future bore no significance as my tunnel vision narrowed and my hearing slipped into the bleak, impending void I so terribly longed for.

What happened to me didn’t seem to matter. Sometimes I felt angry or disgusted, but most of the time I felt nothing; I’d never felt so much nothing before.

He never left my house after that night - and neither did I. No other human being stepped foot through my door ever again. That Visitor slept in my bed, wandered around the halls I lived in, and kept me by his side from the hour I woke up to the moment I dozed off. He’d taken my gun away, probably buried it out in the field somewhere. He decided when I could eat or use the bathroom, he’d barricaded the windows and broken the lock of my bedroom door. I was more like a leashed pet rather than a prisoner, not speaking unless spoken to, not asking for more water than what I was already given. He kept me away from all sharp objects - really any objects at all - to prevent me from killing myself, smashed the TV, stripped me of most of my clothes.

"Don't look so scared when I'm around."

I existed as no more than a dog, a slave, a fuck-toy. My days blurred together, either drifting aimlessly in the living room or curled up in my bed, and whenever he took a break from watching my every move, I would tuck my knees to my chin and let silent tears stream down my face.

There was nothing poetic or complex to tell of this sort of humiliation. If he told me to kneel, I would kneel. If he wished to strike me a hundred times before using me as he pleased, I would sit through it all and thank him afterwards; because that was how he liked it.

After all was said and done, I was alone. And what happened to me didn’t seem to matter.