Down the trench, past the dying and the dead, until there was nowhere left to run. With enemy troops surging ahead, he clawed his way up and over the wall...

His face was smeared with blood, matted in his beard and hair, running from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His skin was pale and clammy. His pupils were blown wide, rimmed in a raw, wet red. His jaw clenched and unhinged like something trying to remember how to be human.

It was a daily cycle of quiet humiliation: misread social cues, forced laughter in group settings, awkward silences when she walked up to a table in the cafeteria and no one made room. She tried, God, she tried. New outfits. Makeup tutorials. Joining clubs. But nothing stuck.

When Jeff opened his eyes, he wasn't in his car anymore. He wasn't anywhere he recognized. He stood barefoot in a wide, endless field under a sky painted in colors he couldn't name, colors that felt like a half-remembered song at the edge of his mind. The air was thick with a scent like fresh rain and something sweeter, familiar; though he couldn't place it.

“Why did I do this?” he wondered, a pang of bitter clarity washing over him. “What was the point?” The question echoed, empty and unanswered, as the explosive detonated, his final thoughts vaporized in a flash of crimson fire; a purpose never realized.