The world didn't go dark immediately.
It faded.
Slowly… painfully… like a dim light being turned off one second at a time.
Mike lay on the ground, his cheek pressed against the rough, dusty floor of the compound. The earth was warm from the heat of the day, but his body felt cold—too cold for someone who had just been beaten under the evening sky.
He could hear them.
Not clearly.
Just fragments.
Voices.
Laughter.
Footsteps.
"…serve am right…"
"…nonsense boy…"
Each word floated in and out of his consciousness like echoes inside a tunnel.
He tried to move his fingers.
Nothing.
He tried to lift his head.
Pain exploded through his skull, forcing him back down instantly.
A weak groan escaped his lips.
So this is how it ends?
The thought came quietly.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just… there.
His chest rose slowly, painfully, each breath dragging through his ribs like broken glass. He could feel the damage. Even without looking, he knew his body wasn't okay.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He swallowed.
It hurt.
Even that simple action hurt.
A shadow moved across his blurred vision. Someone stepped closer. He could hear the crunch of gravel under their feet.
"Guy, he never die?" a voice asked casually.
Mike wanted to respond.
He wanted to shout.
To say, I'm here. I'm alive. I didn't do anything.
But his mouth wouldn't cooperate.
His lips barely moved.
No sound came out.
"Leave am," another voice replied. "Make he learn lesson."
Lesson.
Mike almost laughed.
But the sound died in his throat before it could form.
A lesson… for what?
For calling someone he knew?
For trying to reconnect?
Or for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time?
The footsteps faded.
One by one.
The voices disappeared.
The compound slowly returned to its normal rhythm.
People went back to their lives.
And Mike… was left behind.
Alone.
He didn't know how long he stayed there.
Minutes?
Hours?
Time had lost meaning.
At some point, he became aware of something else.
Eyes.
People were still watching.
Not close.
Not involved.
Just… observing.
A woman passed by, carrying a bucket. She glanced at him briefly, then looked away and kept walking.
Two young boys stood at a distance, whispering.
A man leaned against a wall, arms folded, expression blank.
No one came closer.
No one asked questions.
No one helped.
A tear slid from the corner of Mike's eye, cutting a clean line through the dust on his face.
Then another.
And another.
He wasn't crying loudly.
There were no sobs.
No shaking.
Just silent tears.
Heavy ones.
The kind that come from somewhere deep.
From a place where pain and shame mix together.
He had never felt this helpless before.
Not even when his father died.
Not even during the hardest days growing up.
This was different.
This was… humiliation.
He tried to move again.
This time, his fingers twitched slightly.
A small victory.
Painful.
But real.
He held onto it.
Slowly, painfully, he dragged his hand across the ground.
His body followed weakly.
Inches.
Just inches.
But it felt like kilometers.
His breathing became uneven.
His vision blurred again.
"Don't pass out…" he whispered to himself internally.
"Not here…"
But his body had its limits.
The strength he was forcing out of himself was running out.
Fast.
His head dropped back to the ground.
His eyelids grew heavy.
And just before darkness fully claimed him…
A single thought formed clearly in his mind.
This will not be the end.