Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ In The Abandoned City ❯ In The Abandoned City ( One-Shot )

 

In The Abandoned City

 

Concrete walls and run-down buildings caged Atrius as he slunk down the deserted parts of town in the shrouding cover of midnight. He glanced the usual rubbish: a crumpled pop can in the gutter, a soggy yellowed newspaper dated September 22, 2017 rotting on the cracked asphalt, broken bottles and candy wrappers. The polluted American sky was brown and devoid of stars; the choking air chill.

It was late autumn, and he wore a light grey jacket. The streets were barren except for the trash and darkening shadows, but the youth kept his eyes downcast, as though he feared the devil lurked in the deep black shadows, waiting for him to glance up to meet demon eyes that would steal his soul. His lips trembled from the frigid air and he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. Compared to the muffled chatter of a thousand people talking in the still-inhabited parts of town, the eerie silence pierced his ears like ice water on an empty stomach and kept him alert. His hazel eyes, still downcast, swept around, trying to find anything out of place other than the silence.

Suddenly, he caught a whimper emitted from the direction of an old crafts store. Drawing a switchblade from his jacket's pocket, Atrius crept silently toward the sound. A clatter of metal implements inside the shop made the youth jump, but he bit his lip to keep from making a noise. The main window of the shop, like many other abandoned structures, was shattered. The remaining glass jutted from the window pane like sharp, icy mountains. It was while he was looking at the glass that he noticed the orange tint along the edges of it, and he cautiously looked up.

A dazzling flame flickered inside the store, somewhere in the middle of the floor. Intrigued, Atrius gently carried himself over the jagged edges of glass and approached. The shop itself was small and basic, and although it had not been used in quite some time, boxes still lined the walls, top to bottom. There was a small desk, coated with an inch of dust. Atrius noted something had been knocked off the desk, because a circular shape remained in the dust. Not far from the desk, a broken coffee mug and several pairs of scissors lay strewn across the floor.

`Is that what caused that ruckus earlier?' the teen thought, before he heard another whimper.

Careful steps brought Atrius into a circle of firelight, coming from a small depression in the concrete floor of the store. A few feet from the fire, shadows swallowed the rest of the shop. The teen began walking closer to the fire, but caught another faint whimper. He turned, searching the black shadows for a trace of the sound's provider. He didn't find anything.

The wafting heat of the fire coaxed Atrius to locate an abandoned crate and sit before the flickering flames. He eventually fell into a stupor, staring into the mesmerizing abyss and looking back into old memories of warm sunshine and open fields. How different from his current tomb. He missed those younger days; carefree frolicking in a grassy meadow, pulling bright yellow plants and tossing them into the air as sunlight danced across his skin. He couldn't stop a rusty smirk from gracing his lips.

He was brought back to reality as another whimper caught his attention. Where was it coming from?

“Atrius?” a small voice inquired from somewhere in the deep darkness. The boy glanced around.

“Who wants to know?” he asked. He knew the voice, but whose was it again? A shadow moved next to him, and he couldn't help but flinch and point his knife at the person. He instantly pocketed the switchblade.

“Dawn.” he stated, looking at his old childhood playmate. She was slim, with black hair streaked purple and eyes like shiny coal, dressed in a grey sweatshirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans that had seen far better days.

“What are you doing here?” Atrius asked finally, and the girl flashed him a quick smirk.

“Remember Ruffles?” she asked. The boy thought a moment. At the name, a flash of scenery bounced into his head; a sunny day, a mass of red curly fur bounding his way and a wet pink tongue sliding up his tear-stained cheek.

“Ruffles…Oh, Ruffles!” he finally blurted, letting out a hoarse chuckle. In reply, a soft bark alerted him that the old dog might still be alive. Dawn smirked back, and then patted her leg. The sound of nails scrambling against the concrete filled the store, and a red fur-ball dashed into the girl.

The old dog was missing a foreleg and several large patches of fur, covered in fleas and stank of old garbage; Atrius embraced him. A wet, pink tongue lapped tears from the boy's face as the sun finally peeked through the bleak sky.