Enter The Soulless (Open)

That morning, I felt sick. It was a dreary morning, even though it was only 5'am I could feel it in the air. It was a day much like the one the sixth one died on. Everything felt heavier, as though an invisible hand were pressing down on the earth. I looked out at the street below, it was filled to the brim with activity and yet everyone seemed lost. Like they were all blind mice scurrying around trying to find the end of the maze solely by touch. Maybe that's what people really were, blind mice. The analogy makes sense to me, even if it doesn't to anyone else... or does it. Somehow the comparison of man to mouse didn't seem to fit, as if I was missing some slight detail about my own observation. Something obvious. Then I heard it, a shout that echoed above the others. It was a man yelling at another about some pointless and relatively minor indignation. His anger was obviously disproportionate to whatever the act was, especially given how much he was screaming. If you were to observe and judge based solely on the man's hyperbolic remarks, you might think the target of his rants had murdered everyone the man knew and then slept with their corpses.
I shook my head and realized what I had gotten wrong in my observation. Men weren't mice, they were rats. Seething vicious little monsters that appeared timid until you gave them the slightest reason to bare their fangs. Then they became horrid little beasts ready to tear the flesh from one another. I sighed and fell back into my bed. It was a soft thing, though it only had enough room for one. I don't mind that, the third one's memories have turned me off of most relationships, and the fourth one's thorough... investigations of both the male and female forms with a knife have left me rather unwilling to see the naked flesh of another human being for more than a few moments. It's why I avoid pools and other areas where people like to parade about showing off their skin. In some ways, I suppose I should be sad about that. Never desiring to know the touch of another human being, not wanting the warmth that comes with such physical interactions. I should feel sad, but I don't. In some ways, it's freeing. I don't seek companionship so I can simply be myself, so long as that lasts. Should I die, maybe the eighteenth one will desire companionship. If he does, I wish him luck, for I have no such aspirations. At any rate, it's too early for such thoughts.

I awoke several hours later. It was still cloudy out, though far less so than the morning had been. Great spears of sunlight poked through the cloud layer, as though some child was skipping stones along the surface of the water, interrupting the serene gray with ripples of blue. I looked at the time. My clock -an analogue piece that I recovered from the ruins of the fourteenth one's home- it read 11 and some minutes. I had slept a good six hours. That was enough. I needed to get up and stop moping about. I rose from my bed and dawned an attire that was neither bold nor anonymous. It was a simple T-shirt stamped with a brand I didn't care about covered by a leather jacket. My pants weren't quite jeans but they were close enough. As I moved through the kitchen I grabbed a doughnut -a food I have a strange an unnatural affinity for- and walked out the door.
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The subway was dark and unpleasant as I was squished into the mass of bodies, each carrying their own disgusting scent and particular quirks that I found unpleasant. For example, the man next to me felt the ungodly need to breathe heavily through his mouth when his nostrils appeared to be working perfectly fine. I sighed and made sure keep my face as far away from any other human being as I possibly could. I heard a radio come on, one of those wilderness ones that you crank with your hand. It began blurting out news about how New York was in recovery and other obvious minutia. I wasn't much interested. This city would always have jobs for those who needed them, the recent tragedy had just created more of them in the construction field. The subway slowly skidded to a halt, the whine of the metal and rubber nearly burst my eardrums. I would never get used to that.
Nor would I get used to the mass of bodies all moving at once, as though one mind suddenly consumed all those in the area and replaced them with its own overpowering will. All the people around me suddenly burst forth, each pushing their way off the tram car and into the equally crowded station. I didn't know if this was my stop or not, but I could stomach this press no longer and so burst out in a dead run, intent to escape the oppressive confines of the station. As artificial light gave way to the natural, I smiled. The sun was peeking through more than ever. Maybe this cloudy day wouldn't remain so dreary after all. I was so absorbed for those few moments that I didn't notice where I was. I had escaped into a residential district, rows of houses stretching as far as the eye could see, the monotonous landscape only broken up by the spurts of ruins.
The ruins had probably been created during the disaster that befell the city not long ago. I walked down the sidewalk, as if in a trance. My reverence for the silent neighborhood ended when I heard a sharp scream punctuated by the sound of something soft piercing skin. I looked down and saw him. A boy barely out of his teens was sitting on a set of steps leading to one of the ruins. Maybe it was his old home. I glanced down and saw his hand was bleeding, glass shards flecked with blood covered a small area around his hand. I stared, and that's where I am now. I stare at the boy with focused eyes. He's crying, softly, but he's definitely crying. Something wells up inside me, this boy makes me think of the first one, experiencing intense pain and yet unable to properly voice it. I feel sorrow born of memories that aren't my own, a sharp sense of loss from the third that I wish I could rid myself of. Perhaps I should console him.


"Hello there young man, are you all right?" The words escape my lips sounding forced and unnatural, perhaps that's because I'm not sure if I truly want to help the young man. The things compelling me to ask him are not from myself, but of other lives that I can see in myself. I stare at the young man, almost hoping he won't answer and yet... some part of me does want to see if I can help him.

I didn't see him coming, I honestly didn't expect anyone to be around here, and I thought this place was supposed to be a ruin. Regardless, the man was standing there a small distance away from me, staring at me. It was almost as if he was analyzing me, to try to understand my pain. He asked if I was okay, but it didn't come out right. It almost confused me as much as it confused him. I immediately realized that I was still crying. He was staring at me this whole time! My heart stopped and I could feel my face become hot, I knew it was probably a nice bright red at this point. I quickly stood up and wiped the remaining tears from my eyes. Dammit, I was attempting to start my life as a super on a good note, but that's probably all out of the window now. I moved a little closer towards him, to try to get into a decent talking distance, so we don't have to shout at each other. He was dressed pretty normally, but the leather jacket definitely made him look tough. Nice sharp contrast to me, I probably look like a freak, I mean, come on, if my blood red eyes don't give it away, it's my pointy ears. He's eventually going to notice that I'm different than normal humans, so I can at least try not to piss him off, just in case he’s a super.

I felt another flashback coming along, but I instantly pushed it away, I can't deal with this right now, I have to deal with this possible super seeing me cry my eyes out. I truly did not want to tell him everything, so I told him all that I could manage without bursting into tears again. It wasn't much, but at least he can feel as if I noticed him and actually appreciate his help. "I had better days," I said, then sighed. "This was my old house before New York went to shit. In a nutshell, my family died, and this was my first chance to actually see my old house. It's nothing now, but I just felt that I had to come back, to try and find some closure. Obviously I'm having some trouble with that, I mean, you just saw me cry my eyes out a little while ago." I sighed again, it really hurt saying all of that, but I feel as if that was just a part of the grieving process, it's pretty much going to suck, anyway. I can't even imagine what he's thinking, hopefully this guy isn't just sitting there and judging, that would take my horrible day and make it that much worse.

Rather to my own distaste, I found myself shifting as the boy explained why he was there and why he was crying. However my more immediate concern was with his hand, the blood still dripping from it was not a comforting sight. Most people can't produce new limbs and I certainly couldn't donate mine. What was most disturbing was how the young man seemed to be oblivious to it. Hmmm. I do recall reading about a neurological disorder where one doesn't feel pain. Perhaps he was afflicted by that. I briefly glanced at the young man's eyes, previously hidden to me by his hair. They were a blood red that seemed to hold an unconscious hunger to them.
A hunger for what I couldn't tell though they reminded me disturbingly of the fifth one's eyes. His had been hungry for death's like the fourth, but he was much more intelligent, and that was what made him dangerous. The same look permeated the young man's eyes, though -as I said- on an unconscious level. Was this boy standing on the precipice of madness, held back only by an unseen force? Perhaps that was why I got off the subway here. Maybe I was meant to bring him back from the edge. The very notion itself was ridiculous. I don't believe in any god nor any other force that would proclaim itself such. If one existed then this world might be the better for the presence of two children. One slain by the second, the other by its own mother. No, no god could exist in such a world. It was pure chance that I stumbled upon this boy.

As I listened to the young man explain, he seemed nervous, as if his explanation was not enough. His cheeks were still red and glistened in the pale light of the cloudy day, the marks of the tears that had coated them were still present and fresh. I couldn't help but wonder why he would subject himself to such torment. He was obviously of legal age. Was he running away from something? I put my hand up to my chin and examined the boy, unaware -at the time- that my gaze had become a solid stare. Though I wouldn't realize it until later, a look of deep thought had planted itself firmly on my face.

"You are aware your hand is bleeding, correct?" was the first thing I asked. His emotional health could wait for the few seconds it might take to point out a far more pressing injury. However, before he could answer I found myself inquiring once more.

"Why would you come to such a painful place? It can't be good for you to see this. Why not stay as far away as possible" I said, unaware of the unconscious parallel I was drawing between the boy and the second. The second's home had been burned down, though it was by extremists rather than metahumans. He had left his home to go fight those same extremists. He never returned, though the eleventh one did come near it once.
I myself have no desire to see that place. The first's home is long gone as well, now that, that I would see if only to sleep near where he did. Maybe I could grasp some of the serenity that he had. Perhaps I could come closer to knowing him through more than these still images and short snippets of times that comprise his memories.

I watched calmly as he healed his hand, the wound slowly sealing itself up as he spoke. There appeared to be a look of pain on his face as he told me of why he was here, though the pain was not born of his bleeding hand, rather, it seemed to come from a heart that had stopped working long ago and was now being forced to operate once again. The young man spoke of how his family died and how he didn't want this to happen to anyone else. Then he started in on something about spells. He was magical? He could heal. Perhaps he is like the first, no longer a single existence, but one to be passed down when one dies. It's a heavy burden to bear. Maybe he's the first of his life, or possibly the second. He couldn't be any higher than that, he didn't have the robust confidence of one who has been born of many lives prior to his own, the wealth of experience gained through seeing the black abyss and passing on your knowledge to the next one in line.
I found myself experiencing a certain unspoken kinship with this boy, as though I might be able to mentor him. I was lucky. Despite being alone I had the sixth's meditations to aid me, but from the way he stands, this boy lacks such a thing. His red eyes are looking at me. I've been caught staring again, once more unaware of my own actions as I allowed myself to fall deep into thought. I mentally shook my head and allowed a soft smile to appear on my face. It was a calculated gesture that conveyed only a little of the joy I felt to meet someone similar to the first -to myself- tempered with the obvious sorrow he was experiencing. Experiences in the first and second one's lives could be the most important, they set the example for the rest to live by. Had the fourth and fifth been the guides for all that came after, I shudder to think on what sort of monster I would have turned out as. I moved forward and sat down on the steps the boy had occupied only moments earlier.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit down. I get the feeling that we've got a lot to talk about my young friend. You see, you are like me in a way, though you are far higher in line than I" I said, being somewhat vague.

I wanted to reveal everything to him, to give him the full benefit of all my knowledge, if only to let him know he wasn't alone. However, what I wanted was not what was required here. I needed to grip his attention. If he was interested, I would attempt to help. To try and teach an unwilling mind was a futile endeavor for both parties involved and tended to cause a rather unpleasant backlash towards the teacher. It reminded me of the sixth one, when he visited the monastery seeking inner peace. Much like those people petitioning for a free Tibet, he wanted a quick fix, not understanding exactly how impossible that was. The monk who tried to teach him just kept spouting flowery statement about life and nirvana, giving the sixth nothing tangible to aid him. Finally, the monk directed him to speak to another pilgrim. The man was large and pale and smelled of lavender. He looked like the type to crush you underfoot if you so much as looked to him, and yet when the sixth spoke to him as instructed, the pair easily fell into conversation. The behemoth had done with a simple conversation what a thousand wise sayings could not: He had opened the sixth one's mind. The sixth one returned to the monk, now eager to learn in earnest. I did not know if this young man required the same thing or not, but it was an approach through which I could gauge the necessary method.

Then I realized my faux pas. A grand mistake that might stunt any further development if I did not correct it immediately.

"I'm sorry, I never introduced myself. I am the seventeenth of Abel. What's your name?" I said. I had struggled with the phrasing initially. I knew who I was. I was the seventeenth one to take the name Abel, just as my predecessor had been the sixteenth. It was not my name, but I do not believe the first would mind me using it.

The smile remained on my face, though it grew imperceptibly wider. I had baited the hook correctly, at least well enough that he wanted to know more. That showed a desire for knowledge. I liked that. Then he asked me a question of his own. Do I have magic? Not as far as I know. I suppose there was more to him than I had originally assumed. I guess it's my own fault for not even considering such a possibility. As I started to answer his question, I realized it might not be so clear cut. The first was only the first because of magic, as was the second and the third and all of us that came after. So did that mean it was my magic as well? Or was it still his and I was just being allowed to use it in the same way I used his name. I pondered this for a moment. My answer would undoubtedly affect the young man, Max's opinion of me. I decided it might be best to tell the truth.

"I do have magic, of a sort. Nothing glamorous, but it has served my predecessors well. It's also the only reason why I'm here, truth be told" I said, careful not to explain too much at once. This was a delicate time, made all the more so by the location and the emotional state it brought out in the young man. I would ease him into it. I would start by elaborating on my earlier statement.

"I suppose if you don't know about the line then you must be one of the early ones. Let me try to make this simple" I said, pointing to my forehead. More specifically I was pointing to the spot where the bullet that caused my birth was dislodged. Though that place held a special significance to me, the general region had significance as well.

"This, is you" I said, tapping my head."This contains all that you are and ever have been. It always will, even when the next one in line takes your place. Now, you may have heard of something called regeneration" I quipped, my gaze shifting to his hand briefly before returning to his face.

"When you lose this, you die" I continued, once more indicating my head. "I've heard of some fairly famous people with powers like ours coming back after being decapitated, shot in the head, or simply mutilated beyond repair, but they're living in denial of the truth. They believe they're immortal. They're wrong" I added, shaking my head slowly. I really did feel sorry for those people. Each and every one of them was living a lie and they didn't even know it. Perhaps some did and simply didn't care. "Especially the ones who run into battles with no regard for their safety. They're constantly dying, over and over, unaware of the truth. When the human brain ceases to function, the body dies. The person dies. That is an undeniable and unalterable fact of the universe that people with powers like ours are so keen to forget" I finished, sighing and looking up at the sky. The cloud covered had partially returned, though the sun was still fighting to get through. The day seemed to reflect my mood. Optimism restrained by a blanket of logic, yet refusing to give up. I'm sure there's a lesson in that somewhere, but for now I was playing the part of a teacher and would save such life lessons for another time.

I slumped and adjusted my head. My gaze once more fell upon Max. The young man had stood there patiently despite my ramblings. In retrospect, what I was saying was incredibly depressing. Perhaps the young man, whose family had been taken from him so recently, didn't truly need to know the truth. Maybe he was better off living in a hopeful lie rather than a brutal truth. Maybe, or maybe the tragedy had extinguished the boy's desire for any more lies. I couldn't be sure, so I would tell the story of the first. I would observe his reactions, I would decide whether he should know the truth or not. His eyes still held that look that belonged more at home in the fourth's eyes than an innocent, but I would ignore that. Those eyes weren't his fault. That much I knew.

"A nice exchange indeed. Understanding is what separates the rats from the mice" I said, recalling my earlier observation about humanity. A little joke to myself that I didn't feel the need to explain. It was time to change the subject, if only slightly.

"Though I suppose what you're asking for is not my story. Mine is short and unpleasant. I was born nearly two years ago in a puddle of the sixteenth's blood. I killed the man who had done it and I've lived my life as normally as a man can in this crazy world. No, what you want is the first's story. His is far more interesting" I said, half jokingly. I would tell him the first's story as much for myself as for him. I needed to hear it again, lest what little I have of him disappear beneath the waves of time.

"The first was born somewhere in Europe, though the exact country escapes me. He was a kind man, always had been. He would never hurt a fly and abhorred the thought of hurting another human being. I believe him to be the closest thing to godhood humans will ever achieve. There was a group so unlike him, violent, cruel. They terrorized the town for reasons that I never knew and I don't think I ever will. Perhaps they got some sick thrill out of it. One day, the first stood up to them, asking them to leave and never return. So they dragged him to a cave and proceeded to viciously pummel him. Looking back on it, I wish I could have been there." I growled, feeling the anger of man forced to watch an injustice, yet incapable of stopping it.

"I'm far less saintly than he and would have killed them for their transgressions. At any rate, they left him in that cave on the verge of death. He crawled as far as he good, chasing an imaginary light that not even I can see. He struggled long and hard, collapsing in near absolute darkness. I don't remember how, but he fell. He fell into some deep, dark pit which only existed as a place for those unfortunates who lost their way to fall in and die. Next I can see nothing, just vague remembrances of touch, a strangely smooth object, not unlike a marble, a flash of light. Then the first was truly born. Up until then he had been an only. Now he was the first. There are many more after the first that I could tell you, but they are not to be discussed now. Suffice it to say, I am the seventeenth. The name I gave you is the first's, I'm simply borrowing it. So Max. Tell me your story" I finished, letting out a contented sigh before closing my eyes and leaning back against the steps. It was good to tell the first's story.

I kept my eyes closed as the young man regaled me with his tragic story.
To have your whole life -and a good one at that- destroyed in a single instant, and to not even be aware of the blow that caused it. That was one of the most tragic things I could think of. The poor boy had died and he could only guess at how. In many ways, this reminded me of the third, how he had come back one day and found his hard built life in shambles. Then again, he'd ended his own life, he went out on his terms, even if they were extremely unpleasant ones. Though I don't think my face showed it, I was honestly shocked when he told me of how a red man who -when I pieced the descriptions together with the rest of his statement- was obviously some creature pretending to be Satan... Pretending? How could I say whether or not it was real.
My lack of belief in a god is not something shared by all, even the eighth one briefly considered that a god might exist. Then again, the eighth's existence was less than twenty minutes long. Mortar fire kills fairly quickly after all, especially when the projectile itself strikes you. Even after listening to Max finish speaking, telling me of how the would-be Satan promised him his soul back when he died again, I couldn't quite believe it. Perhaps it was some other being playing a cruel joke on the boy. Perhaps it had whisked him away an instant before death and just put on a grand show, or maybe it was all a thing of illusion, some sort of dream the boy suffered while his healing powers awakened that had turned into a full blown hallucination once he awoke. Though that didn't explain the red eyes or pointy ears... Oh well, there's nothing for it. I won't try and explain away something until I have witnessed it with my own eyes. Every time one of my predecessors died, I heard nothing about the stereotypical 'light at the end of the tunnel' or 'hellfire'. I recall thinking about heaven as a pocket of psychic energy belonging to those who believe in its existence. Perhaps hell was the same way.

Maybe those who believed deep down that they deserved punishment naturally drifted towards the pocket most likely to deliver it. I sighed, this was quite a bit. Either way, the young man had powers, -healing being one of them- and he was here, on the destroyed ruins of what had once been his beloved home. I opened my eyes and looked up at the wreckage behind me.

"Did you hope to find something here? Something you lost on that day? If you did, I could help you search for it" I said nonchalantly. I got the feeling that if he was looking for something, it wasn't a trinket that could be dug out of the rubble. The poor boy, all alone in this world. Surrounded by family members who probably didn't understand -or care- how he was alive. They would try and console him, try and help him move on, but this was a burden he would carry every day. He would always be painfully aware of his condition, just as I am of mine. I am a finite thing, lucky to be alive each day. I glance up at the sky. Still cloudy, but the sun was now streaming steadily rather than fading in or out.

I looked over at my new friend. I realized what it was I had truly seen in his eyes. He wasn't standing on the edge of the abyss, just a few wrong steps from becoming like the fourth. He was much more like the third, so close to despair. I wouldn't allow that to happen. My own brief life augmented by the memories of the others would be spent at least partly on making sure Max didn't fall into that void that his eyes showed me he still sat on.

"Even if I can't help you find what you're looking for, You're not alone. I can't honestly say I believe in a god, nor in a devil for that mattter, but whatever you saw, whatever you experienced that brought you back to this world, it did it for a reason. Don't let yourself despair until you've found that reason. After all, a man has only two things to keep him going in this world: His memories, and his reason for living. So many people have the former, but few ever find the latter. I myself have not. But someday I will, and I intend to survive long enough to do so"

The first thing I noticed was his smile.
It was a beautiful thing trapped deep inside the cave of Max's mind that had somehow made its way to the surface. Much like the first when he finally stepped out of the cave, his smile was one of real joy. A joy not containing any malice or other negative connotations. It was one that I sensed hadn't been seen on his face for quite some time. Then he said something that threw me off balance. He had offered to help me find a reason for living... he really had just said that. The young man over a decade my junior was offering to help me find my purpose in life. It sounded just a tad ridiculous coming from one such as him.
Then again, was I really going to discard him out of hand simply because of his age. He had died once already and had seen -as well as experienced- things that were far beyond what someone only eighteen years old could be expected to cope with. I suppose he was worth giving the benefit of the doubt. He seemed eager enough to help at any rate. Still sitting there on those steps, I looked up at the sky as I had done so many times that day. The clouds, once black and ominous appeared to be lightening, as if the sun that touched their upper surface was finally pushing through their dark tears and peeking out the other side. Maybe my mood really was affecting the weather, or perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps I was unconsciously taking in the warmth of the sun and allowing it to elevate me. I smiled and rose from the steps. I looked down at him -a young man who was only a few inches shorter than myself- and took his hand. I would help him, and he would help me in return. It sounded so mundane and yet it was something far greater. There were no dark machinations here, no hidden evils, just a promise from one friend to another spoken in front of a sacred place.

"Sounds like a plan my young friend" I said, knowing that nothing else was needed. The rest of it was unspoken, a feeling that could not be put into words. It was camaraderie, friendship, something intangible that bound us together. I felt proud to call him my friend.

I shook his hand and then looked up at the ruins of the house. Much like the clouds overhead, they seemed lighter somehow. Perhaps it was the sunbeam that seemed to slowly open up in the clouds above the house, bathing it in a soft and somewhat ethereal glow. It was as though whatever spirits still lingering there were being exercised by the boy's pact with me, a bit of closure after a sudden and unexpected separation. If they were, I was happy to help. The dead should rest in peace. The first taught me that. Regardless of whether there was a heaven or hell or something else entirely, I hoped they found the peace they deserve. I released Max's hand and walked up the steps until I was staring directly at what remained of the door. The house had mostly caved in but the remains of an entryway still stood. It was an unassuming thing, yet its presence was significant.
It was the gate to both my new friend's past and my own future. I looked around, almost able to hear the quiet chirping of cicadas. The normally overbearing noise could be heard in the background, as if they too were in reverence of this place. A mausoleum to a single family that would one day be reunited, if only in death. Closing my eyes, I slowly lowered myself to one knee and held out my hand. This place had that effect, as if a quiet prayer was required before you could enter.
I scoured my memories, searching for a prayer that would be suitable given my rather rocky relationship with any existing church.
They all seemed inappropriate or overly formal... except one.

The one that kept popping up.

A single word that had been heard by the sixth nearly every day for most of his existence.

It meant so many things to so many people and yet only one was truly important.

Here, in this place, a single word was all that necessary.

"Namaste"

I rose from the floor and nodded once, hoping that whatever spirits were there had accepted my tithe.
It was a small one but I think that the intent was what mattered. I moved forward slowly, I didn't trust the floorboards not to give way. They looked structurally sound enough to hold me but appearances can be deceiving. My new friend was an example of such a thing, his blood red eyes had given me the wrong impression and to one less willing to take a second glance they might be construed as hostile or even murderous. People do weird things when they feel threatened. Much like a rat when backed into a corner, they bare their fangs and become incredibly hard to bring back into a state of ease.
As if some dark instinct not yet bred out kept them on alert for the rest of the day. I hate it when people become like that. I hate dealing with angry people most of all, often times because their anger is misplaced and simply being taken out on the source least likely to fight back. The other day I found a job at construction yard, there were plenty available given the city's recent state of disrepair. The first day was pleasant enough but since then I can't seem to go an hour without someone yelling at me over some piece of trivial minutia. If I actually cared about the opinions of the tiny man doling out the abuse I might have been angry, but as it stood all I ever felt was irritated. Not because he was insulting me, or even accusing me, but because he was slowing down the rest of my tasks with his incessant babbling. As I ducked under a beam, I thought of how surprisingly intact this place was. Most of the roof still existed, even if it was collapsed almost entirely on one side.
I inched my way into a room where the roof had collapsed, the sun peaking through the large hole to provide the area with natural illumination.
I appeared to have walked into a living room, a place where you might sit down with your family and watch the latest episode of your favorite show, or even just lay by a fireplace and relax.

As I gazed at it, the light seemed to come alive, showing me phantoms of days past. I watched as woman sat knitting something while a young boy ran around the room, an older man who was likely his father tailing him, a large smile sat on all their faces. I tried to make out more details, but I blinked and the ghostly scene had disappeared, returning to whatever memory had spawned it. I looked out the hole where a wall had collapsed, there were several houses damaged much like this one, some crushed completely while others remained entirely intact. Were there ghosts roaming their rooms too? Specters of a happier time before so many lives were abruptly ended. I didn't know, to try and grasp such things was not my desire. I looked down and began sifting through debris, hoping to find something that might be meaningful to Max.
The kinship I felt with the young man was stronger than what you might expect from two strangers who had just met not twenty minutes prior. He reminded me of the third, someone who had found true happiness only to have it yanked away. I sighed and shook my head. Then I heard something. Max had spoken. He was apologizing? For what? I had been off in my own little world. I listened closer. It sounded like an apology for not paying attention to me. I actually had to work not to laugh. So we'd both been off somewhere else. Him in his memories, and I in the phantasms of a life that was not my own. Straining, I yanked more debris -the remains of a fireplace, it seemed- and found something. It was small and rectangular, covered in soot and small pieces of rubble. I called back to Max.

"It's fine, This can't be easy for you" I sighed, feeling somewhat tired. This place was a grave, and even though I was sure whatever lurked here wouldn't mind the object being taken, I felt a little guilty.

"At any rate, I think I might have found something" I said as I blew on the object I had found. It was a framed photograph. The glass was cracked and had shattered in a few places, but I could still make out the picture beneath. A man and a woman both standing up in formal attire, a young man who couldn't have been more than fifteen sat between them. A soft smile adorned their faces, much like the phantoms I had seen in the room.

One detail struck me, the boy's eyes weren't red. I couldn't make out their color, the photo was still dirty where soot had managed to get beneath the glass, but they definitely weren't the deep crimson that occupied the space now. I hopped over the shattered wall to where Max was still digging.

"This something you want?" I asked tentatively. The picture was likely to make him sad, but in this place, this might be the only thing of his family that remained.