As it said, a sort of AU-thing. It might end up from two to four parts long, I guess. Imagination to be applied liberally.
Disclaimers.
"Phantom Night Carnival / 1"
It was a hot desert day out there where it had used to be a city. For a minute it reminded me of home, back many years ago. When things were very different.
I scanned the horizon best I could for any sign of my friend. I was too tired for my heart to pound or my hands tremble: I could die any instant. A hot wind rustled by, caressing me, tossing sand into my face and clothes and hair which I noticed was not so short anymore.
He was nowhere. I turned and went below again.
*
In the gray little kitchen I waited, not doing really anything; pacing, nail-biting, cursing them all. Why they all had to go and throw themselves away. I hoped he would find something (and I wished he had not gone to look). And that I wouldn't be left alone.
The heavy door slammed, echoing, louder than it should have been. For a moment I was angry-- but it did not really matter. I couldn't yell at him anyway. It wasn't really his fault. I must be getting old, I thought: I was thirty-one.
Footsteps. I heard him coming closer and then cross into the room.
"I looked the best I could," he said tiredly, "I didn't see him anywhere."
"Maybe he'll come back," I felt childish as I said so, and perhaps he thought it too. He did not look at me, just dragged his fingers through his hair and sagged a little against the doorframe.
"Nobody comes back."
"He might." I insisted. If nothing else, I wanted to break them of this-- I wanted there to be some other way out, some way that did not involve leaving me alone there.
He spared me only the barest glance, then said: "Maybe,"
As the silence fell heavy over us he paced restlessly to the other side of the room, then back again. "Are you hungry?" I asked, trying hard to be useful, "Can I get you something?"
"No, I'm fine. Thanks." his eyes wandered the room nervously before he asked with an awkward sort of gruffness, "How's the kid?"
All there is: "He's fine."
"Good." a bit of a pause, then, "Good..." He sighed heavily and I snuck a glance at him. He was facing the wall, away from me, and looked haggard.
"You must be thirsty, though. I'll get you a drink." I would have done anything, right then, to have back the way he used to look. And it was very selfish of me, to think only If he despaired, it meant the whole world had despaired; and they would leave me.
For the moment, though, he just sat down: collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, burying his head in his hands, fingers tangling through dusty and windblown hair that was getting too long again. "Shit," I heard him say. I took a glass from the cupboard and pretended I did not know he was crying.
I filled the glass with water then set it down in front of him with a clink that cut expertly through the stillness. Tears accentuated the shadows under his eyes; he stared blearily a moment before taking a drink.
"Thanks." he said.
*
She stood uneasily a minute before sitting down across from me. It made me uncomfortable. I felt halfway as if I should say something to her, but was far too tired to think of what. And then there were the simpler things we simply could not talk about: We're all that's left now. Everyone is dead. I'll have to be dead soon. And then....
I heard something. Echoing down the metal corridors, small and shrill and unaware of all the world around:
I spun the half-empty glass idly on the table, letting it fill my eyes. "Your son,"
"I know that." she said sharply, then rose to her feet and went away.
Except for the frenzied crying, it was a long, silent pause. I stared through the remaining water lapping the sides of its glass prison, not really seeing it, just waiting. Until I heard the baby calm and quiet, such a long way away; then, the quiet fade into soft lullaby noises as all the rest of the world for a moment was gone.
I closed my eyes, then let my head fall into my hands.
