He stood awkwardly at the gas station, doing his best not to make eye contact with the cashier, a man so lifeless he looked like he'd just died there, standing up. Still, he managed to mumble, "Uh… one pack, please." The cashier slid the pack over without looking up.
A few minutes later, he walked out into the evening gloom, cigarette already lit, smoke curling from his thin lips. He didn't even like the taste, it just gave his hands something to do. He took a step out onto the sidewalk, and a cat shot past him, making him jump and drop his cigarette. Dang it, he thought to himself.
He got another one from the pack and tucked it between his lips. Kept it unlit as he continued down the road. The streets were unusually empty. No cars, no voices, just the distant buzz of a streetlight flickering like it was struggling to stay awake. Even the air felt still. Too still. Like the world was holding its breath.
The cigarette wobbled slightly in his mouth as he walked. The road was completely empty.
The cat appeared again. The same black fur. The same glowing yellow eyes that didn't reflect the light. Only this time, it was watching him. Not darting. Not running. Just… waiting. It sat on the curb, watching him like he was some puzzle it was trying to solve. He'd seen it three times today. Different streets. Different times. Always there.
He froze, pretending he just wanted to light his cigarette. He flicked the lighter open. Once. Nothing. Twice. It sparked. Again nothing.
He shot a quick glance at the cat, hoping it was gone. It wasn't.
Finally, on the third try, it caught. The flame dancing in his hand. He held it up to the cigarette in his mouth, eyes flicking toward the cat, silently hoping it would disappear. It didn't. So, swallowing his paranoia, he started past it.
It didn't move when he walked past. Just blinked slowly, like it had already decided something about him.
He sped up, clutching his lips tighter around his cigarette, heart pounding. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Again. Closer now. The cat was there again, always just behind him, never moving, just watching.
No one else noticed. No one ever noticed.
Every time he looked, it was there. Not walking, somehow already sitting on the corner behind him.
He continued walking as the darkness seemed to bend and twist like living things. Was that a flicker? A face? Or just his mind bending the night into shapes it wanted to see? He swallowed hard, trying to shake the feeling that he was being watched.
His fingers tightened in his pockets. He knew what he saw. The cat's eyes seemed to burn holes in the night. For a moment, the street bent and warped, the humming lights stretching into shapes he couldn't unsee. His breath caught. Was he losing it? Or was this real?
His skin crawled.
What the—what is this? No… no… can't be. Can it be? He thought to himself.
He crossed the street without looking. Didn't care if he was jaywalking. Just wanted space between him and those eyes. His heart was in his throat now, pounding so loud he barely heard the screech.
The headlights flared white in his vision. They stretched toward him like claws.
Impact. A snap of bone and air crushed out of his chest.
The pavement rushed up, hard and unforgiving. His cigarette fell slowly from his lips as he bounced to the ground. He watched as the smoke slowly spiraled up until there was nothing left, snapping him back to reality.
The pavement and road seemed to disappear under his body as the world slowly went black.
Through the smoke, he caught the cat's yellow eyes, calm, unblinking, almost… knowing.
The cat was right there, inches from his face, tail flicking once. It blinked at him, slow, deliberate.
The world tilted, darkness rushing in, and he swore, just before everything went black, it smiled.
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Hugo opened his eyes slowly.
"Get up! MOVE!" Someone yelled in a demanding and frightening voice.
He squinted against the light, half-asleep. "Paramedics really take their jobs seriously," he thought, rolling over. His head ached like he'd slept on concrete. Someone, probably a very committed EMT, was shaking him violently, yelling in his face.
"…Uh… sure, hang on," he muttered, head spinning.
His head throbbed as he blinked at the bright light. Something felt… off. The air smelled almost metallic, like blood, or maybe it was just his own panic? His pulse kicked up, fast, and every shadow seemed to twitch at the edge of his vision.
He slowly turned his head, and froze. No hospital. No street. Just… shapes. Shapes moving too fast, too stiff.
Every step could trigger disaster. Every glance could be a mistake. It felt like maybe the world had already decided he was expendable.
Panicking, he fumbled through his pockets, hunting for a cigarette. He finds his box and grabs one of only two left. He fumbled with the lighter, sparks sputtering. "Come on! If I could just..., maybe the world would stop spinning", he muttered, teeth clenched. The cigarette finally caught, and he inhaled shakily, gripping onto the tiny sense of control.
As he exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding, a puff of gray smoke slowly filled the air. He swallowed hard. His shaking fingers slowly calming down. "I died. This is Heaven? No... no that couldn't be... so Hell? Am I just dreaming?" He said to himself trying to reason with the unreasonable.
He didn't like smoking. Never has. But it made him feel more in control. Flame, smoke, inhale, exhale. Something predictable to hang onto.
"Where am I?" He thought in between puffs.
Then, finally, he pushed himself upright. Sitting up, fully awake now, as his brain tried to process the scene.
The "paramedic" was definitely not a paramedic. She was a girl, standing over him with a wooden staff, a purple crystal glimmering at the top. Behind her, flames thrashed against the walls of a village. Smoke curled through the air. The smell of burning wood stinging his nose.
Hugo blinked at her reddish hair glinting inches from him, then at the flames tearing through the village. He took another drag. "Right. Definitely not paramedics."
"Sleeping during an invasion?!" the girl shouted, exasperated. "Seriously? NOW?! AND NOW YOU'RE SMOKING?!"
Hugo rubbed his eyes, trying to think.
A figure with a pumpkin for a head sprinted down the street. The carved smile looked unnervingly cheerful in all the chaos. Behind it, a deer, a squirrel, and a flock of birds were in full pursuit, snapping, leaping, and diving like it was the most important meal of their lives. Hugo barely registered the chaos before it vanished from his sight.
"…Did I just see…?" He shook his head trying to wake up from this surreal dream.
"DONT JUST SIT THERE!" The girl yelled.
He looked up at her. Taking notice of her appearance. Her cloak was torn, streaked with soot, but she still held herself like a soldier. Her fiery red hair tied into a ponytail.
Her eyes, glowing amber and burning with the same fire that licked at the village walls, were now fixed squarely on him. She wasn't afraid, not like the others screaming and running in the distance. No, this girl looked like she was used to standing in fire.
"Are you even listening?!" she barked, shaking her staff at him. The crystal at the top pulsed faintly, like it was waiting for her command.
Hugo blinked, cigarette dangling from his lips. He exhaled smoke in her direction, buying time to think. "Sorry. Just taking in the whole… apocalyptic nightmare vibe. Really sells itself."
Her jaw clenched. "This isn't a nightmare—it's an invasion! Get up before they—"
A roar tore through the air. Hugo's stomach dropped. The hairs on his arms stood on end.
The girl whipped her head toward the sound, staff raised. Her body tensed, ready to fight. Meanwhile Hugo's cigarette trembled between his fingers as he whispered, more to himself than her, "...Nope. Definitely a nightmare."
And then the smoke curled upward, and for a second, in the drifting gray, Hugo thought he saw two yellow eyes staring back at him.