Guilt

For Eunice, the kindest mentor I've met.

*Mention of suicide

Guilt

He ran away. Soon the snow went knee-deep. Shivering, he dragged one foot after the other. He could see the silhouette of its beckoning metal arches looming over the valley amidst the blizzard. It was so close, yet it seemed like the journey wasn't getting shorter.

The pulse in his head was deafening. Excruciating pain shot through his left leg from the gaping bullet wound. Death was biting, and it won't let go.

He didn't want to think about the mile he would have to hike uphill. He kept his head down - talked to himself - to keep himself from passing out. 

He would most certainly die buried in the snow had he lost consciousness.

"What was my name?" He couldn't remember Sam.

"How did I get here?" He didn't have an answer to that either.

"Where am I going?" That he knew.

"I'm going home."

"Yes, home."

Not knowing what else to say, he repeated it over and over.

After what seemed to be like an eternity, Sam had reached his bunker. The place he was born and raised. His refuge. 

He kicked away the snow in front of the large metal vault door with his better foot. Mustering all the strength he had left, he heaved the heavy door open and threw himself inside. 

The warmth felt heavenly. Sam didn't bother to close the door behind him.

"No one would find me here anyway," he thought to himself, a reason to cure himself before anything else. 

The pain was getting unbearable. His breaths were getting shallower. With all his remaining strength, Sam crawled to the emergency supplies shelf. It was unimaginably dusty. He had never used it before, save for grabbing a few plasters once in a while. 

He reached for the epidural syringe, knocking over a few things in the way. Leaving no second to spare, Sam injected the strong painkiller directly above the wound, sighing in relief for the first time after the medicine did its work. He removed the bullet while his leg was still numb and bandaged the wound with thick layers.

Lying on the carpet, he gave in to the alluring sleep lurking in the corner. 

~~~

He never had time to arrange his fleeting thoughts, he noticed. His mind was covered by fog, growing ever thicker. Flashbacks in brief images played while he slept.

"My parents," the voice in his head whispered as an image appeared. It was of a young man and woman hammering wooden planks alongside each other. A sick feeling arose.

Another image appeared. It was the same man and woman smiling in front of a beautiful wooden house. It had intricate wooden beams, littered with doorways and arches fit for a museum. But somehow, seeing this unsettles Sam's stomach, and he started to taste oil on his tongue.

The image dimmed, and then the scene changed. Sam was falling, down, down, down into a bottomless pit. The hole narrowed, smaller and smaller. He tucked in his arms and legs till there was no more room. Still, it kept going, forcing inwards until Sam was left gasping for air. He couldn't breathe. 

~~~

Sam's parents were carpenters. Building a cosy home far away from the hustle and bustle of the city was their dream. And not long after their marriage, their vision did come true. It all changed one day.

~~~

Sam was an exceptional child. 

"One of the brightest I've seen," said the doctor.

However, no blessing comes without its drawbacks. Sam's smarts were unmatched, and people were jealous. Bullies forced him to do their homework. Teachers started treating him ill. They called him names like 'Freak' and 'Psycho'. He was an outcast, and everyone who was friends with him would naturally be one as well. Sam could only take this torment for so long. A deep scar formed that would change him forever.

Soon, his parents found out, and they would not stay still. They met with his teachers and shouted at their faces, demanding an apology. They filed lawsuits against the school only to have it discarded as an 'act of prejudice'.

Then Sam's parents had made a fateful decision to lock themselves up in a bunker, thinking that their precious son would never be safe from the evil clutches of society. They sealed metal along the walls of their once-perfect home, with a giant vault door as their only entrance and exit. The bunker was designed perfectly for surviving an apocalypse of any kind. It had an area for gardens, a large furnace for heat during the winter and ventilation systems for fresh air. 

At the time, it was the only rational decision Sam's parents could think. But it was too late. The son they once loved was gone.

~~~

Sam jerked awake to find layers of bandages wrapped and knotted tightly around his windpipe. He was desperate for air. Struggling to breathe, his hands clawed at his throat. Realising his attempts were useless, he grabbed a pair of scissors on the shelf and freed himself. Air rushed into his lungs. 

Thoughts zoomed in and out of his mind.

"Who had tried to kill me?" 

"Why did they not make sure I was dead?"

"How did they get in here?"

Sam knew the answer to the last question. He quickly stood up and winced in pain, briefly forgetting his leg wound. Hurriedly, he limped to the vault door, only to find it the way it was before - slightly left ajar, but not big enough for anyone to enter.

Immediately, Sam shut the door tight and locked it once again, sealing himself away from society yet again. It was a close call. 

"What if the intruder is still in my bunker?" Panic filled his mind. Not thinking of anything else, he picked up a gun and went room to room. He checked every nook and cranny, getting suspicious of everything he found. To his relief, there was no sign of any intruder.

Feeling secure once more, he decided to prepare himself for another month or two in the bunker. He shovelled some fresh coal from the stockpile and chucked it in the furnace, enough to keep it going for at least another day. Exhausted, he lay down on the floor to some well-needed rest.

~~~

His nightmares didn't let him get his rest. He was staring at a mirror in an empty void, and his reflection stared right back. 

This time, his image started to morph and distort into a black hooded figure with only a mouth. Its smile was sinister.

"Murderer!" the monster screamed. The anger turned into something else, something wicked. Now it was laughing hysterically, the sound reverberating in Sam's skull. He could feel it; he could feel what the monster was feeling. Tears started trickling down his cheek, but he didn't know why.

It was a helpless feeling - to experience someone else's feelings. Sam had stayed far away from that for all his life. 

"Empathy? Why would I care for anything in the world?" A familiar voice narrated.

"They did horrible things to me; crushed me, hit me, cornered me," it was his voice, but it sounded foreign.

"It's only natural for me to repay the favour." 

The room felt cold. No, this wasn't right. It isn't right at all. No, no, no! Nooo-

~~~

"Noooooooo!" Sam's voice trailed off as he woke from his nightmares. It was freezing, but he could feel the sweat beading on his brow. Sam hugged himself, trying to save what warmth he had left.

He glanced at the furnace. Someone had put out the fire. Sam quickly removed the drenched coal and rekindled the only source of heat.

Recollecting his thoughts, an overwhelming sense of dread took over. Someone had tried to kill him again! But who could have done it? Sam was the only one in the bunker. Being paranoid, he checked the whole place once more. The lock was holding, and there were no signs of other life. Sam started to question his sanity. Was he delusional? Maybe.

As he was carefully inspecting his workbench, he found something peculiar. It was a doctor's slip. Sam could barely make out the chicken scratch handwriting.

The patient is suffering from acute amnesia. Advise taking these pills for the rest of his lifetime.

Next to the note was a small transparent bottle half-filled with large white coloured pills. The inscription wrote twice a day, daily. Realising that this could be the road out of his suffering, Sam took two pills and swallowed. 

The pills' only function was to clear your head so that the patient can think straight. But this was enough for Sam. A gust of wind blew away the thick fog that hid away secrets and memories at the back of his mind. It was a revelation; it was a breakthrough. But the secrets that lay would soon break Sam.

~~~

The guilt was overwhelming. The shock of finding out what Sam was, what he had become. No, Sam was at his breaking point. It can't be real. His mind had made a barrier with the sole purpose of protecting itself from exploding with guilt. Now the walls were crumbling down.

There was banging on the vault door. Sam picked up a gun and aimed it at the entrance. 

"This is the police! Open up!" 

Boom. Strike one.

Boom. Strike two.

Boom. Crash! The door gave in to the bastion, but Sam was ready. Rifle in hand, aiming straight at the heads of the squadron of police.

Everything that happened after that was a blur. The police negotiated, proposed offers for Sam to lower his weapon, but none of it mattered anymore. The monster Sam had become was too evil for anyone's good. 

Sam lowered his weapon, turned it around and pressed it into his skull. 

Bang.