Apotheosis of a Cynic

In a remote corner at the edge of a city, life moved at a dreary pace.

A chaotic maze of narrow alleys lined by poorly built huts and buildings all constructed using rotting wood and salvaged bricks stacked haphazardly and held together using frayed ropes and rusted nails, the night was like any other.

Inside a small cramped room of one of many poorly maintained apartment complexes close to the borders of those sectors of the city that were bereft of light, but lit up by dim moonlight that crept through a thin rag hung over a broken window as a makeshift curtain.

On the first floor of the building a young man with rough, short, and dirty jet-black hair, lay asleep.

Bundled up in an absolute mess of rags and old worn-out clothes that rose and fell in a steady rhythm, cocooning him from the harsh cold of the outside world. With a few loose strands of his hair flailing about in the wind, Mathew remained undisturbed. As if lost in the serenity of his dreams.

What could he have been dreaming about that made him look so peaceful?

Just then, a knowing smile appeared on his face and he groaned then murmured under his voice in a low and lustful tone.

"Don't leave me beautiful... I thought we were having fun?"

Then a mischievous chuckle escaped his lips.

Oh.

So it was that kind of dream.

What a pervert!

The young man was shameless as he wallowed in his depravity albeit in his dreams, but could you really blame him? People like him although weren't that far down yet, were only a step away from becoming slum dwellers and didn't have the easiest time of things. Meaning dreams were somewhere they could realistically go to escape the harsh realities of life, if only for a brief few hours a day.

The sound of leaves rustling that would reach his ears through the broken window by his bed, created a calming melody that cut through the silence of the night.

Serving no purpose but to enhance those few and short, blissful hours.a

Sadly for the young man, tonight that serenity was to be short-lived. From this moment on, his life, granted it was already not a peaceful one, would change and be turned absolutely on its head.

Interrupting his peaceful slumber, was the sudden creaking of the loose floorboards in his run-down home that echoed from the hallway by his room. The muffled sound seeped through the cracks in his door and into the young man's dreams.

I'd imagine that isn't a desirable situation.

The sound tugged at him relentlessly, stirring him awake.

A faint groan escaped his lips and shortly after, silence returned once again. But only for a brief moment as barely a second later, a clatter echoed through the halls, louder and more insistent than the creak of floorboards.

"Five more minutes!" the young man said with a hoarse voice in a tired tone. Digging his head into a pile of rags stuffed into the cleanest shirt he could find and to use as a makeshift pillow.

Once again the sound of floorboards echoed, but this time more frequently. Then suddenly, low, strained grunts and muffled groans.

'What the hell's going on out there? Is mom throwing a party or something?'

Just then, the sharp sound of glass shattering rang out, followed by that of a woman screaming, and then the sound of something hard slamming repeatedly against the floorboards.

And finally... silence... Thick and oppressive silence.

The one thing he had been desperately craving had arrived at last.

As unbelievable as it might sound, through all this, the young man remained in his bed, forcing himself to attribute the noises to being a figment of his imagination. He clearly loved his sleep, and would do anything it took to make sure he got it.

Barely a minute later though, the door to his small closet of a room swung open and a low feminine voice spoke in a hurried tone.

"Mathew honey, wake up."

Her voice was a trembling thread, that only just held together as she grabbed handfuls of clothes and shoved them into a small bag.

Mathew sat up, his eyes half open, glazed over and groggy from the sleep he so desired but was repeatedly denied.

Now sat utterly confused by what was happening, he rubbed his face, trying to spark himself to action, frowned, and asked.

"Mom?"

He rubbed his eyes again, blinking hard as if to clear the haze clouding his mind.

"What's going on?"

Before he could ask another question, she had shoved the last of his clothes in and zipped it up the bag. Then in one swift motion, she grabbed and yanked him out of bed and to his feet, saying in a weighty tone.

"There's no time to explain."

She led him through the dark hallway of their small home. His mind raced and his imagination went wild with the possibility of what could be happening.

At some point, he even came up with the idea that his family was being tracked down and hunted by some organization to hide some sort of secret, which was terrifying.

Not because it seemed like an impossible situation, but because it wasn't far off from the truth.

Although he didn't know that.

They walked past his mother's room at the end of the hallway and the door was left slightly ajar. Not because he wanted or needed to, Mathew got a glance into the room, and what he saw in that brief moment sent a blood-curdling chill rolling down his spine.

Inside, a man lay sprawled on the floor, motionless and surrounded in a dark and constantly spreading pool of blood that seeped steadily from a wound on his neck.

The sinking weight of realization struck him.

Those muffled sounds, the creaking floorboards, the shattering glass, and even the scream.

The cause of all of the sounds that he tried desperately to ignore was now before him and was suddenly more significant than he could have thought.