Black Horizon

The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt oppressive rather than peaceful. Lucas leaned against the wall, his hands still trembling as the last flickers of light faded.

His breathing slowed, but the frustration lingered, curling in his chest like smoke. The faint hum he thought he'd felt moments ago was gone, leaving only the dull ache of his fist where it had slammed into the wall. He hadn't meant to lose control—not again—but the power was maddening, wild. Unruly.

He turned away, his footsteps dragging as he crossed the room. The familiar creak of the wooden floor under his weight was somehow grounding.

| It's always like this. |

The faint hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the wall clock—it all felt louder than it should have. The house seemed too big for one person, the shadows in the corners too still.

He glanced at the living room clock. 5:47 PM.

Early evening sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting warm patterns across the floor. It felt like everything in the world was carrying on as usual.

Lucas let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he slumped onto the couch. His school bag was still sitting there, untouched. He nudged it aside with his foot and let himself sink deeper into the cushions.

➤

His stomach grumbled, pulling him out of his thoughts. He trudged into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, expecting the usual leftovers or pre-packed meals his mom hurriedly threw together. Instead, his eyes landed on a sticky note taped to a plate wrapped in foil:

"I cooked your favorite, grilled salmon! - Love, Mom."

The sight stopped him cold.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the note. The messy handwriting was so familiar, so her. It carried the same rushed care she poured into everything she did for him, despite how tired she always was.

Lucas swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat didn't budge.

{ She'd done so much for me, more than I probably deserved. And here I was, sitting on the floor, falling apart over a sticky note. }

Before he knew it, tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the words on the note. He quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand, but more followed.

He slid down to sit on the cool kitchen floor, the note still clutched in his hand.

| She doesn't have time for this, but she still does it. Every time. |

His shoulders shook as the tears came harder. They weren't just from sadness—they carried frustration, guilt, and a strange, aching gratitude he couldn't put into words.

"I'll make it worth it," he whispered to the empty kitchen. His voice cracked, but he didn't care. "All of it. I'll... I'll make you proud, Mom."

He sat there for a few minutes, letting the emotions flow. When he finally stood up, his eyes were red, but his resolve was stronger.

The plate of salmon was warmed up in the microwave minutes later, filling the kitchen with a comforting aroma.

Lucas sat at the kitchen table, poking at the food with his fork.

Lucas ate in silence, the flavors sparking memories of better times—simpler times, before his mom had to take on double shifts and before this power started gnawing at the edges of his life.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to memories that felt like they belonged to someone else. Nights when she'd stayed up late with him, helping him with homework even though her eyes were red with exhaustion. Afternoons when they'd cooked together, laughing at her terrible attempts at following recipes. Little things that had once seemed ordinary now felt like precious relics.

But those days were gone. She barely had time to talk to him anymore, let alone sit down and laugh. The weight of their situation had stolen that from them, and Lucas hated it.

As he cleaned up, he caught his reflection in the darkened window above the sink. The boy staring back at him didn't look thirteen, but the weight in his eyes felt far beyond his years.

His own hardships had forced him to grow up too fast. The vortex—the strange, uncontrollable force surging within him—was just the latest in a long line of burdens. Before that, it was the day his father walked out, leaving behind a quiet house and a mother who had to work twice as hard to make ends meet.

Lucas had learned early on that some things in life broke without warning, and no one else could fix them.