A Dream that Devours

The city stretched out before him, abandoned.

Buildings stood in eerie silence, their windows dark and empty. Some were cracked, pieces of their facades missing like wounds in the concrete. A neon sign buzzed weakly above a storefront, the letters half-dead but flickering with what little power remained.

The streets were littered with debris—paper, shattered glass, a toppled bicycle. Cars sat abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors flung open, hazard lights blinking uselessly.

Cass's breath slowed. He knew this place.

He had seen it before. Not just in dreams. He had been here.

A whisper drifted through the still air, curling around his mind like a hand grasping at his thoughts.

"This is real."

Cass stiffened.

The voice wasn't his own. It was hers.

The girl.

The one who always whispered to him in the dreams.

His stomach turned. His hand clenched around the doorframe. This wasn't a dream. The asphalt beneath his boots was damp. The cold air carried the scent of rain and smoke. In the distance, something burned.

This was real.

His breath hitched, but deep down, he already knew. He stepped forward. The moment his foot touched the pavement, the door behind him slammed shut. Cass turned sharply. It was gone. A deep chill crawled up his spine, spreading through his limbs like ice. He exhaled slowly, turning back toward the street.

The silence felt wrong.

Not peaceful.

Not empty.

Waiting.

A dull ache settled into his chest, creeping into his limbs. His fingers trembled slightly, and he clenched them into fists to stop it. His head felt too heavy, his vision just slightly off. Cass frowned. No. Not now. Not this feeling. He swayed slightly on his feet. His eyelids were heavy. He recognized this.

The sleep.

The same creeping exhaustion from the dreams—the weight that dragged him down, slowing his movements, making it harder to escape. His pulse spiked. He wasn't supposed to be tired. He had just woken up.

The whisper came again.

"This is how it ends. . ."

Cass stumbled forward, shaking his head sharply. The haze clawed at him, pulling at his thoughts. His body wanted to sleep. But if he slept here—No. He forced his feet to move.

The wind picked up, pushing bits of paper and dust through the street. A fallen traffic light blinked weakly at the intersection ahead, the cracked screen of an ATM reflecting the dim glow of the neon signs above it. Everything felt too familiar. This was where it always happened.

The meteors.

The end.

The moment before the world gets destroyed.

Cass's breath hitched. His eyes flicked to the sky—And froze. The sky was wrong. The meteors were there! But, they were not falling like normal. They just hung in the air, moments before impact. Like the universe itself had been frozen.

Something moved in the distance.

Not a person.

A shadow.

Cass's heart slammed against his ribs. The pressure in the air deepened, the silence stretching, pulling taut around him. A low hum filled the space, vibrating in his bones.

Not mechanical. Not the rumble of an earthquake.

Something else.

Cass turned his head.

At the far end of the street, past the abandoned cars and shattered windows, a figure stood beneath a dead streetlight. His pulse hammered. It wasn't moving. But it was watching him. It had no face. No eyes. No mouth. But he could feel its gaze.

His breath came short and sharp, his body tensing.

Then, a smile appeared where there had been nothing before—a Cheshire grin, stretching impossibly wide.

Fangs, too long, too sharp, dripped with saliva.

Brilliant yellow eyes snapped open, burning like twin lanterns in the dark.

They locked onto Cass.

"Run!"

Cass didn't think. He bolted.

His feet slammed against the pavement, legs burning as he sprinted. The city blurred past him, streetlights flickering overhead. His body was too slow. The exhaustion dragged at his limbs, clawing at his thoughts. His vision blurred at the edges. His muscles were sluggish. His body wanted to stop.

No—not now.

Cass pushed forward, forcing his legs to keep moving.

Behind him—footsteps.

Slow. Steady.

But closer.

His body screamed for rest. His chest ached with exhaustion that wasn't his own. He turned a corner—and skidded to a stop.

A bus had crashed sideways across the intersection, blocking the entire road. The metal was scorched, the windshield shattered. Flames flickered weakly from the undercarriage, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.

Cass's stomach twisted. The hum in the air deepened. His vision swam. The figure stepped closer. It hadn't moved. But it was closer.

A whisper, softer now, more fragile.

"You have to wake up."

Cass's body swayed. His eyelids were too heavy. His legs barely held him up. He turned his head, struggling to focus.

A door.

To his right.

It hadn't been there a second ago.

It was the same as before. The same door he had stepped through. The weight in his body pressed deeper, pulling him down.

Cass's vision darkened at the edges.

The whisper came one last time.

"Wake up."

Cass lunged for the door, gripping the handle with weak fingers. It swung open.

And the world collapsed.

Hardwood slammed into his back. Cass gasped, dragging in deep, uneven breaths. His chest ached. He was on his bedroom floor. His ceiling above him. His walls, his furniture, his desk.

Home.

His fingers curled into the wood beneath him. His arms trembled. But he knew.

He knew he hadn't woken up.

He had left.