The Cold Lake - A Short Story
The knife is slick in his grip. His breath, ragged. His body, trembling from exhaustion. Blood—his, theirs—coats his arms, drips from his fingers, stains the earth beneath him. Cuts and bruises mark his skin, each a testament to the battle fought. His heart hammers against his ribs, wild and desperate, but none of it matters. The war is over. The city is lost. The mission is finished. And yet, here he stands. Because she isn’t here. And he isn’t done. The lake stretches before him, dark and endless, swallowing the sky’s last dying light. The wind stirs the water, whispering across the surface like a voice from the past. His cheeks are stiff with dried tears, his eyes glassy, hollow. He could go back. To the base. To the remnants of what once was. But the thought is empty, meaningless. Because Thea is gone. His fingers tighten around the knife. He steps forward— —And dives into the cold lake. The World Spins (Scene Change) “This is the last time,” Thea says, adju...