Chapter 2: Diagnoses
Arthur now found himself walking on the street the next day. The sun was out and it was a nice day, but Arthur did not feel any of its warmth. The golden rays that brought comfort to so many others seemed to pass through him, as if he were already a ghost in this world that had taken everything from him.
He walked past people who separated like he was a stone in a river when he got close, afraid they might catch something from the filthy street boy. Their faces twisted with disgust, mothers pulling their children closer, businessmen stepping widely around him while clutching their expensive briefcases. Arthur had grown used to this treatment in recent weeks, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
Above him on all the different high-rises, giant screens portrayed the "saviors" of humanity. The Chosen—perfect, powerful, pristine in their uniforms—smiled down at the city they protected. Their faces were everywhere, impossible to escape, a constant reminder of their failure to save his family. These displays usually made Arthur angry enough to spit, but today was different. Today Arthur was too tired, too hungry to even bother being angry. His emotions had become a luxury he could no longer afford.
He walked past a burger place and spent some time looking through the pane of glass, watching people eat with drool falling down his mouth. The sight of families sharing meals, laughing together, enjoying food he couldn't remember the taste of, was torturous. Eventually, the workers noticed him lingering and shooed him away like a stray animal. One of them made exaggerated gestures through the glass, his face scrunched with revulsion.
'I can't even manage to get myself something to eat,' Arthur thought, his shoulders slumping even further. 'I'm so pathetic... so weak. I hate it. I wish I was strong and brave like The Chosen, then my parents would still be alive.'
These thoughts ravaged his weakened mind as he walked with no destination down the maze of city streets. His feet dragged against the concrete, each step requiring more effort than the last. The city buzzed around him, people rushing to jobs and appointments, living their lives as if the world hadn't ended for some.
Until...
He felt it coming on quick and grabbed his chest in preparation. 'No, not here, please,' his mind begged as the familiar pressure built beneath his sternum. His pleads fell on deaf ears as the pain grew and grew and grew. Soon Arthur was on the floor, flailing around, screaming in agony and ripping at his chest. The agony was beyond anything he'd felt before, as if something inside him was trying to tear its way out through his ribcage.
His vision blurred and people started to surround him, yelling and talking, but he could not hear what they were saying through the roaring in his ears. Some pointed, others took out their phones—probably recording rather than helping.