Chapter 3: Kill Yourself
A man in the crowd, a guy in his thirties with a patchy beard and a faded jacket shuffled forward, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the boy’s lifeless form, then at Charlotte cradling him.
He knew this wasn’t the time. He knew it was wrong, tasteless, maybe even cruel to intrude on such a raw, tragic moment.
But the pull was too strong.
"Uh, hey." He stammered, his voice cracking as he edged closer. "I-I know this isn’t great timing or anything, but...could I maybe get a photo with you? Just real quick?" He offered a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck.
In his head, he’d already rationalized it: at worst, she’d say no. Maybe she’d snap at him, tell him off, and even that would be something to brag about later.
"Got scolded by a goddess’s daughter." He’d say to his buddies over beers, a smirk on his face. "How lucky am I?"
But the man didn’t exactly get the reaction he’d bargained for.
Charlotte froze as she sobbed, her trembling shoulders stilling as his words hung in the air like a misplaced note in a dirge.
And then suddenly the atmosphere shifted, sharply, unnaturally.
A chill swept through the park, the kind that prickled the skin and made one’s breath catch, as if the warmth had been sucked out of the world itself.
And then, slowly Charlotte lifted her head from the boy’s chest, her movements measured, almost mechanical. Her long pink hair fell away from her face as she turned her gaze toward the man, and what he saw in her eyes stopped his heart cold.
She stared at him with a look so dead, so devoid of life, it was like peering into a void.