“ Always wake up to a dream that tells you about a future you could have. ” December mornings have a different aesthetic and feeling to it. Each and every last one of them is unique in their own little way, there’s just no room for any repentance. Anon, thinking about it in his diary, connected this phenomenon of December mornings to our mind taking its last chance to make at least the last month stand out in its transformation into a memory. And, at least for Anon, it made perfect sense. This morning, Anon woke up at his typical hour – 6 AM. Got up and did his typical morning routine of dressing up, going to the toilet, eating breakfast. As far as Anon saw it, there was not much difference in this morning than in all different ones: aside from the stiff and strangely warm night and even more strange abrupt cold and misty early morning. But aside from the natural cataclysms, Anon knew that this morning held something for him. While eating his off brand cereal and scrolling past some social media, he decided to check the group chat of the band for any missed messages. And there were plenty: around two hundred of them. Nick and Curtis really don’t have a proper sleeping schedule. – Anon thought to himself, and smiled. Mostly these messages were just usual night time spam, courtesy of Nick trying out various new stickers and emojis she got. But this spam spree began with a simple message: “abby’s with us, the show will be gud”. Anon froze. Show? What show? Did he miss something? Was a decision taken without his notice, and now he’s involved in something one wouldn’t wish even for an enemy? These worrying thoughts circled around in his mind for quite a while, like some vultures waiting for his mind to become fragile and weak, so they could suck his mental blood until there is none. But, recalling the past days, he calmed himself down. While sitting in a faceless diner eating some “cheap ass food” somewhere at the end of November, Nick came up with an idea to give the “New Year show”. She was sounding rather enthusiastic about it, she really wanted to give it. She told the band (at the moment, only Trent, Curtis and Anon), that she wanted to play it as close to New Year as possible, “but not overlapping, because a show is one thing and a celebration is another.” The band slowly came to an agreement when the show will take place: one and a half weeks away from the New Year. The question of where was solved tomorrow (from that day), the question of advertising – a couple days later. Anon finished his off brand cereal, put the plate into the sink, returned into the living room and sat down at his table. With nothing else left to do, he decided to play some video games. The streets on his periphery slowly got up from their slumber. The sky slowly took its beautiful gray coat. People soon roamed onto the sidewalks to get to their jobs, to continuously feed this enormous machine, grinding flesh into ash. And, like a lightning bolt, it struck him. He barely remembers the past anymore. Some parts he remembers fairly well, as those parts were important in forming him into what he is now. But aside from that, he can’t remember anything in between. He lost memory of how he got into Volcano High in the first place, and now thinking about it doesn’t hurt him anymore. The past was at the last stage of erasement, being replaced by this beautiful present and bright future. But Anon knows she’s always there. He could let go a thousand and one times – she wouldn’t even consider it. And it’s not about hatred, it’s not that she wants to see him suffer. She never wanted for him to suffer like this. Living in constant nomad-like running away, searching for home in lifeless buildings and caring people. She loves him, as he loved her that day. This painful love of absence and regret, gnawing and slowly corroding his mind like a cancer tumor. And even now, sitting at his computer and playing a faceless battle royale game, he feels her ghostly gaze on his back. This loving amber gaze of someone long gone. These soft feather wings, that cannot be touched anymore. This warm body, that will never be embraced again. This voice, sounding like a thousandth echo. He wants to turn around and see her, he wants to believe she is standing there, he wants to believe she will say: I finally found you, dweeb . But he is Orpheus, and she is his Eurydice. The moment he will turn to her – she’s long gone again. And so Anon sits still, staring at the screen, remembering a song that he heard half a year ago: When the sun doesn't rise And the hope of light fades Rest these eyes for a while I'll see your face. The feeling of two amber eyes piercing his very being slowly dissipated. He was completely alone again. He got used to this constant feeling – of absence, of loneliness, of regret. He wish to forget, but that day was etched into his mind – and it will take him much more than just his own struggle. Looking at the screen, he lost interest in playing the game. He closed it, turned off his laptop, moved it aside and took the diary. On the last page, the very last bit of space there was, he wrote: “ Herculean labor of forgetting. ” He moved the finished diary aside, sunk into his chair and stared outside, witnessing yet another day of murderous urban life. *** Curtis arrived at Anon’s apartment complex at around 4 PM. Anon was already there, standing and waiting – dressed into clean clothing and with a fresh gaze. The car slowly approached him and stopped, and Anon, with no hesitation, opened the door and sat inside the warm salon at his usual shotgun seat. — You ready for the warm up? – Curtis asked. — All the time. – Anon replied. — Righty-o. Let’s roll. The car peeled out, and got onto the roads. The process went uneventful, aside the suspense, solemn silence. Tonight, “Tennant” will give their second show. And Anon will be side to side with the band, playing some of the fastest music a man could even know. This thought, this fact, sounded stranger and stranger each and every time he repeated it in his head, but he liked it – because it is real, it is a fact. It is something that is about to happen. They have arrived at their little studio. The band left the car, slowly got down inside, made their way into the recording room. Trent quickly got to the mixing room to start up the machinery, Abby needed to go to the toilet and Nick received a call from her parents. Leaving Curtis and Anon alone in the gigantic room. Anon looked at Curtis, just sitting and waiting with the drumsticks in his hand. Only now Anon noticed how big the drumset is – two bass drums, a snare, three normal toms, two floor toms, two hi-hat cymbals, one ride cymbal, two crash cymbals and two china cymbals. Really heavy looking. Anon looked at the guitar hanging from his neck with pity – and that, despite how much sound he can produce with those strings, is what he has to play with. — Aye, Curtis! – Anon said. Curtis immediately looked at Anon with a question. — Can I play the drums real quick? – Anon asked. Curtis thought for a second, then left the sticks on the snare drum and got up from his chair. Anon took off the strap, left the guitar on the floor where he picked it up, and with childish excitement sat down at the drums. From this perspective, sitting behind them, Anon realized that they are not that gigantic – moreso, everything was in his vision, despite how wide the variety of things was. Taking this thing anywhere is a huge pain in the ass. – Anon thought. His feet at the pedal, he gave the drums a quick check. Everything was punchy, even the cymbals – in accordance with the precepts of grindcore. Anon soon heard a familiar melody playing and lifted one drumstick at the snare and the other at the bell of the ride cymbal, but heard: — Anon, what the hell are you doing? Anon looked up from the drums. Nick was standing with a question in her eyes. So did Trent and Abby. — Anon just wanted to play some drums, don’t get mad at him. – Curtis said in defense. — We are not mad. – Trent said. – It’s just a sight unexpected. Nick and Trent came near the drums with the guitars. Abby and Curtis just stood beside, waiting. Anon, remembering the old melody, gave the beat down, and from the first tact Trent and Curtis realized what Anon was playing. He was hitting the drums powerfully, but him handling the double kicks was a good challenge – constantly and quite rapidly hitting the pedals made his legs tired before he knew, and the rest of the song was played rather sloppy, but still – having enough strength and endurance to play it was an interesting sight to see. — Mate, you’re still surprising us! – Curtis said, taking his righteous throne at the drums. – First the guitar, and now this? — A spur of the moment. – Anon said, getting the guitar strap on himself. Curtis laughed a bit. — Alright then! Let’s roll! The second later, the recording room, and its habitants, drowned in incomprehensible noise. *** 11:54 PM. “Eighth Sea” Bar. Volcaldera Bluffs slowly gets to sleep, but people in here are alive and wide awake each and every minute. The bartenders furiously serve the customers in the back. A crowd, consistent of around a hundred people, stood and waited for the final minute. The colorful lights move relentlessly, lighting up the scene. On the scene was “Tennant”, mentally preparing for the show they are about to give. Curtis was talking to Trent on many different things, mainly revolving around their own lives. Nick was continuously negotiating with Abby. Anon was sitting on the phone, just doomscrolling for the time to pass. Their moods were light and positive, their determination surpassed any kind of limit. They were ready to give the show of their lives, in the name of furious and ridiculously fast music. But Anon was surrounded with memories, yet again. Why is it so familiar to him? Standing on the scene with a waiting crowd? Why does he experience a strange feeling of being able to stand his ground if everything goes bad? Everything inside his body is twitching, and yet he stands still, looking into his phone, reading something unnecessary to fill the mind. Phantom wings cover him with sheer confidence. He has this in the bag, no matter how strange he feels. Soon, the needed minute arrived. Nick put her hand onto his shoulder, which brought Anon back into his reality. He turned to her, and saw her typical cheekiness and confidence, the same confidence he feels right now. He nods, puts his phone back into the pocket, puts his hands onto the guitar and gives it a heavy strum. The crowd turns alive, responding with a hum of growing excitement. Nick picks up the microphone from the ground, yells: — ARE YOU FUCKING READY?! The crowd responds. Curtis gives out a beat, and the show begins. 2:03 AM. Outside “Eight Sea” Bar. Volcaldera Bluffs is asleep. Streets are empty, left off by nomads, junkies and hobos. Blinding white lights mark the sidewalks. Distant apartment complexes tower over the band, standing outside and talking to each other, looking down at them with a myriad of glowing yellow eyes. It is cold, but the band doesn’t care about it that much – they enjoy, as much as they can, the time they got before the moment of returning home and sleeping. Tomorrow they will return to the typical routine. Trent and Curtis were talking with Abby. They were interested in her, they wanted to know a lot of things, in hopes of finding the same interests. Abby answers almost each and every of their questions – she’s glad to finally play in a “band that doesn’t suck”. They all imagine a beautiful future, where the band is playing for thousands, if not millions, of people on the biggest stage imaginable. Paris, London, Oslo, Moscow… The dream of international fame is one hell of a star in the sky. Meanwhile Nick was standing near Anon. They both were silent, this silence had some romantic tension in it. Anon was smoking, the smoke clouds erupted out of his mouth, flying up and thawing on the background of inevitable space. The cigarette slowly smolders, turning into ash as it burns, reeking of toxins. Something had to be said, but they were unsure what word shall begin the talk and who will begin it. Sooner than she thought, the silence began gnawing on Nick, and she asked him: — Well? Did you like the performance? Anon looked at her. She was looking at him with eyes full of worry. — Of course I did, why do you question it? – Anon said. — It’s just… The way you left… – Nick answered. – I thought we’ve fucked up and we didn’t surpass some of your expectations, and… — What expectations? – Anon asked, surprised a bit. – There’s no need to worry, Nick. And how I left – it’s typical for me. Besides, I really wanted to play with you guys, and that is just a dream come true. So don’t worry, alright? There’s no need. Nick smiled, reassured. Then, she clasped onto herself, feeling the freezing cold slowly taking her limb by limb. — Fuck… – she said. – Why in these moments do I feel like freezing to death… Anon looked at her again, tossed the smoldering filter and slowly pulled her closer to himself. — Maybe nature wants us to be together. – Anon said. — You think so? – Nick asked. — Otherwise it wouldn’t have done it. – Anon answered. — Don’t you think I’m leaving my jacket on purpose? – Nick asked again, with a little cheeky smirk. — Even if you do, I don’t mind. – Anon said. She smiled at him, and that smile was something different. Not reassurance, not cheekiness. Something Anon hasn’t seen in a while. He doesn’t know exactly what it was, but whatever it was – it made him question himself. Do I really like her? – Anon thought, and the response was a pit opening inside his stomach. *** Tonight, the calendar in the kitchen will become obsolete. Tonight, you can joke about the bread from the previous year. Tonight, one will drink in complete isolation and loneliness. Tonight, the other will eat until full with his family and friends. This night will arrive in less than a half an hour, and that is the beauty. The New Year is stepping on the boots, and that is the beauty. Anon walked on the streets in the part of the city he had never been in before. From the first glance, a typical neighborhood, something he has seen before. Two-floor tall houses stand, beautifully dividing the land between one another. Nothing really special. It is as cold as Anon thought it would be, and the warm jacket barely helped against the freezing chill. He thought. – If I stop, I’ll freeze like an ice brick. I must walk, and thus I will remain alive. Sooner than he thought, he arrived at his destination. A beautiful house was standing amongst others, bland and unappealing. The maps on Anon’s phone tell him – this is his point B. As he looked around to be absolutely sure, Anon noticed a familiar black sedan standing near the sidewalk. He glanced over it a bit more, and then walked up to the front door of the house and pressed the bell. A couple of seconds later, the door opens. Trent, smiling, lets him inside. — How’s the weather out there? – he asks. — I almost froze my balls off – that’s what it’s like out there. – Anon replies with no malice. Trent chuckles and shortly leaves. Glancing over the hallway, Anon notices Nick in an apron with a tray of what looks like cookies. They meet their gaze, and a couple of seconds of tense silence later she smiles at him, with a smile of a mother or a really caring sister. — You came just in the nick of time. – she said, approaching him. — I hope so. – Anon responded, hanging his jacket. They embraced each other in a quick hug, and then Nick left, going into the kitchen. Anon, deciding not to bother Nick and Trent in their preparations, went into the living room. There, watching a pirated film, Curtis and Abby were sitting on the really soft couch beside the table, that soon will be filled with various foods and, definitely, booze. Curtis looked at the hallway and, noticing Anon, got up and around the table to shake hands with his friend. — I’m really happy that you managed to make it! – he said. — Eh, it’s nothing. Besides, I really wanted to be here with you all. It’s a special night after all. Anon then spotted Abby, on the peripherals of his vision. She looked at him with a smile, patiently waiting. When their gazes met, she nodded to him, to which Anon nodded back. A silent greeting to the fellow musicians. Anon glanced over the table. — What’s up with all this? – Anon asked, pointing at the table. — My one Russian friend long ago told me how they celebrate New Year. – Curtis said. – And I decided to try it out. Found recipes and shit. When Nick and Trent rolled around, they took over the kitchen. And now I’m just here, sitting with Abby and watching the film. Anon didn’t respond. The film that they were watching was rather interesting, and he joined to watch, only to then, five minutes later, as the credits rolled past, come to a realization that he was watching the ending. It wasn’t a really bad feeling, but it really made him taste sour inside his mouth. Besides, he doesn’t think he will watch it any time soon, and by the time he will he will eventually forget this moment. As minutes passed, the table got stacked with various Russian (and not really) foods. Two bowls of salad, some meat and other goods, accompanied by at least one bottle of alcohol and one bottle of soda. All of it feels just right. Soon, the crew got around the table and slowly got to eating. — That friend of mine also told me a thing. – Curtis said. – Where does a Russian feast begin? With a table full of booze, of course! And by the time the guests arrive, it must be entirely empty! Trent and Anon shared a chuckle. Nick looked at Curtis with a question, but soon understood the joke. Abby remained silent. And just like that, they celebrated the New Year. Anon was standing inside the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. His face looked like he was about to drag someone through concrete and soil. The little amount of alcohol he drank on that New Year's feast turned something inside him on, like a switch inside of a fuse box. He isn’t mad, just confused at things he witnesses each and every day. And this confusion still grows, from the day he got inside the university. He turned on the water. Its cat-like purling was one hell of a soothing sound, and before Anon would fall inside the sink asleep, he sprayed his face with cold water. Every single bit of tiredness left as his face, now drenched in cold water, looked at its own reflection. Now instead of a psychomaniac he looks like a simple Russian madman. Someone who had gone crazy long ago. With all I remember it’s a Euclidean miracle I didn’t go postal. – Anon thought. He wiped his face with a towel and left the bathroom. Suddenly, he felt the coldness tightening around his feet. At first, he thought it was coming in from the kitchen. He entered it, but didn’t spot anything besides the remains of cuisine rampage courtesy of Nick and Trent. The window was closed. The fridge didn’t look like it was leaking anything. Throwing a glance one last time, Anon left the kitchen and went inside the living room. The table was filled with dirty dishes. Some glasses had fair bits of alcohol and soda left in them. The bowl of Cesar salad was also not really empty – there was a good amount left. From the table onto the couch, Anon looked and spotted Curtis and Abby, lying on the soft couch, sleeping tight. Without the table, they would look like a pair of lovers. Anon looked over onto the table again, thinking about how good of a meal he had. This was something he didn’t devour so thoroughly in years. He liked it all, except for the Olivier salad. He looked at the empty bowl with disgust. With the same success I could piss inside a bowl and call it a salad. – Anon thought. – The difference would be minimal. What did Russians even find in this thing?.. Eh, different mentalities, why do I have to care? Anon still felt the coldness gripping onto his feet. The windows inside the living room were closed. That means it is spreading from the second floor. As stupid and as strange this idea sounds, it’s the only really reasonable version he could think of. With nothing else left to do in the living room, Anon made his way to the staircase and onto the second floor. On the second floor there were only two doors. Anon opened the door onto the left and entered Curtis’ room. A big ballsy drumset was taking half of the entire room. The other half is anything else: the table, the bed, and many other little things. Near the bed, on the soft carpet floor, Trent was sitting and browsing away. His face was of absolute disdain. Feeling someone’s presence, Trent raised his gaze from the phone and spotted Anon. — Oh hey. – Trent said, tired. – I’m just here, sitting and watching some dumb shit. Were you on the first floor? What happened to Curtis and Abby? — They are sleeping on the couch. – Anon said. – Tell me, do you feel some strange coldness around your feet? Trent thought for a second, then shook his head. — Maybe it’s because I was sitting here quite a while. – he added. – Check out the other room. Anon nodded and left Trent alone in the room, closing the door behind himself, and, with no hesitation, entered the other room. He was met with a good punch of cold wind into his face. This room is the source of the coldness. The room itself was a simple bedroom – double bed, some nightstands, some shelves with things, a tall wardrobe with a mirror on it, a TV hung up on a wall with some paintings around it. This was Curtis’ parents' bedroom. Really Christian if you think about it . – Anon thought. What really separated this bedroom from many others Anon has seen in his life was the door onto the little balcony, with a view on the backyard. The door onto it was wide open, pouring in absolute coldness. Anon, as quiet as he could, closed the door into the bedroom behind himself and slowly approached and entered the balcony. The night spread around everywhere: on the crones of the distant trees, on the barely visible river, on the sky, consumed by cosmos. Breathing erupts a small cloud of steam, to be taken away by the cold hand of the night wind and thaw in the infinite black. Looking at the sky, Anon didn’t notice even the smallest of the stars. This is… quite menacing. – Anon thought. He looked down, and spotted Nick. She was sitting, her hands locked around her knees, staring at the blackness with her eyes vacant. She was deep in her thoughts, and it took her a good second to notice Anon standing near. When she eventually spots him, she smiles, but looking at her smile Anon knows – something went bad, and he doesn’t know. Of all the things he thought of, one came into his mind. It was a quote from their song: You are a ticking mental bomb. Hellish smile and empty dead eyes. It was sounding out of place, but Anon thought it fit. — Hey. – she said, tired. – Something happened? Anon sat down beside her. — Not really. Just wanted to check up on people. Curtis and Abby are sleeping on the couch on the first floor, Trent’s just watching news on his phone in Curtis’ room on this floor. And you’re… here. Anon understood – it is the same as before. He remembers exactly how it all went. He remembers how his actions related to that nightmarish day. This time, this very moment, he will shut the fuck up and listen. The silence between Anon and Nick went for around fifteen seconds. Anon was patiently waiting, staring at the sky. Soon, Nick found her words. — Have you ever considered yourself a pathetic being? – she asked. Anon didn’t respond. — That you are always trying to pretend, all for the sake of forgetting who you really are – nothing more than just a sack of shit? Who has fucked up most of his childhood life with a fucked up decision after a fucked up decision? Anon didn’t respond. — I know my problem – I am identifying as something I’m not. A good singer. A good friend. A good daughter. A good student. A good person. My friends were always out there for me, and they went out of their way to assist me as much as their powers allowed them, but… this problem is always here, with me. Anon didn’t respond. — Music allows me to forget about it. To express myself the way I find preferrable, in hopes of finding someone who can actually relate. Have you looked at the lyrics? How antisocial and emotional they can get? That’s all because of me, and what I feel. That’s all me. In each and every single word. Anon didn’t respond. — You know, I had a brother. Had. I was… what, fourteen when it all happened. He was… nine. He was always… looking up to me. I had to take care of him, because, well, I’m his sister after all. He was a curious boy. He always asked me about various things. He was… an avid learner. Once in a while, we walked down from the playground. He was fast, always running somewhere. He dreamed about becoming a marathon runner, to set a world record… He sometimes ran off onto the driveway, I told him to not to do so, and yet he still ran off onto the fucking driveway. Once he ran off and… and… From normal talking into the barely comprehensible murmur, hidden beneath the sobbing. Nick’s shoulders quake, tears running down her cheeks, leaving trails of eyeliner. Still, Anon didn’t respond. — …got hit by a car roaming down the street. He was kicked… aside… like a ball. I ran to him… His body was… completely devastated, I… called… immediately… They arrived really soon and… took him… They said there still was a chance… But the next day they told me he… didn’t… make it. No words left, only audible weeping. Clear as this night. Anon looked at her, the poor fragile being, breaking down right in front of him. Still, as if he bit his tongue, he didn’t respond. She gasped and, in one breath, looking at Anon with insane and pleading eyes, almost screamed: — And there is no one to blame but me! She continued weeping, her face in her laps. A gut feeling – this is the moment to act. Anon tried to lift his hand, but it was stiff, as if there was a different force, trying desperately for him to remain still and silent. With a lot of his mental force he lifted his hand and tried to put it onto her shoulders. Suddenly, Nick grabbed Anon by his shirt and pulled him to herself. Her face now was buried inside his shirt, her hands tightly clasped, like a pair of sturdy shackles. — That’s why I ran off here, closer to the Volcano University! That’s why I severed all the ties with my school friends and even my parents! That’s why I began playing music so much and got Curtis and Trent up with me! I can’t just bear with the fact that my parents could love a killer! A killer who killed her brother! This wasn’t an accident! This was my fault! Mine! Anon slowly closed his hands around her body. She continued to cry, letting out everything she held inside, one by one. There was no need to say anything, Anon just sat there, hugging her and looking onto the sky. The sole fact that he is here, hugging her, letting her cry into his shirt, tells her everything. That he is something more than Abby, than Trent and Curtis. That he will support her whenever she needs it. That he will care, silently, but so vividly. It was all similar for Anon. The only difference was that, this time, he felt like he acted right. “ I’m always here. ”