Haunted By the Living
> "Why did you do this to me, Myck?
You had a choice.
But you chose to kill me.
Who the hell do you think you are?
Who gave you the right to decide who lives… and who dies?"
"I… I'm sorry…"
> "You think that changes anything?
You watched me die.
It's your fault."
"I'm sorry…"
> "Pathetic.
The day you die… the world will breathe easier."
"I'm… really sorry."
And just like that—with a strangled cry and sweat-soaked sheets—I woke up.
Again.
Another nightmare.
The same one.
The same pain.
My breathing was ragged.
Hands clammy.
Vision blurred.
I sat there in the dark, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding as if I really had killed someone.
As if I had watched them die all over again.
Back then… I was at my lowest.
Every night was hell.
Closing my eyes meant facing monsters.
Staying awake meant slipping into madness.
Fatigue ate me alive.
It burrowed into my bones, hollowed me out until I started hallucinating.
And when I did sleep?
The nightmares came for me like divine punishment.
At some point, I wasn't sure anymore—
Dream, reality…
It all blurred together.
Everything turned black.
If I'm still standing today,
it's because of one person.
A friend.
A brother.
My living mirror.
JOVANY.
- "Another nightmare?"
- "Yeah… Not in the mood for your jokes, Jovany."
I was harsh.
I knew it.
But he understood.
He always did.
- "Stop torturing yourself, Myck. Yeah, you killed.
It's the job.
It'll happen again.
You have to move on."
- "Easy for you to say…
That's why I'd rather talk to John. At least he gives real advice."
- "Go talk to John then.
Except he doesn't want to speak to you anymore.
So now you're stuck with me.
And I'm not going anywhere."
- "Shut up.
Keep your damn advice."
The words came out like venom.
I saw the flicker in his eyes.
I'd hit him where it hurt.
But I didn't care.
I was raw.
Fractured.
Empty.
- "You're going to end up alone, Myck.
Keep pushing away the people who give a damn about you…"
- "Who said you two mattered to me?"
- "Keep telling yourself that.
Play the tough guy all you want.
But don't pull that crap with me."
- "Asshole."
- "Whatever.
We need to go."
- "Of course… here we go again."
That exchange—
messy as it was—
was probably one of the most honest conversations of my life.
Brutal.
Conflicted.
Real.
And despite everything,
our friendship…
it was one of the few things keeping me alive.
I wished that morning could've lasted forever.
But reality doesn't let you hide for long.
I was still reeling from the death of that man.
And now…
I had to do it again.
- "Before you head out…"
- "What now, Jovany?"
- "Just so you know… me too."
- "Me too what? Spit it out—I don't have all f—"
- "Me too, I've killed.
I've watched men die under my bullets.
More than I care to count."
Silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
He'd said out loud what I already knew.
But hearing it…
Hearing the words…
still hit like a freight train.
- "I know…
That's why I say you're stronger than me."
I smiled.
Not a fake one.
A real one.
The kind that comes from deep down,
where the pain lives.
Our friendship was strange.
Fragile.
Yet unbreakable.
And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:
> "If only, Myck…
If only that were true…"
To be continued…New World...