"Is that so?" John raised an eyebrow, his voice light but not without sharpness. "Then tell me, where are these dreams sold? I'll take a sack. Maybe two."
Gabriel didn't laugh. He leaned back, the cheap plastic chair groaning beneath him. His shoulders were stiff with exhaustion, the kind no sleep could cure. The corners of his mouth twitched—almost a smirk, almost a frown—but he said nothing for a moment.
Finally, his voice came out flat. "Wouldn't know. But I can tell you where they're not—buried under pallets and paycheck stubs in a warehouse with no windows and less hope."
John snorted into his drink. Gabriel didn't stop.
"They've got my sweat. My time. Whatever spine I haven't already ground down to dust. And for what? The promise that if I work myself into an early grave, someone might toss me a bone and call it a raise?"
John smirked. "Work hard enough, maybe you'll be promoted. Who knows? Maybe one day you'll be the manager of the warehouse. With your own car and everything."
He didn't believe it. The words were hollow, even to him, but he said them anyway—like tossing dried leaves into the wind just to watch them drift.
Gabriel laughed then—not a joyful laugh, but the kind that spills from a cracked heart, slow and bitter.
"That's a story for children," he said. "The kind told around campfires to keep fools from running."
John took a sip, watching the foam cling to the inside of his mug. "You speak like a man who's given up. Don't you want wealth? Comfort? A life without struggle?"
Gabriel didn't even blink. He didn't need to think. His answer had long been buried in the marrow of his bones.
"Not really," he said. The words dropped between them like stones into a well.
John frowned, half-playful, half-troubled. "I don't believe you. If someone handed you a fortune—no strings, no curses—you'd turn it down?"
"If it came without strings?" Gabriel shrugged. "I'd take it. Of course I would. Only a fool would spit on such an opportunity. I said I don't care to chase it, that I won't bow my back and chain my soul for the chance of some far-off reward. That's not ambition. That's slavery painted gold. That kind of dream eats men from the inside."
He took a slow drink, swallowing not just beer, but something older and more bitter.
"Most of our troubles—yours, mine—they don't come from some cruel fate or failing of the spirit. They come from empty pockets. No silver, no choices."
John tilted his head, the laughter beginning in his eyes before it touched his mouth.
Gabriel continued, ignoring it for now.
"Last week, my car died. Not wrecked. Just broke. No money to fix it. I walked to work. An hour in the sun, back and forth. Burned the skin off my neck, soaked through my shirt. Dead tired, I still had to endure. That's the world we live in; it's ridiculous. A broken engine, and suddenly you're back in the Stone Age."
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm joking?"
John shook his head, laughing. "No," he said, "that's why it's funny."
Gabriel tried to frown, to hold onto the irritation. But it slipped from him until something cracked. The corners of his mouth twitched, then rose.
And then they were both laughing, two weary men in a tired world, their joy forged from shared misery, not because their problems were gone…
…sometimes, when named aloud, misery sounds ridiculous.
As the night deepened, their conversation meandered through realms of speculation and absurdity, each theory more fantastical than the last.
Time, it seemed, was but a fleeting companion.
As the night wore on and their wallets grew lighter, they were close to parting ways.
The owner of the bar, a stout man with a perpetual scowl, approached their table. "Closing time," he grumbled, his tone brokering no argument.
Reluctantly, Gabriel and John gathered their belongings, stepping out into the cool embrace of the night.
Both friends parted ways, and Gabriel walked the streets alone.
The streets were eerily quiet, the usual bustle of the city subdued under the blanket of darkness. Gabriel's steps were unsteady, the effects of the night's indulgence evident in his gait.
Yet, amidst the tranquility, something unusual caught his eye—a faint, azure glow flickering in the distance.
The peculiar blue light began to swirl before him. At first, he thought it a trick of the alcohol, but the light grew in intensity and clarity, defying explanation.
His steps faltered when he saw it.
A flicker of blue light.
Not a streetlamp. Not a reflection. It pulsed like a heartbeat—soft, steady, unnatural.
"What the hell…?" Gabriel blinked, rubbed his eyes.
He wasn't that drunk. Maybe a little buzzed, sure, but hallucinations? No.
Yet the light moved, curling and swirling in midair, like mist caught in a cyclone. It danced just ahead of him, daring him to follow.
Had it been another occasion where he was thinking straight, he would have been long gone. But his usual caution was dulled by the alcohol's influence, and curiosity overcame him. He stepped closer to the ethereal glow.
One hand reached forward.
When he was about to touch the blue light, a strange object shot forth from the light, landing at his feet with a soft thud. A dagger. Old. Rusted. Unremarkable.
And yet…
The moment Gabriel picked it up, the metal melted. It writhed like liquid fire, slithering over his hand, seeping into his skin.
He screamed, or tried to. But no sound came.
Only searing pain.
Then—darkness.
His body pitched forward, caught in the blue glow. The moment his skin touched it, he exploded—a flash of crimson mist, his clothes dropping empty to the ground.
One breath, he existed.
The next, he was gone.
Gabriel was erased, as if something had reached out from the dark and taken him.
His clothes lay where he'd stood, soaked with a fine red mist, as if his body had been torn apart in an instant and scattered into the night.
There were no screams. No signs of struggle. Just silence—and that faint, unnatural scorch in the air, like burnt ozone and blood.
Authorities found nothing. No footprints, no fingerprints. Just fabric, damp with something that tested human...His disappearance haunted loved ones, baffled investigators, and fed the fires of urban legend.
Since then, the alley's been avoided.
Pets refuse to walk past it. Electronics flicker near it. And every so often, late at night, people still see a faint blue glow flickering in that alley. And they don't linger long.
What truly happened that night? No one knows.
And perhaps… no one ever will.