章 85: Chapter 85
It had been a routine morning for Arthur. He shuffled down the sidewalk, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn coat. The world felt distant, like a film where he was the lone figure caught in a frame no one cared about.
Cars rushed by, people passed him by, none of them paying any attention. He didn't mind—at least, he told himself he didn't. It had always been this way, hadn't it? A lifetime of silence, of not mattering.
He walked past the bakery, the warm scent of bread filling the air, but no one noticed him. No one ever did. Not anymore. The baker's assistant, a young woman who always used to smile at him, didn't glance up this time.
Not when he waved. Not when he lingered near the window. He stared through the glass at the trays of pastries, feeling the ache of loneliness in his chest, but there was nothing to say.
Arthur didn't mind the solitude. Or at least, he tried not to. He never used to be invisible. He used to be someone. A father, a husband, a friend. But that was before. Before everything had been taken from him. Now, his existence was reduced to walking these streets, waiting for a wave or a glance that would never come.
The old man reached the bus stop, sitting down on the metal bench with a groan. A group of teenagers stood at the corner, talking, laughing. They didn't notice him either. They'd never spoken to him, never given him the time of day, but that wasn't unusual.
It wasn't until later, when they all climbed into the bus that had just arrived, that he realized none of them had looked his way at all. No one had even nodded in his direction. They were oblivious to him as if he wasn't even there.
It didn't hurt. It was just a fact.
Arthur's hands trembled as he adjusted his grip on the edge of the bench. The quiet hum of life around him—the cars, the noise, the distant chatter—felt somehow wrong. A hollow emptiness. He shifted his gaze to the clock on the nearby wall.
It had been a long day already, but the clock said it was only noon. Time seemed to stretch, as though the world was running in slow motion, just slightly out of sync with him.
He stood up, feeling the chill in his bones, and began walking again. His legs were stiff. It wasn't easy for him anymore. But still, he walked. Still, he tried. He could hear the footsteps of others on the sidewalk, their voices rising and falling as they passed him.
He wanted to scream at them, to demand that they notice him, but he didn't. The frustration that gnawed at him couldn't even push past the apathy in his chest.
By the time he reached the park, the sky had darkened a little. It wasn't late, but the sun had hidden behind thick clouds. There were a few kids playing in the distance, their laughter bouncing through the park, but no one spoke to Arthur.
He watched them, but they didn't look back. He found himself sitting on the same bench near the swings he'd sat on countless times before, his eyes focused on the ground.
His heart ached. Was this how it was supposed to be? Alone? Forgotten?
Arthur took out his wallet and stared at the crumpled photo inside. His daughter, Amelia. She was smiling, holding her baby in her arms. It was a picture from a few years ago. Before. Before the accident. Before the world had turned into this awful, silent nothingness.
A voice. Someone was speaking. But it wasn't to him.
He turned to see a young woman, a mother, talking to a man on the other bench. They were gesturing at the swings, talking about something, but the words weren't important. Arthur stared at them, searching for some connection.
The woman's son ran past him, bumping into his knee, and not once did she glance down to apologize. He almost felt the coldness of her disregard burn into him.
When the woman and the man stood to leave, they didn't spare him a second thought. No apology, no friendly nod, nothing. Just a passing moment in their own world.
Arthur stood up, his back aching, and walked back to the streets. His shoes made a soft thud on the concrete, barely louder than the hum of the world around him. He passed the grocery store, where the clerk stood behind the counter, sorting through cans.
He didn't look up as Arthur entered. Arthur had been a customer there for years. He was a regular. And yet, today, the clerk didn't even acknowledge him.
This was the moment when Arthur felt it—something cold, something dark. The realization that it wasn't just the people who didn't notice him, but he was slipping. Fading. Maybe even gone already. But how could that be? He was still walking.
He could still feel the hard press of his boots on the pavement. His breath still rushed in and out, his chest still heaved.
But when he reached the street corner, his heart skipped a beat.
There, on the ground, a scene he couldn't ignore. His body. Broken and twisted beneath the wheels of a car. It had happened hours ago. The crash. The impact. The accident.
Arthur felt the blood drain from his face, but there was no blood. There was nothing but the sight of the man he used to be, lying lifeless, unnoticed by everyone around him. The traffic moved around him. No one stopped. No one cared.
The voices of the pedestrians blended with the street noise, never once touching his existence.
Arthur stood in the crowd, his heart thudding in his chest, but he didn't exist. Not here. Not anywhere. No one could hear him. No one could see him. His body, broken and abandoned, was nothing more than an afterthought.
He turned, walking away from the scene, the streets stretching on forever.
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