Karl Schwarzwald

The door to the apartment stood slightly ajar. Warm, golden light spilled out, casting a comforting glow onto the corridor’s worn tiles. Karl stepped inside, greeted by the sound of laughter and the clatter of utensils. His parents were seated at the table, smiling as if the weight of their daily struggles had vanished.

“Welcome home!” his mother said, rising to wrap him in a hug. Her arms were warm, and for a fleeting moment, Karl felt like a child again, safe and loved.

“Dinner’s ready,” his father added, motioning to the table. The spread was modest but inviting, steaming bowls of soup, a loaf of bread, and a small dish of pickled vegetables. They talked, joked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Karl’s heart felt light.

But the warmth faded. The room dimmed abruptly, as if someone had blown out the sun. Karl blinked, his heart sinking. The faces of his parents had transformed. Their skin was pale, their eyes hollowed, and blood dripped from the corners of their twisted smiles.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” his mother whispered, her voice no longer hers but something hollow and cold.

Karl staggered back, but the room dissolved around him. Blood poured from the walls, pooling at his feet, rising until he was submerged in a sea of crimson. He flailed, gasping for air, but the surface was infinite, stretching in every direction.

“What is this? What’s happening?” he choked, his voice swallowed by the silence.

Two piercing lights appeared on the horizon, growing brighter as they hurtled toward him. A deafening honk shattered the stillness, and Karl froze like a deer in headlights. The lights blinded him, the roar of an engine filling his ears.

He screamed.

Karl woke with a jolt, his breath ragged and his body slick with sweat. His surroundings were unfamiliar—a white ceiling, fluorescent lights humming softly above, and the faint antiseptic scent of a hospital room.

“Easy there,” came a calm voice.

Karl turned to see a doctor standing at his bedside. The man’s face was lined with sympathy, but his professionalism kept it from softening into pity.

“Where am I? What happened?” Karl asked, his throat dry and voice shaky. “Where are my parents?”

The doctor hesitated, his eyes briefly dropping to the chart in his hands. He sighed, sitting down in the chair beside Karl’s bed.

“You’ve been in an accident, Karl. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your parents… they didn’t make it.”

The words hit him like a blow to the chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Karl stared at the doctor, searching for some crack in his expression, some sign that this was a cruel mistake.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, that’s not… they can’t be gone. I just saw them! We were at the table—” His voice cracked, and the memory of his dream flooded back. It twisted in his mind, taking on a sinister clarity.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said again. “I know this is a lot to process. Do you have any other family we can contact? An aunt, uncle, anyone?”

Karl swallowed hard, his stomach churning. He knew the truth, but he also knew what it would mean for him. Orphanages in the city weren’t places for second chances; they were pits where survival meant sacrifice.

“Yes,” he lied, his voice barely above a whisper. “An uncle. He… lives out of town.”

The doctor nodded. “Good. That’s good. I’ll make arrangements to have you discharged soon.”

Karl returned to the apartment later that day. The space felt foreign, a shell of its former self. His parents’ absence was a suffocating void, each object in the apartment a cruel reminder of their lives. The smell of his mother’s perfume lingered faintly in the air. His father’s worn briefcase still sat by the door.

“Why didn’t I just go with them?” he muttered to himself, collapsing onto the couch. His voice echoed in the empty room, sounding alien to his ears.

The days blurred together. He couldn’t bring himself to clean the apartment or even eat properly. He would lie on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying memories of his parents. Their laughter. The mundane arguments over dinner.

Weeks passed. The savings his parents had left dwindled rapidly, consumed by rent and meager groceries. Karl tried to tell himself he’d figure it out, but his mind was a fog of grief and apathy. School became a distant memory. Each time the phone rang with concerned calls from classmates or teachers, he let it go unanswered.

Eventually, the money ran out. The landlord’s voice on the other end of the intercom was sharp, final.

“You’ve got three days to pay, or you’re out. No exceptions.”

Karl stared at the screen, numb. “I can’t even pay for food,” he muttered bitterly. “What does it matter?”

But desperation has a way of stirring even the most broken souls. One night, as Karl wandered the dimly lit streets near Block-17, he noticed a man dropping a package into a dumpster. The act was quick and furtive, his eyes darting nervously before he disappeared down an alley. Karl didn’t think much of it until another figure approached minutes later, retrieved the package, and vanished into the night.

It clicked. Drugs. It had to be. He’d heard stories of how the local gangs used public bins for discreet transactions, trusting that most wouldn’t dare interfere. But Karl had nothing to lose.

The next day, he waited in the shadows, watching as another gang member repeated the process. When the coast was clear, Karl rushed forward, snatched the package, and ran back to his apartment. His hands shook as he tore it open, revealing brightly coloured pills in a clear bag. The symbol stamped on each one was foreign, but the intent was clear.

He hesitated. “This could kill me,” he murmured. “Or it could save me.”

With no other options, he found his way to a nightclub infamous for its seedy clientele. The pounding music and flashing lights disoriented him, but he pushed forward, asking discreetly if anyone was looking to buy. Within an hour, the package was gone, traded for a wad of cash.

For the first time in weeks, Karl ate a full meal. But as he lay in bed that night, staring at the cracked ceiling, guilt gnawed at him.

“This isn’t what they’d want,” he whispered. “But what choice do I have?”

Over the following weeks, Karl honed his new craft. He studied the gang’s drop points, learning their schedules and habits. He was careful to only take small amounts, just enough to keep himself afloat. But the gang was no fool. Soon, guards began to patrol the bins, and Karl found himself boxed in.

When the landlord finally kicked him out, Karl pleaded, tears streaming down his face. “Please. Just give me a week. I’ll find the money.”

But the man shook his head. “I’ve given you plenty of time, kid. You’re out.”

With nowhere to go, Karl used his last earnings to spend a single night in a grimy hotel. Staring at his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, he barely recognized himself.

“This can’t go on,” he muttered. “I can’t live like this.”

But even as he said the words, he knew the path he was on wasn’t one he could easily escape.