The Weight of the Red Sky

Mark was slumped over his kitchen counter, his head buried in his arms. The holographic calendar on his table blinked insistently, a nagging reminder of the week ahead. 

Three events. Three massive undertakings, and all because his well-meaning but utterly chaotic friends thought they were doing him a favor.

Layla’s voice crackled through his earpiece.

“You okay, Mark? You sound like you’re about to combust.”

He sighed deeply. “Neon signed me up for an art-tech expo, Luke volunteered me for some dumb gadget sculpture showcase, and Ash apparently decided I’m presenting at some meeting about flying technology. Three events. Three different crowds. One very stressed-out Mark.”

Layla chuckled softly, the sound like a soothing balm. “Why are you stressing? You don’t have to do all of them, you know. Just say no.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Mark said, rubbing his temples.

“Because it is easy,” Layla replied, her tone practical but kind. “Mark, you don’t owe anyone your sanity. Sure, they signed you up, but that doesn’t mean you have to bend over backward. Do what feels right for you.”

Mark paused. Her words made sense, but the thought of backing out felt… wrong. His friends believed in him enough to throw him into these situations, even if they didn’t ask first. He glanced at the small hologram of Layla floating above the counter, her expression one of calm concern.

“Layla,” he said softly, “you’re always the one to ground me. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”

She hesitated for a moment, her voice softer now. “Mark, there’s something I should tell you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“I like Ash,” she said simply.

Mark blinked. He’d seen it coming, of course suspected it for a while, even but hearing her say it out loud still made his chest tighten for a moment. Then he smiled.

“I kind of figured,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Ash is a great guy, and so are you. Makes sense, really.”

Layla’s face softened, but she still looked a little unsure. “Thing is… I don’t even know if he feels the same way about me. He’s hard to read sometimes, you know?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah, that’s Ash for you. But hey, if anyone could get him to open up, it’s you. You’re smart, funny, and honestly, way more patient than I could ever be.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Mark said. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’d be good for each other. Just… take your time. No need to rush.”

“Thanks, Mark,” she said, her voice warm with gratitude. “You’re the best.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he teased, feeling a little lighter despite the weight of his schedule.

The next week was a whirlwind. Mark didn’t back out of a single event, though it nearly broke him. The art-tech expo with Neon was a hit. His gadgets drew a crowd, and his holographic art installations were the talk of the day. Even Neon, showed her softer side and gave him a genuine compliment.

“Your work’s good, Mark,” she said, her tone characteristically earnest. “People need to see it more.”

The gadget showcase with Luke was chaotic but rewarding. Luke, who had all the artistic finesse of a malfunctioning robot, proudly displayed one of Mark’s older prototypes like it was his own creation.

“You know,” Mark said, suppressing a laugh, “you might want to let the inventor talk about his invention.”

Luke shrugged. “Details.”

Despite the stress, the crowd loved Mark’s presentation, and Luke’s bumbling enthusiasm only added to the charm.

The final event, the meeting with scientists about flying technology, was the most nerve-wracking. Ash had prepared an entire presentation, complete with diagrams and projections, but left Mark to handle the majority of the talking.

“You’re the dreamer,” Ash had said, adjusting his glasses. “They’ll listen to you.”

And they did. By the end of the discussion, the possibility of actual flight not just hovering cars felt within reach. Mark left the meeting buzzing with a sense of accomplishment.

That evening, he returned home, physically and emotionally drained but undeniably proud. His euphoria was short-lived, though, as his communication device buzzed with an incoming message.

It was from his mom.

Dad passed away this afternoon. It was peaceful.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He sank into his chair, staring at the message.

His mind raced back to his last visit with his dad, Dean H., just days ago. Dean had been in good spirits, joking about snail racing and how even in a perfect world, humans would find ways to mess things up.

“You know,” Dean had said, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “if snails can race with helmets, maybe I should’ve tried something slower. Like… betting on rocks to grow.”

Mark had laughed, not realizing it would be one of their last conversations.

He thought about how his dad had struggled with addiction, how he’d battled his demons even in a society where most problems were supposed to be solved. Dean wasn’t perfect, but he’d tried. And in the end, wasn’t that what mattered?

Mark wiped at his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat.

His mom called him shortly after, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “He loved you so much, Mark. And he was proud of you. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Mark whispered.

He didn’t tell anyone about his dad’s passing, not even his friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them it was just… too personal.

He thought back to another time, years ago, when one of his closest friends, Zara, had died during one of her adrenaline-fueled experiments. She’d been testing high-speed drone capabilities and taken one too many risks. He hadn’t told anyone about her death for weeks, carrying the weight all alone.

Lying in bed that night, Mark stared at the ceiling, reflecting on the week. Despite everything the stress, the sadness he felt a strange sense of peace. He’d done his best, for his friends, for himself, for his dad.

As his breathing slowed and sleep began to claim him, a single tear slipped down his cheek, catching the dim glow of the bedside holo-lamp.

Somewhere in the quiet, a thought whispered through his mind: Even in the mess, there’s meaning. And even in the loss, there’s love.

His eyes fluttered shut, the trace of a smile lingering on his face as the weight of the week finally gave way to dreams.