Five Minutes Late

The city was expecting us.

It wasn’t like a greeting of an old friend; warm and cheerful, it wasn’t obvious to the human eye to see. The people did not linger upon our arrival; everyone seemed so absorbed in their own fantasies, yet the air was filled with excitement and golden warm tones. September was sneaking up, unwanted by the hostages of summer; people bustling through the city with hopes to capture the last days of serenity before the soon-to-come routine. But beneath the warmth, the city was studying us. It watched us closely, learning the curves of our movements, synchronizing with the rhythm of our habits. After all, we were guests, captured by its beauty, but detained by its gaze. 

The streets were packed with people, everyone rushing towards different directions with purpose, their steps being barely a simple motion and more like a pulse of the city. Beside us, trains passed along their rails, penetrating their symphony through our bodies, uniting our systems. 

I don't remember the name of the city. My memory never noted its name. But, it engraved the important. The people.  

I remembered Alex. 

Walking close, I remember his Herculean silhouette, his shape shifting like a shadow that aligns with its owner.  He always knew when to slow down, when to say something funny, or when to simply enjoy the silence. I never had to ask him. 

Our friends were far ahead of us, laughing at shop windows and making grand plans for their upcoming exploration. One of my friends, Santina, ran over to me, pulling in another direction. Santina was the eldest among us, her energy always radiant and full of life, yet everyone always came to her for advice.  

She pulled me aside as she had felt the linger in the air, curious what I had to say. Signaling to the rest of the group, she and I set off towards the old, historically rich part of the city, while the rest of them, including Alex, went for the modern parts of the town. We all agreed to meet each other later. A time. A place. A promise.  

---

As we set off towards our own journey, Santina and I stood waiting at the crosswalk. 

The entire time I was carrying a backpack, laying heavy on my shoulders. I started recalling what was in it because I was genuinely surprised by its heaviness. Moments later I realised that the weight didn't come from it; it came from my inner core, my intuition if I must say. The pressure absorbed me, gently layering inside me. 

Besides me, Santina walked, her sky blue eyes wandering everywhere as if she tried to memorize all the elements of the city, all the faces walking by, all the pieces of the puzzle that made this day stand out. She looked absorbed in her own little world, where everything foreign lost its significance, and only her own imagination kept fueling her. I know what she felt. Every time Santina went to a new place, her whole body would lighten up, and she would become like a fallen feather from a firebird, flowing into new places with ease and excitement. 

I turned my head. 

I don't know why. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. I didn't see anything unusual. Just people, just motion. Yet, my gut feeling told me to stay alert. Gut feeling never lies. 

Peripherally, I saw a man. He was standing way close to the tracks, his eyes possessed at the man who stood next to us. Then I saw the hand. The hand raised for a gentle push, a push towards a moving train. 

The hand hovered, not exactly touching. Just waiting. 

The time froze, each second feeling like eternity. I wasn't trusting my own vision. Was the hand really there? Or was it just my imagination? The constant city noise, the motion of the crowd, the rhythm finally crawled into my mind. My thoughts ran like wild horses, imagining every possible scenario. But what kept me alert was the hand. The hand that was too close to us. The symbol of danger. 

My brain no longer responded. My brain clashed, while my body acted on instincts. It was all blurry. All I could think of was about our safety. If the hand was really there, Santina would have fallen by inertia into the jaws of the rails. Maybe it was just my twisted mind playing games on me… 

 Yet my fist drove straight into the man’s face. 

The world seemed to freeze around the impact. Suddenly, the rhythm stopped, and we became the center of the scene. The man's eyes widened, immediately turning into two gem red stones. He wasn't hurt from my punch. He was shocked. He was discovered. Only I knew his intentions, and he knew that too. 

His expression hardened, becoming hard to read, full of determination to redeem his pride. He couldn't let me go that easily. His face turned into something primitive and ugly, a mix of Hades’s coldness and an animal’s ferocity. He finally swung at me. Missed. Swung again. Another miss. 

People stared. As always. 

Not at him. At me. 

Their eyes turned on me as if I had interrupted their deep sleep, eyes full of resentment. They looked as if I were a nuisance; annoying. All the heads turned towards me, irritated by the disruption I caused. Someone shouted. Then another one. The words lost their meaning on their way, but the tone didn't. It wasn't a concern; it was an accusation. Whilst in my mind I was a hero, ironically, I was portrayed as a villain. 

I wanted to justify. I wanted someone to believe my truth. I had seen what they hadn't. I wasn't the danger. He was. 

The man was furious. He tried to grab something out of his pocket. It's usually not a good sign; foreboding the worst. 

I grabbed Santina’s arm. It was cold for some reason. Yet, it didn't matter to me. Her safety was my top priority. “Run,” I said. My mouth blabbered the words, but only an empty wind came out. 

---

Our car was still where we left it, in an empty parking lot that was around the corner. The car was easy to spot, which surprised me, especially when compared to horror films, when in key moments everything goes wrong, and nothing is achieved within the correct time. It was a bright orange colored car, standing out among the rest of the boring grey vehicles.  

By the time we reached it, it was already dark. The daylight had passed unnoticed, and we were left in the hands of the darkness of the night. 

We slammed the doors. I pressed every possible button to lock them. My hands shook when I tried to type.

Alex, typed I, we will meet somewhere else. 

Do not come back to that place we agreed upon. 

My hands were rushing through the keyboard, committing typos, but all that wasn’t important right now. I hit send. 

Alex replied instantly. His message carried warmth and placidity; he didn't understand the essence my message carried.

As my screen lit up, I stared at it longer than necessary. I got his message. I had to move on. I wanted to text him more, wanted to tell the details, what happened, how angry and scared I was. I didn't. I told myself that I was okay; it wasn't needed. We were safe now. Or maybe we weren't. 

We were driving for a while now, trying to get as far from that place as possible, obsessively checking our rear view in horror to find out an imaginary monster. Even though my mind said we were safe, my gut screamed like fire alarms, red and chaotic. 

Then I saw him again. His eyes. His eyes full of determination. Why was he still on to us? 

He clung to the back of our car, surfing through the roads on his cranky old skateboard. Flowing like a shadow, I doubted, was this him? Or was this my fear chasing me? This city finally revealed the true colors we all had; all shades of grey we had within. 

“He’s there,” I said. 

Santina didn't look. “What?!”

“Do not stop. Try to zigzag, throw him off our tail.”

Every time I blinked, his shadow seemed closer. The car started pirouetting as it never done before, probably feeling the tension we carried. 

Our tires squealed, as Santina zigzagged. Her breath was shallow, but her eyes were focused. As we sharply turned, we couldn't find him. Then we heard:

“BOOM!” 

We turned and saw the man lying on the asphalt. Did we throw him off or did he let go? 

We were finally free. He disappeared far behind us as we stormed off this street before we got captured and seen. 

We drove for another few minutes as if we were still chased by the shadows. 

---

When we finally stopped after being chased, we didn't call the police. Our car parked us in an old town, the buildings crowding each other, narrow and shaky, standing tightly as if they were afraid to fall. Instead of a modern cemented view, we saw a place with a soul; each brick, each rock resembled a deep story of the past. Somewhere in the distance, we saw a light, shining brightly in the abyss of the night; it was a church. It rose above the rooftops, the tower glaring with belief, hope, and love to all its visitors.  

The light allured my soul, pulling me closer with each step. The church drew me in, just as the earth holds its humans and never lets go. 

I walked towards it without thinking. 

As we got closer, it got hotter. The light that gently illuminated from afar became unbearably bright up close. It burned my skin, sweat dripping and blinding my sight. It wasn't light at all. It was fire all along. 

The closer we came, the higher the flames were. The only thing that kept us walking towards it was a firm hope that behind those flames was peace and safety. We came too close. The soldiers of fire enveloped the walls, blocking the streets and burning our flesh. 

My legs kept walking towards the church, believing we could make it through. I refused to let go. There should have been a way to cross the firewall; a way to escape. 

The burning sensation did not frighten me; physical pain couldn't compare to the inner disputes. Then I saw the fire crawling through the ground. It crawled like a snake, quickly and confidently, towards its prey. 

I stopped. I had to retreat; it wasn't about my beliefs anymore, it was about surviving. So I turned back. 

I pulled my phone out. My hands barely able to hold, but I still dialed Alex’s number. 

No answer.

I called again. 

Again. 

It felt like an eternity, trying to break through a door that was closed from the inside. Why did I refuse to step back? Was there any more sense left to hope for help? Or was it a sign to let go and save myself? 

My lungs burned, my heart bumped in a place too small for it. I called Alex again, forcing my phone into my ear, as if I could hypnotize it. 

He finally picked up. Music played in the background, filled with laughter. His voice was like balm, steady and restoring, but it felt far away. 

“I need you here,” I whispered. No explanation. The words carried my energy, while my body existed on reserve. 

“I’m coming,” he hung up. 

I believed him. 

Was it my hope or my habit?

---

We ran away from the fire into the depths of the town. Away from the noise, away from the light. Then I saw a building. It was dusty and unfinished, looking skeletal, the stairs shaking under every footstep.

“Up,” I said. 

Santina climbed the stairs behind me.

My legs burned, lungs screamed, but each floor we conquered felt like a step further from the craziness of the world we barely escaped. The higher we climbed, the quieter it felt, hearing our own steps instead of the earlier screams. 

We climbed to the roof, which opened a night view of this landscape. The sky was clear, stars shining brightly, as it was far away from the smoke of the city. 

It was still and quiet. A perfect spot to wait. For the first time since we parted with our friends, nothing was moving or posed any danger. It was calm. 

“I can finally breathe,” I told myself, “Alex will come soon, and everything will turn back to normal.” 

The moment my shoulders finally eased up, I heard footsteps. They weren't familiar. I knew Alex’s footsteps. These were heavier. These were not his. 

A man in a mask appeared. I couldn't see his face, but his eyes were familiar, resembling fire from before. He held a knife, long and silver, looking like an extension of his arm. I tried to read the man; what did he want? He didn't look angry; he was certain. 

I looked at Santina. Santina did not move. She stood still, her gaze falling upon me, but not seeing me. She wasn't frozen, not afraid; just…absent, withdrawn. 

At that moment, something cracked within. 

The masked man lunged into the attack. It felt as if he didn't see Santina at all. As if she had disappeared while still standing within reach. His eyes solely focused on me. 

I barely escaped the blade. As I kicked, his silvered weapon caught my shin, pain striking my whole body. The knife remained there. It served as my anchor, a moment that should remain in memory, something you shouldn't forget. 

The physical pain numbed my instinct of fear, realising with frightening clarity that this was either my end or the cliff I had to jump over to survive. Kill or be killed. 

If I fall…

He lunged in with another attack, but it was unsuccessful. I pushed him over. 

He flew over the roof edge with a heavy sound, racing through the air until it hit the ground. 

I stood there, waiting for a wave of emotions. For remorse. It never came. 

As I looked back, Santina still stood there, with the same stone face, her legs buried to the floor. 

Alex came five minutes later. 

He was breathing heavily. Apologizing. Explaining. 

I did not feel anything. My body stopped feeling the blade inside me.

Something changed. The part of me that hoped had died on that roof. 

He was five minutes late…