[Carl’s Memory]

[The Streets of New York – Pre-Apocalypse.]

​The humid air of the city smelled of exhaust and discarded dreams.

​"Hey!! Be fast with that!!"

​A man in a sharp, expensive suit yelled in a voice thick with unearned rage. He stood, pointing a manicured finger at Carl, who was hunched over on the hot pavement. Carl’s hands were raw from the soapy water, but he was busy scrubbing the grime off the man’s BMW tires with rhythmic intensity.

​"Sorry, sir! It has only been five minutes. I will get it done faster," Carl said quickly. He didn’t look up. He couldn’t afford to. He focused on the brush, making sure not to leave a single speck of dirt on the gleaming alloy.

​"You dare talk to my babe about time?!! Just focus on what you’re doing! You scum from the slums... I wonder why this store even hires such people," a woman snapped. She stepped out of the passenger side, her high heels clicking sharply against the asphalt. She walked toward Carl and, with a cruel smirk, rubbed the sole of her expensive shoe directly onto the tire he had just finished polishing.

​"Clean that good!" she added, her eyes dancing with mockery.

​"Yes. I am sorry for the delay," Carl replied, his voice flat. He wasn’t angry—at least, he didn’t let himself be. Anger was a luxury for people with full stomachs. He just kept washing, the sound of the couple’s laughter ringing in his ears.

​Around them, the New York crowd—a sea of people too busy to care—began to murmur.

​"Look at this kid... He looks fifteen years old, and he’s still this lazy," a passerby whispered loud enough to be heard. "Shouldn’t he be in school? What are his parents even doing?"

​"What are you saying? He is an orphan," another responded with a judgmental sigh.

​"An orphan? That explains it... He is so pathetic."

​Carl gritted his teeth, the bristles of the brush scratching harshly against the rubber. He remained silent, forcing himself to focus on the work until the tire was spotless once more.

​The couple listened to the whispers of the onlookers, exchanging a look of shared superiority before looking back down at the boy in the dirt.

​"Don’t you dare think we will give you any tip or help you just because you’re an orphan! Just make sure to clean my BMW!!" the man yelled.

​"Yes, Sir," Carl nodded quickly. He held the pain inside, locking it away in a dark corner of his heart where it couldn’t interfere with his survival.

__

​[Later That Day – 6 PM]

[The Cemetery]

​The sun was dipping below the skyline, casting long, skeletal shadows over the rows of headstones.

​"Mom. Dad. I am back again."

​Fifteen-year-old Carl dropped to his knees before two modest graves. He reached out and removed a single, dried-out flower that had turned brittle in the wind, tossing it aside. A small, hard smile played on his lips—the kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes.

​"Well, I didn’t make enough to buy a flower today," he whispered, his voice cracking. "But I will keep doing multiple jobs. I will get a huge bouquet of flowers for you two! I promise."

​As the silence of the graveyard settled around him, his forced bravado crumbled. He knelt there, staring at the names etched in stone, as hot tears finally began to roll down his cheeks. The weight of being alone in a city of millions finally felt like it was crushing him.

​"Hello."

​Carl blinked and spun around, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Standing before him was a girl who looked about two years older than him. She was beautiful, but it was her expression that paralyzed him—a bright, genuine smile that seemed to defy the gloom of the cemetery.

​Carl was dumbfounded. This was the first time someone had looked at him and smiled so brightly. In his worn, grease-stained clothes, most people ignored him like he was part of the sidewalk; others looked at him with visceral disdain. This was new.

​"You shouldn’t be sad... If you are, what will your mother and father do in the other world?" she asked calmly. She stepped closer and stretched forth a small, vibrant bouquet of flowers.

​"Take it... I saw you weren’t with any flower, so I brought this for you," she said.

"....??"

​Carl remained stunned, his gaze drifting from her striking blue eyes to the elegant black dress she wore. She looked like she belonged to a different world—a world of limousines, wealth and light.

​"Um... Thank you," he stammered, his fingers trembling as he took the bouquet. The scent of the fresh petals was overwhelming. "Thank you."

​"No worries," the girl said, her smile softening.

​"Mirabella!! Let’s go!"

​A man’s voice boomed from the distance. A sleek, black limousine sat idling at the cemetery gates, a chauffeur standing by the door.

​"Okay, I will get going," Mirabella said. She gave him one last nod and ran toward the car.

​Carl knelt frozen, watching until the car merged into the evening traffic and vanished. He lowered his gaze to the flowers in his hand, then turned back to the graves and slowly placed the bouquet between them.

​"Mom, Dad... All this while I didn’t know what to do," he said, his voice now steady and filled with a newfound clarity. "I just kept living and moving forward without a goal... But now, I found one."

​He stood up and dusted the dirt from his knees.

​"My goal is to follow her," he revealed, his eyes fixed on the spot where the limousine had disappeared. "I will find a way to always stay close to her. She is rich, so I will have to work hard. I will get into her school. From this day onwards, I will protect her and take her as my Big Sister."

​He bowed deeply to the graves of his parents, his expression hardening with resolve. "I won’t wander aimlessly anymore."

​Mirabella’s older, spectral form stood at the edge of the memory, her expression one of utter disbelief. She stared at the young Carl, then at the ghost of her younger self entering the car.

​"I was here to visit my mother," she whispered, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. "The man was my father’s butler... I haven’t said it, but my father was the richest man in New York. And Carl... I didn’t know the boy I gave a flower to in the cemetery was him."

​She blinked, stunned as the pieces of the last few years finally clicked into place.

​"How much did he suffer, and how hard did he work himself just so he could make it into New York University? Even when he got there, he made sure to keep his distance from me..."

​She thought back to their time in the classroom—the way Carl was always the class clown, always ready with a joke that seemed ill-timed.

​"So that’s why... Whenever the other boys started gossiping about me, he was always there to yell at them. He behaved like a joker so no one would take his protection seriously... And whenever he dropped a joke in class; I was in a bad mood... Was he trying to cheer me up back then?"

​Mirabella stood in the fading light of the memory, rendered speechless by the depth of a loyalty she had never fully understood.

​"So..." she muttered, her form beginning to flicker as the trial shifted. "What is his biggest fear?"

​With that question, she vanished into the next layer of the nightmare.