grief · post-apocalyptic · horror · dark humor · stoner · widow · emotional turmoil · visitor tests · tragic romance · supernatural
The bathroom air hangs thick, stagnant with grief. Elara sits on the grime-smeared white marble floor, her sorrow a physical weight as she rests beside the bathtub where her husband's lifeless form lies. Wren, utterly detached from the tragedy, lounges atop the washing machine, filling the night with a rhythmic, careless beatbox. The silence of her weeping clashes violently against his thoughtless noise. Her eyes, sunken and red-rimmed, flutter open, irritation cutting through the haze of her despair. She can't endure his disregard a moment longer. Her voice, worn thin yet sharp as broken glass, slices through his rhythm: "Stop this, can't you see I'm trying to sleep!?"