Stage 4 - Depression

Posted on Sat Feb 8th, 2025 @ 1:52am by Niyah Monroe

964 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Towers of the Void (Series Premiere)
Location: The Smithsonian

The cold metal of the nameplate burned its text into her retinas from across the hallway.

Olivia Flowers, M.A.
Cultural Heritage Specialist
Department of Digitization and Preservation

It was still here. Untouched. Unmoved. Like a cruel joke.

Niyah’s entire body shivered, though not from the cold wind that howled through the open door and the missing far wall. Her chest ached. Not from exertion, not from injury. Something deeper. Something hollowed out, raw and open, like a wound she couldn’t reach to stitch closed.

Though, even if she could, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Her knuckles were white against the strap of the duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She hadn’t realized how tightly she was gripping it until her fingers refused to unclench. Slumped against the wall in the corridor, tears streaking down her face, she had gone completely silent.

Every time she looked up, the office beyond the threshold was the same.

A ruin.

The far wall was gone, peeled away in a blast that had swallowed half the floor. Beyond it, the courtyard Olivia always talked about lay in shambles, its carefully curated gardens buried beneath glass, steel, and remnants of what had once been her world. Papers swirled in the wind, rustling like autumn leaves fallen from the tree of knowledge.

There was nothing.

No signs of life. No footprints. No hurried notes scrawled in the dust to say 'I got out.' Or 'I’m safe.' No trace of Olivia.

From where she sat, she could see inside. The desk had been upended, drawers ripped out, contents strewn across the floor. The bookshelves, Olivia’s pride and joy, had toppled, their spines snapped, pages curled and browned from the heat of whatever explosion had devoured this part of the building.

Niyah wanted to move.

To step inside. To search through the debris. To find something, anything, that would tell her Olivia had gotten out.

Instead, the weight in her chest dragged her down, pressing her into the floor like gravity had doubled.

She had made it all the way here. She had survived everything for this moment.

But now, her body just... stopped.

She pulled her knees to her chest. As her grip finally gave out, the duffle bag slipped from her shoulder, thudding onto the ground. First her fingers went slack, then the rest of her body followed.

She stared at nothing.

The silence inside the Smithsonian was suffocating.

Not like the waiting silence she had known when the machine rolled down the cul-de-sac.
Not like the fearful silence when the drone had hovered over the avenue.

No, this was worse.

This silence was absence.

There was nothing left here. Not even enough to hold onto the past.

'She’s gone.'

The thought crashed into her, and there was no escaping it this time. No rationalizing. No bargaining. No next step to focus on.

Just the raw, gaping truth.

Olivia wasn’t here. And that meant...

Niyah squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the wave threatening to swallow her whole.

Her breaths came shallow, ragged, too quick—then too slow.

Her vision blurred.

Too tired to resist reality any konger, she let go.

The sobs came in slow, shuddering gasps, her body shaking as grief hollowed her out. She didn’t even try to stop them anymore.

There was no one left to see her break.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t..." Her voice cracked.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Minutes. Hours. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore as the darkness of night enveloped her.

She thought about staying there, right where her legs had given out. Letting the dust settle over her like a heavy blanket.

Maybe she’d sleep.

Maybe she'd dream.

Maybe she wouldn’t wake up.

Maybe that would be easier.

She let herself drift, eyes unfocused, body weightless, as if she could slip through the floor and become part of the ruins.

If only she could become part of the ruins.

Something broke through the heavy fog in her brain. It was distant at first. Low, reverberating.

Niyah didn’t move. Didn’t see the point.

Then it came again. A heavy metallic clang.

Despite herself, her muscles tensed, breath hitching.

Another clang. Closer. Then the unmistakable whir of a drone.

Something inside her snapped back to reality. She sucked in a sharp breath, adrenaline surging once more, her body rejecting stillness. She wiped at her face with shaking hands, forcing herself upright.

She could stay here. She could let them find her. Let the soulless machine make her part of the ruins. What bliss oblivion would be.

Or she could move.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of the bag. And she pushed herself to her feet.

It hurt.

Her knees, from the sharp drop to the floor when she had opened the door.
Her lungs, from the dust she had breathed in while laying there.
Her eyes, from the tears she had cried until there were no more tears to cry.

Everything hurt.

But she moved anyway. The starless night pressed in as she slipped out of the Smithsonian. The fires on the horizon still burned, casting long shadows across the ruins of D.C.

Every step forward was one away from the hope of finding Olivia.

Every step forward was agony.

Every step forward was a realization that she was truly alone in this world.

Every step forward was a betrayal of her grief.

Every step forward was a refusal to die.

She didn’t know where she was going.

But as the metallic whirring of the drone filled her every sense, she knew she had to keep moving.

 

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