Being bullied was one thing. Losing my metal bat was another. And the most hated thing of them all remained myself. Who would ever love themselves when they're pathetic? I was like the embodiment of the latter. Somber, I walked the streets with my head low, hair casting shadow over my eyes.

'If only I was stronger,' I thought to myself, frowning. 

I now had to retrieve my bag again, and that wouldn't be easy at all now that it was stolen by one of the bullies. I quailed at the thought of it. I had to get stronger. If I were powerful when my friends were in danger, I would have been able to protect them. 

But now, they were gone. 

My stomach seemed to growl at me like a feral beast that held some sort of resentment. Unfortunately, couldn't find any other place offering food. And I couldn't wait in such a long line for chicken soup when I'm a vegan again. 

My stomach growled on. Was it hunger? Or was it guilt eating me in the insides. Guilt manifested from what I had done to my friends. I just ran and ran and ran like the coward I was. I couldn't amount to anything else as a coward weakling. 

I shook my head. 'I don't even know myself,' I thought, 'I just clung to my friends as if I didn't have a life of my own. Without them, I don't know who I am. What do I like? What do I hate? Who am I truly?'

Unfortunately, I already knew the answer to that last question. I was a coward, who ran away from the battle to the death, and nothing more.

A coward. 

***

The streets were busy. Busy but quiet. This condition—this deafening silence—of the new world had transitioned to the norms. There were a few fights, all of which I radically avoided by going the other way. But the silence lingered. 

I was slumping against the wall of an old building, sorrowful. The paint of the building had started to peel off, curling and descending to the floor. Moss covered most of the wall on which I slumped. But I didn't bother to care. Sure, filth was bound to dirty my clothes. But I was filth myself. Garbage. Trash. 

Many of the citizens had noticed me. I looked like a depressed homeless guy on drugs. And that I was, excluding the last part, of course. But perhaps drugs would have turned my mind away from my worries. I intended not to use any. I couldn't even afford drugs. But I was enthusiastic about things that suppressed worries. 

But there was no helping me. 

A few minutes later, I had started to shiver in the cold. Something on par with fog had escaped my lips and nostrils every time I expelled breath. It reminded me of myself somehow: it always escaped just like me. But I was worse. I escaped many times, leaving each of my friends behind. 

I didn't usually belittle myself as I believed it was a doorway to self-destruction. But I was the most depressed I've been in a long time. I lost everything but selfishly kept myself. I hoped this depression of mine was just ephemeral because I didn't think I would be able to live with it for much longer. 

I felt my lips fall again. 

"Hey, Ash!" shouted an all too familiar voice. 

I tried to ignore it. I wasn't in the mood at the time. But then I heard it again. 

"Ash!"

The sound seemed to attract my head like a magnet. I directed my head to the source. And immediately, I felt my body deflate. Miguel and Hanso were coming my way. 

I averted my eyes upon seeing them as they approached. 

Miguel was the first to slump against the wall, right next to me. Then, Hanso followed, paying much more attention to the moss, even scowling at it. "I don't think demons like moss," Hanso said, leaning against the wall, "but they apparently can't get enough ash."

Miguel looked at Hanso. "Why would they not like Moss when they look like it?"

Hanso pretentiously furrowed his brows at Miguel. "Dare not sully my kind with those words, human."

Miguel raised a brow. "Who said I was human?" He looked at me. "Ash is the only human person here."

Hanso kept his eyes on Miguel. "Then what are you, Miguel?"

"I'm just not human," Miguel said, "far from it. You two will soon understand. I like to think of myself as a rat because I lived around them all my life."

Hanso scoffed. "That's stupid. Rats are gross." He stopped and then turned his head to look at me. "Hello, Ash."

Miguel looked at me. "Hi, Ash."

I looked away, lowering my head and slitting my eyes. "Hey, " I drawled "... guys."

My rather simple words seemed to quell them. 

Miguel peered at me. "I change my mind. Ash isn't any human, I take that back. With a dead tone like that, he's a damn zombie."

I smiled. "I'm fine, just so you know."

"Except that you actually aren't," Hanso said. "Look at that face. It's literally dead. I guess there are no humans in this group, after all. A demon, a rat, and a zombie."

Miguel looked at me again. "Ash, you're breaking rule one by sitting here like this. One: Don't be the asshole who draws attention. What's the matter? What happened?"

I heaved, expelling breath from my nostrils. "Something I don't think I can share with you guys."

Hanso bent his knees. "So it's not the metal bat I've seen a goblin with today?"

"No," I said, "it isn't. But I still need to get my weapon back."

"How'd you lose it anyway?"

"Nate ... and his gang. I kinda got thrown around by them. It took really long for me to get the bat back, and not too long after finally getting my hands on it, it was stolen again. But I'm not fussing about that anymore. I'm just starving right now."

Miguel looked at me, smiling. "Wanna go looting?"