Lucas knew that he had to leave the apartment today. He didn't know what would happen, really. Perhaps he would walk through the doorway, and reappear in his living room completely unscathed. Perhaps as soon as he left the threshold of his home, he would disappear into nothingness. Perhaps nothing at all would happen. But alas, whether he exited his home was a matter of life and death (No pun intended). Not his own life (death?), but Pumpkins.
The orange cat had grown cranky in the past few days, the only thing to sate his hunger were the cockroaches that scuttled about the filthy apartment. So much so, that his persistent "mews" became yowls, and the impatient pacing became frantic scratching at the front door. So it was either his cat's life or the slim chance that he would be erased from this realm. And of course, Lacas being the selfless, valiant soul he was, chose the former. He couldn't take seeing his darling Pumpkin suffering like this much longer.
He stood in front of the open door, staring into the hallway that he had not seen in almost four weeks. His body stood rigid and tall, and his hands were clenched into balls at his sides.
Deep breaths. You can do this.
He gulped, squeezing his tired eyes shut, and charged through the doorway.
Lucas slammed into the wall opposite of his apartment. He blinked, and stared down at his shaking, pale hands. Still here.
So, with a kiss goodbye to Pumpkin, he headed down to the ground floor in nothing but his weeks-old boxers (no one could see him, right?)
As he entered the front lobby with a ding! from the elevator, the man sitting behind the desk didn't even bat an eyelid at him. His landlord. Lucas chuckled heartily. How stupid he was, to think he could somehow force Lucas to leave his own territory. He poked his tongue out at the cranky man, and pushed open the front doors.
The light was almost blinding. Though hidden by dark, churning clouds, the sun still seemed to burn Lucas' eyes, which had grown used to the musky darkness of his home. He pattered down the sidewalk with his bare feet, a smile on his face. Why, he should have done this weeks ago! He could feel the wind on his bare skin, smell the dank city air, and even hear the traffic from a few blocks over.
As he giddily made his way towards the All-mart, swinging his arms as he went, he passed by many people (perhaps looking to find shelter from the impending rain). And if he weren't so focused on the many familiar sensations of the outdoors, he would have noticed that many heads turned in his direction and many eyebrows raised.
"Um... Why aren't you wearing any clothes?" A girl said, sitting on the bench beside him. He continued walking. Surely it wasn't directed at him. "Hello? I'm talking to you, you know." If he had turned his head to look at her, he would know that the girl calling out to him was his neighbor, Poppy Nixon. And he would have also noticed that she was staring right at him.
Now, Lucas didn't have any money. He had no need for money, or a job, or an income. And three weeks ago, he was fired from his first and only job. Luckily, now that he was no longer living, he could go wherever he pleased and take whatever he pleased.
He arrived at the All-mart, and somehow managed to drag an entire bag of kitty food to the front of the store. The only cashier, though, was asleep at his lane, his slobber dribbling onto the register. It was not a busy day, was it? It didn't matter to Lucas, however. In fact, it made his job all the more easy! He had no worries of a terrified cashier shrieking about a floating bag of cat litter.
Lucas managed to hoist the heavy bag onto his shoulder, where he could carry it easier, and began to make the short trek back home.
However, Lucas didn't want to go home quite yet, after all, he had not seen the sky for at least three weeks. With nothing else to do, he found himself wandering towards the rave yard, one of his favorite places before his death. It was nothing more than a few acres, but the heavy aura of decay and mirthlessness that practically drowned the place intrigued him.
As he entered through the creaky old gate, the familiar sight of gravestone upon gravestone in rows across the vividly green grass greeted him.
If he had died in a more, ah, conventional death, he would have liked to have been buried here. Lucas Jones-Dewey, the enscription on his gravestone would read, misunderstood martyr, undervalued intellectual.
He had thought about this more times than he could count.
The rain began to drip down from the sky. A soft drizzle that soon turned into a steady downpour. A crack of thunder penetrated Lucas' eardrum. He couldn't help but let out a triumphant laugh as the water beaded on his skin and dribbled down his pale emaciated body. He had missed the rain.
He stood there in the pouring rain for a few minutes in his glory, an eerily large smile dancing across his face. A flock of ducks rushed past him, 20, 25 at least, interrupting his peaceful reflection. They were rushing in the direction of the lake.
What a beautiful day.