The smell of burning ozone filled the air; thick plumes of smoke billowed into the air, obscuring the sky. Ash and embers fell from the heavens like black snow. The very air held a suffocating presence, making each breath bring a sharp and irritating pain to the lungs.
"Kuhu... kuhuu," Janus coughed violently, spitting a thick clump of blood onto the debris. His throat was dry, and each breath caused his throat to constrict. He looked down at his hand, which was caked in dirt and dry blood.
He gazed to the side, where a broken piece of mirror lay, his eyes catching a glimpse of his reflection. He almost couldn't recognize himself. His face was swollen and bruised, his clothes dirty and in rags, and his hair was a grey and disheveled mess.
His hands shakily raised up as he brushed his hair to the side. "If only I listened, this wouldn't have happened." His shoulders slumped down as the weight of guilt pressed down on him.
Then something passed above, something massive. It blotted out the already dark sky, making the ground below feel even darker and more sinister.
"SCREECH!"
A loud, piercing noise escaped its beak, causing the people beneath to close their ears in pain.
Janus looked up. The black sky was littered with tears; a deep purple vortex, like a bleeding wound, hung in the air, its light pulling anyone who dared look into it in, lost in an illusion. Only a few could resist its pull.
"Let's go, we will soon be found if we don't move!" a fair, blonde woman said, pulling Janus out of his thoughts.
"Huh? Oh, right, let's move."
They quietly slipped between destroyed concrete pillars, overturned cars, and broken buildings.
"Janus."
"Yes?" He looked down. A little girl, no older than seven, was running beside him. Her hands clung tightly onto a teddy bear, and you could see the fear deep within her eyes. She had dark bags under her eyes and a torrent of scars marring her little figure. It was clear that she was exhausted, but somehow she managed to push herself.
"Are we going to be okay?" she whimpered.
His heart ached as he saw the fear in her. He furrowed his brows and let out a dry, hollow chuckle. "Of course we will." A deep sense of guilt overcame him. 'If only I had listened,' he thought bitterly.
"Raaaaaaaa!"
BOOM!
Something heavy crashed down from above, throwing dirt, dust, and body parts into the air.
"Kuhuu... kuhuu."
When the dust settled, the sight before him made his legs buckle. The little girl's body was blown apart, her hands still holding the teddy bear, and her eyes were still wide open, staring at him, as if accusing Janus.
"No, no, no!" Janus screamed.
Janus looked up. A tall man stood before him. He looked handsome with a strong jawline and cheekbones; his hair was pale white, and he had broad shoulders. He wore white, which contradicted the grim environment. Behind him, a pair of pure white wings unfurled. If he didn't know better, he would think this man, no, this thing, was an angel.
"Malakor, why?" Janus raised his head up, his lips quivering.
"Hahaha, Janus, we found you, finally," a booming, mocking voice echoed. "Time to die." A huge sword fell, decapitating him.
His vision spun violently as his decapitated head rolled across the dirt. He witnessed his own body collapsing into a heap with blood sprouting out of his headless neck.
While he was still conscious, a hand reached down and picked his head up.
"Janus, Janus, go back. Remember, remember," an old man with a torn, filthy garment spoke, his voice echoing with desperate urgency. "365 days before doom, remember. 365 days before doom."
The bloody world slowly dissolved into different colors. The purple swirling vortex, buildings, cars, streetlamps, and even the bodies around him vanished into particles. The only thing that remained was the constant warning of the man: "365 days before doom."
"Ahhhh!" Janus stumbled off his bed, crashing onto the floor. His heart was beating fast as sweat rolled over his body. His body trembled on the floor.
"Fuck, this dream again?!" He laid there in the quiet room, staring up at the ceiling. His hands pressed against his neck.
Strangely, as seconds passed, the dream became vague. He could barely remember anything. He couldn't remember the old man's face, nor his warning; the only thing he remembered was the word Doom, getting decapitated by a white-winged man, and other fragmented parts. He couldn't completely remember the dream, but he knew it was horrible.
"Yeah, that's not unsettling at all. I wake up from a reoccurring creepy-ass nightmare and I can only remember 'Doom.' Great, fucking great," Janus mumbled.
"Beep! Beep! Beep!"
"Shit!" Janus hurriedly stood up, his head hitting the edge of his reading table, sending him crashing back down.
"Fuck!" His head throbbed with pain; with each throb, he could already feel the swelling coming up. "Stupid table." His hands were placed firmly on his forehead as he swore at the table.
The alarm clock continued blaring loudly.
"Shut your mouth! I'm up already, can't you see that?" He moved hurriedly to shut off the clock but stubbed his toes against the foot of his reading table.
"Ahhh! Again? What have I done? What have I done to this table? Was I a bad person in my previous life? Is this karma?!" Tears gathered in his eyes, threatening to fall out.
"What have I done to have such misfortunes? I can't sleep properly without having those awful dreams that I can't fully remember. I can't wake up in peace. Why me? Why me?" he loudly lamented.
"Hey, asshole, shut it. Some of us are trying to sleep, you know? So pipe the hell down!" an angry scream from his neighbor rang out. "Gezz, someone can't have a peaceful sleep without a crazed fool shouting his ass off."
"Fuck off, Wong!"
"Fuck you, Janus, you imbecile!" Wong shouted back.
"You're an asshole, this is why your wife left you. For crying out loud, you're a middle-aged man still living in his mother's basement, and you're also jobless, so shut the hell up and mind your business."
Wong stayed quiet for a while, then his voice came out in a low tone. "Low blow, man, low blow." Faint sobbing could be heard coming off the wall. "And I'm not middle-aged, I'm 32."
"Tch, he started it, now he's playing the victim card," Janus hissed.
This time, with more caution, he moved towards the clock and turned it off, then moved to the bathroom to take his bath. The cold water of the shower hit his body, temporarily washing away his troubles.
After taking his bath, he took out his phone. The time was 6:15 a.m. He had exactly twenty-five minutes to get dressed, try to look like a functioning human being, get public transport, and cross town for his daily dose of Dr. Evans.
He stepped out of his apartment. The air was cool, and the sky was cloudy, promising heavy rain to come.
Tightly pulling his jacket together, he stepped out onto the street, temporarily stopping to get a quick bite at a roadside food stall.
Janus felt a piercing gaze at the back of his head. Turning around, there, at a distance, an old man with a torn, filthy garment stood, his eyes staring straight at Janus without blinking.
"Creepy creep," Janus muttered as he turned back to the food stall. But something about that old man felt strangely familiar, like he knew him, but he couldn't remember where he saw the man.
"Strange." He turned back to the man again. Only then did he notice the cardboard in his hands, and on it, a set of words was written.
Janus squinted his eyes as he tried reading it: "365 days before Doom. Ooh God, it's one of those doom patrol lunatics." Still, he couldn't shake off something about those words. The words rang alarm bells off in his head. His heart began beating faster, his body grew sweaty, his hands trembling slightly by his side, and he went into fight-or-flight mode.
"What is wrong with you today? Hold it together, Janus." He glanced back at where the old man was but saw nothing. "Great, you're hallucinating too? Awesome."
"Sir, here is your food." The voice pulled him out.
"Oh, thanks." Taking the food, he left.
.....
"And how did the dream end this time, Janus?" Dr. Evans's voice was smooth as she asked.
Janus lay on a chaise longue. "Well, as usual, I can't remember much."
"That's alright, Janus. Start with what you can remember."
"Well, I remember wings, white wings."
"Wings?"
"Yes, wings, and a man descending from above, although I can't remember his face."
"Like an angel?"
"Nah, I doubt it. The asshole decapitated me. Can you believe that? That fucker killed me." Janus subconsciously rubbed his neck; it was as if he could still feel the cold edge of the blade slashing through his neck and drawing blood.
"Mr. Janus, language, please."
"Oh, sorry. The wing-man decapitated me."
"Go on."
"I vaguely remember someone picking up my head and saying something to me. But, like usual, I can't remember shit."
"Language, please."
"Sorry, again. The only thing I can remember is the word 'Doom.'"
"Hmmm," Dr. Evans tapped her fingers on the mahogany table.
"And what about before that, Janus?" Dr. Evans asked, her eyes shifting from her table to meet his gaze. "Do you remember anything else? You mentioned a blonde lady and a little girl in your previous sessions. Did they appear this time?"
Janus blinked, staring up at the ceiling. The bright lights flooded into his eyes as he tried racking his brain for any additional memories.
"Well, no, I can't remember anything else, but the blonde woman feels familiar, although her face and voice are a bit blurry."
"Okay, that's good, you're making progress. Anything else?"
"I... I don't know." He tried hard to grasp the fading threads of the nightmare, but they eluded him, slipping away like water poured into a basket.
"All I know is that I have this feeling of guilt. Sometimes I feel like those dreams are true." Janus let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding. "I feel like I'm supposed to protect something, but I don't know what. I feel like something bad is coming." His eyes narrowed as he tightly gritted his teeth.
"Janus, take a deep breath, okay?"
Janus nodded as he breathed in and out slowly, calming his tensed nerves.
"Good." Dr. Evans nodded slowly, writing a quick note on her screen. "The mind is very efficient at shielding itself from trauma, Janus, even trauma that is manufactured out of stress. The guilt might be tied to your cousin's death when you were little; you need to forgive yourself first." She paused, letting her words sink in.
"The man in white might have been your inner consciousness telling you to detach from your guilt, and that woman and girl might be what is still holding you back." Dr. Evans tapped her fingers on the table, her eyes transfixed on Janus.
Janus flinched, his entire body locking up instantly as his jaw tightened. His fingers dug hard into the leather of the chaise longue, his knuckles turning stark white. For a second, his breath hitched in his throat; the mention of his cousin felt like a jab to the stomach. It opened an old wound that refused to heal.
Janus lay there thinking, his teeth gritted tight together.