Sirens dragged me out of sleep, not all at once, enough to pull me halfway into consciousness, distant at first, tangled with a half-formed dream, then sharp enough to be annoying. I groaned, rolled onto my side, and buried my face in the pillow. Too loud.
They didn't fade. They grew closer, overlapping, bouncing between buildings, an ambulance, maybe more than one. I opened one eye at the clock. Too early for this. For a few seconds I just listened. Voices carried up from the street, muffled and indistinct, a door slammed, someone swore. The city was awake in that ugly, inefficient way it got whenever something had gone wrong.
I sighed and went to the window. The street below was half-blocked, an ambulance parked at an angle, lights washing red and blue across the concrete. Above it all the moon hung low and full and calm, and I found myself watching that instead of the scene beneath it. I'd always liked the moon. It never rushed, never changed for anyone. Whatever happened underneath it, it just kept being quietly beautiful.
A small crowd had gathered, rising every minutes, just enough people to pretend they weren't staring. Someone crying. Someone else filming on their phone. I didn't see the body at first, then I leaned forward and caught a glimpse of something white near the pavement. Oh. I watched for a few seconds, and nothing on my face moved. Shocked, I was not. Not much curiosity either. Things like this happened here more often than anyone liked to admit, a city with a reputation, gangs, deals done in narrow alleys, the occasional murder that made the news for a day before the next headline buried it. Sirens were part of the nightly soundscape, as ordinary as traffic. I'd grown up around all of it without ever really touching it, never joined a gang, never dealt, never fought. I went to school, my parents covered the rent, and someday I'd slide neatly into a good job. The city's ugliness had always brushed close enough to feel, never close enough to leave a mark. Tonight was no different. I went back to sleep.
Sunlight woke me the second time, it was warm, enough to slip through the curtains and settle on my face. I squinted, stretched, felt my joints crack softly, and checked my phone for something actually worth reading. No early class. That alone made the morning feel generous. I smiled, stayed in bed a little longer than I should have, and listened to the city return to its usual rhythm, traffic, voices, construction somewhere far off, the sirens long gone, replaced by noise that meant nothing at all.
Eventually I got up, made coffee that tasted slightly burnt but familiar enough to be comforting, ate bread and drank milk, nothing fancy. Standing at the counter I scrolled through messages, half-reading, half-watching the street. The ambulance was gone. So was the crowd. Someone had already claimed the place. Life doesn't leave gaps for long. Might have to meet my new neighbor later.
I showered, dressed, grabbed my bag, and locked the door, then hesitated. Fuck, I forgot my phone. Back inside, keys-wallet-phone, the holy trinity accounted for, then down the stairs. On the way out of the building, something caught my eye on the pavement.
A coin.
I frowned, shrugged, and picked it up. Old, slightly worn, oddly clean, catching the light for a moment in a way that felt pleasant. Nice, even. Did I lock the door? I didn't remember, same as every morning. Lucky, maybe. I put it in my pocket and kept walking.
The walk to the university was one of my favorite parts of the day. The city was rough, sure, but it was alive, people arguing over coffee, vendors shouting prices, students laughing too loud near a bus stop. I liked watching all of it, anonymous, untouched. Campus felt lighter. Friends near the entrance, lazy greetings, complaints about deadlines we all knew we'd meet anyway, someone mentioning a party, someone else a movie. Normal things. I liked that. The lecture was boring in the specific way lectures usually are, not really painful, just dull enough to let the mind wander. I took notes when it mattered and doodled when it didn't. Outside, the sky stayed bright and unconcerned. At lunch we sat on the grass, shared food and jokes, and for a while I forgot the sirens had ever happened. This was my life. Simple. Uneventful. Good.
In the afternoon I studied at the library, half-focused, half-dreaming, and later walked home as the sun dipped and painted the buildings warmer than they really were. When I passed the street from that morning, there was no sign anything had happened there. No blood, no mark, no memory, just pavement.
That night I lay in bed scrolling, absentmindedly rubbing the coin in my pocket. I didn't know why I'd kept it. I didn't question it either — watching the news do fucked-up things was simply more interesting. Outside, the moon was rising, full, bright, beautiful, almost vibrating with it. I smiled at nothing, killed the light, closed my eyes. Tomorrow would probably be the same, and that was fine.
Weeks passed. The memory of the body had faded for me and for everyone else, the city was good at swallowing things like that. Another beautiful, unremarkable day. Warm light through the curtains, breakfast, a good shower, phone in hand. Normal. And yet, standing there scrolling without really reading, a strange unease crept in.
Something was missing.
I patted my pockets. Wallet, there. Keys, still in the door. Phone, in my hand. The holy trinity, present and accounted for. What more could a man possibly need? The unease lingered anyway, faint and stubborn, an itch I couldn't quite reach, until I felt it. The coin, forgotten completely, resting warm in my pocket. Slightly shiny. Ordinary. And yet I was suddenly, inexplicably certain it would bring me luck. I didn't know why. It felt heavy in my hand when I pulled it out, heavier than a coin its size should feel. Must be in my head. I put it back and moved on.
I met friends later. There was a party that night, but first came exams, those wonderful occasions where you learn an entire semester in a single sitting, like always. We shared notes, complained, laughed, pretended we had it all under control, and the hours went easier than they should have. By six I was as ready as I was going to be. Naturally, I went to the party. What's better than a hangover the night before an exam? Leaving the apartment, I glanced back at the door, wondering if I'd sleep here tonight or crash on some friend's couch. Knowing myself, there was a decent chance it'd be a couch, or the street.
Goodbye, sweet and lovely apartment.
The party was already loud when I got there, music, laughter, the familiar chaos of bodies too close, drinks spilling, conversations overlapping. Early on I noticed a girl who caught my interest and did what people do: talked to her, complimented her, tried to learn more. I wasn't handsome. Not ugly either. Just average, the kind of man who blends in anywhere. Tonight wasn't my night. She turned me down politely, I apologized just as politely and walked off without pushing it. If it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't meant to be. Fate always amused me, honestly, a convenient explanation for everything, a tidy way to stay at peace with disappointment.
Still a little stung, I made a perfectly logical decision: vodka. Ah. Sweet old liquor. Lover of potatoes. Warmth spread through me, my thoughts went pleasantly foggy, I laughed a little louder than usual, and then sensing the limit approaching, I stopped. I had an exam tomorrow, after all. Responsible. Lets drink some water.
At some point I drifted onto the balcony, drink in hand. The music thinned into the low hum of the city. I leaned on the railing and looked up. The moon sat between the buildings, full, bright, almost comforting. I smiled at it, and without thinking my hand slipped into my pocket and closed around the coin, grounding me. My gaze dropped. The street looked far away, too far, cars like toys, people unreal from up there. For one brief, stupid moment I wondered what it would feel like to jump. The thought came and went so fast it barely registered, no weight to it, no feeling attached. I laughed at myself. "Yeah, no," I muttered.
Later, drunk, I found myself staring at the moon again. It was fuller than I remembered, brighter, and I grinned at it like an idiot, standing there too long, feeling a strange vibration low in my chest. It seemed closer somehow. Larger. Alive. I laughed and shook my head, definitely drank too much, and turned to head home.
That's when something felt off. Wrong, almost dangerous, off enough to notice. My stomach twisted, nausea rolled through me, my skin crawled like something moved underneath it. I reached into my pocket without thinking and found the coin, and the moment my fingers closed around it, pain bloomed behind my eyes. The street tilted. The moon above began to twist, spinning slowly, unnaturally.
"What the fuck," I muttered, breathing hard. "Damn it. I really drank too much."
The world stretched. Folded. And under the silent gaze of the moon, I fell into the darkness, leaving behind a coin that had stopped shining and another lifeless corpse. In the morning, an ambulance will come, and like always, people will move on.