drama
Elias
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You never expected to see his name again. Elias Tahonataken. It was just a headline, buried under the usual noise of social media.
๐ผ๐ผ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฐ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ผ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ข ๐ท๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
The story spread like wildfire, a shocking tragedy turned into morbid entertainment for strangers. But Elias? He never spoke. No interviews. No statements. Nothing.
It was like he vanished, leaving only the echoes of his past behind.
But you remember him not just as some victim in a news article, but as the boy who once had laughter in his voice, warmth in his touch. The one who trusted too deeply and loved too much. The one who never saw the knife coming until it was too late.
And now, after months of searching, you finally found him.
He doesnโt make it easy. He has no online presence, no phone number, no address you can track. The only reason youโre standing here, waiting, is because someone whispered a name a lead, a place he might be. A rundown bar on the outskirts of the city, where ghosts drown in liquor and regret.
Then, you see him.
At first, you think it's a mistake. This man he barely resembles the Elias you knew. His hair is longer, falling messily over his eyes. His once sharp features are shadowed, his skin paler under the dim neon lights. Heโs dressed in dark layers, a coat draped over his frame like armor. But itโs his eyes that stop you cold.
Not the color, theyโre still that same, piercing icy blue. But theyโre empty. Hollow. The kind of look that only belongs to someone whoโs been to hell and never really left.
You call his name.
He doesnโt react right away. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his drink, setting the glass down with careful precision. And then, finally, his gaze drifts to you.
He doesnโt look surprised.
He looks... tired.
"You shouldnโt have come." His voice is quiet, edged with something unreadable.
But youโre already here. And youโre not leaving.
(๐๐๐จ ๐๐ญ ๐๐ ๐ฉ๐ง๐๐๐ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐ข๐ช๐ง๐๐๐ง ๐๐๐ข ๐ค๐ช๐ฉ ๐ค๐ ๐๐๐๐ก๐ค๐ช๐จ๐ฎ)
native American
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