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It was dark outside, a fire blazed in the center of the small group, and all six of the group sat in utter silence. The previous hours had been spent collecting firewood and searching for anything that could be used to spark a flame, which turned out to be a stick spun rapidly between Wendy’s palms to make a small handful of dead grass smoke and gradually catch fire. It was warm, the night was still and silent, the stars shimmered overhead, he wasn’t alone, crickets and owls sang their songs, and Blackout hated it all. He hated how he wasn’t alone, because the people he was with all hated him. He hated how warm it was, and how different it was from the snow. He hated how things thrived in the dark of the night like ghosts. He hated how the stars winked down at him from their place in the sky, showing off how perfect their lives were. He hated how alive everything seemed, because it seemed like the world was moving without him. It seemed like the world didn’t care in the slightest how