Things We Left Behind Novels & Stories

When the extreme-heat apocalypse arrived, surface temperatures reached 158°F, and the first group of people began moving to Frostpoint Base. As a scientist, my wife had two spots to bring family members with her. Everyone thought she would take me without hesitation. But in the end, she put the name of her graduate student on the application. "He's my student, and he doesn't have his parents with him. I can't bear to leave him alone in a place this hot." She submitted the application without a second thought. Her next words chilled me to the bone. "Ethan, you're different. You've been tough since you were a kid. I know you can survive until the second group is evacuated." I forced a bitter s

Six months later, Carlo, who once terrorized Port San Vito and forced us to pay protection money, knelt in the muddy water and blocked my path. Red-eyed, he begged me to bring the Moretti convoys back. "Ms. Moretti, if you come back, there'll be no protection money and no parking fees... I'll even pay you." I regarded him coldly and remembered how, six months earlier, he had flicked ash onto my financial statements and looked down at me as he said, "Pay, or get out of Port San Vito."

Not like it used to. No demand. No scream. merely a rhythmic, slow pulse. As if it were watching. Like it was waiting. I returned to the mirror just before dawn. It held no image. No shimmer. But I could feel Saela had left something behind. Not presence. Not message. Just possibility. And I understood. Sometimes, legacy doesn’t ask to be carried. It asks to be seen walking next to you.

Kiara asked and I smiled at her taking her hand in mine and kissing her knuckle. “Believe me, even I miss it back there. No matter what the bullshit was, it was us and our family, none of the fucked up mess we’ve been living for the past month” I said and Kiara nodded at me. Her eyes fixed on the London Eye. The burnt building was abandoned after we’ve burned it, I wasn’t even sure that they would use it for anything else anymore. But I knew one thing, we did a good job in disorienting it “we’re leaving tomorrow. The plane is back and ready for us. I assumed that you’d want to leave as soon as possible”

Alessia picked it up. Her name was written on it. Again. Another message. Another secret. She opened it slowly. Inside was a photograph. Her. Lorenzo. Six years ago. The night everything ended. But this was not a photograph she had ever seen. Because in the background stood someone else. Someone who had witnessed their final goodbye. Someone who knew the truth. On the back of the photograph were six words: You left because they made you. Alessia's hands began to shake. Lorenzo looked at the photograph.

When I don't remember. This dress—I wore it to the council meeting where he destroyed me. Into the donation pile. These boots—I wore them on the mission where we fell in love. I hesitate. Then force them into the donation pile too. This cloak—he wrapped it around me once when I was cold. My hands shake. But I put it with the donations. Everything that reminds me of him. Everything that makes the ache worse. Starting over requires leaving things behind. And I'm getting very good at leaving things behind.

At the wedding reception, every place card at the last table bore an online username instead of a real name. I turned to my husband and quietly asked who these people were. Before he could answer, a young woman at the table blinked at me and said playfully, "Hey, we're not strangers. I've been hiking with Zane for three years. Every time we go out, we sleep in the same tent." The others at the table burst out laughing. "Say it. Does Zane snore in his sleep?" I stood there frozen, wineglass in hand, utterly humiliated. To my surprise, Zane laughed along with them. "They're all my friends. I bought you tickets to Caldera Bay for our honeymoon, but I'm not going. I finally have some time

Ben asked worriedly . “Yeah ..,it just that we are leaving “ “What do you mean we are leaving !” “We are leaving New York.We are going back to Florida !”She dropped the bomb . “What !!!”

Her hand moved over the stones, searching for some sign of memory. A moment later, she said, “No.” “It remembers something. But it’s afraid to speak.” Arden glanced at the road. “Then we’re getting close.” --- Old towns and camps without people stood along their way. There were some towns where nothing remained but overturned walls and darkened, sooty wood. It looked as if the people had gotten up one day and left without ever returning. Doors still open. Tools left in the dirt. Inside one house, dishes were still set out on the table.

The things we buried with lies. I’d cleaned up loose ends tonight. But ghosts don’t die quietly. They leave echoes. And those echoes were already finding their way back.