Isarish stepped out of the office, one name echoed in his mind—Subhash.
He had searched for hours, his breath heavy, his shirt drenched in sweat. Subhash. He had to find him.
When he finally did, near the pond behind his house, an eerie stillness surrounded his friend.
Subhash stood there, frozen like a statue, his back to him.
"Brother!" Isarish called out, his voice cracking from exhaustion. "I tried to find your cat… I wanted to bring him back to you as a gift, but—I couldn't. I'm sorry. Let's search together."
No response.
His gut twisted. Something was wrong.
"Subhash?" he tried again, stepping closer.
Still nothing.
The air around them felt heavy, suffocating—as if the world itself was holding its breath.
With a deepening frown, Isarish reached out and turned his friend's shoulder.
And then—his breath caught in his throat.
Subhash's eyes.
They were empty. Hollow. Dead inside.
Red. Bloodshot. Not from anger, but from something much worse—from a grief so deep it had shattered something within him.
Isarish's stomach churned. "Subhash! What happened? Say something!"
No reply.
Panic surged in his veins. He shook him, harder this time. "Subhash!"
Nothing.
A slap—not too hard, just enough to bring him back.
Subhash flinched. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in uneven jerks. His lips trembled, and then—his hand moved.
A single, shaking finger lifted.
He pointed.
His lips quivered, barely forming words.
"M…m…my c-ca… cat…"
His voice was fragile, a whisper drenched in horror and disbelief.
His body trembled, his breaths uneven, as though even saying the words was shattering him further.
Isarish turned his gaze—
And his blood turned to ice.
There, on the grass, lay a small, lifeless body.
His cat.
No. No, no, NO.
Its tiny frame was brutally torn apart—head severed, body limp, its soft fur now matted with dried blood. The sight was grotesque, a cruel mockery of the life it once had.
It wasn't just killed.
It was slaughtered.
Silence.
For a moment, just silence.
Then—
A sound erupted.
A sound so raw, so horrifyingly broken—Isarish's skin prickled.
Subhash collapsed. His knees hit the dirt, his hands clawing at the ground as if he wanted to dig himself into it. Then—
The scream.
A scream so loud, so unearthly, so agonized—it felt like the heavens themselves would shatter under its weight.
"MY CAT!"
His voice cracked, ripped from his throat like a dying man's last breath. His body convulsed with sobs; his entire frame wracked with pain.
He clutched his head, pulling at his own hair, rocking back and forth. Like his soul was being ripped apart.
"WHY?! WHY HIM?! HE NEVER HURT ANYONE! WHY?!!"
His cries weren't just cries.
They were wails of a heart that had been shattered beyond repair.
Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the earth as if pleading with the gods to bring his cat back. His chest heaved violently, his sobs turning into gasps, almost as if the weight of grief was crushing his lungs.
He clawed at the ground, his nails digging into the dirt. "H-he used to wait for me! Every night, every morning! He—he—he loved me!"
His voice broke completely.
Then—he howled.
A sound so gut-wrenching, so deeply mournful, it didn't just reach the heavens—it shattered them.
Isarish had never seen a man break like this.
The most joyful, carefree man he knew—was now a pile of broken sobs, wailing like a child who had lost the only thing that ever loved him unconditionally.
He gripped Isarish's arms, burying his face into his shoulder, his cries soaking into his shirt.
And Isarish held him.
Held him through the storm of grief. Through the soul-crushing weight of loss. Through the deafening silence that followed the cries.
But in the back of his mind—one thought cut through the chaos.
This wasn't just an accident.
Someone did this.
And whoever they were—they wanted this pain to be felt.
And as Subhash sobbed in his arms, Isarish could feel it—
They were still watching.
---Afternoon bled into evening, the sun sinking into the horizon like a dying ember. The air grew colder, but the fire in Isarish's chest burned hotter.
He knelt by the grave, his hands pressing against the fresh soil. His prayers were silent, but each word carried the weight of his rage and grief. The cat was gone—ripped from this world in a way too cruel to be an accident.
Subhash sat beside him, hollow. His eyes, once filled with mischief and warmth, were now empty voids, reflecting nothing but the darkness that had swallowed him whole. His lips didn't move, his chest barely rose—he was a shell, breathing but lifeless.
Isarish didn't ask him anything. He knew.
Some wounds were too deep for words.
Instead, he sat next to his friend, letting the silence stretch between them.
The wind howled through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and death. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A cruel reminder that the world still moved forward, indifferent to their grief.
For the first time in hours, Subhash moved.
A slow turn of the head. A flicker of recognition.
Then, in a voice drained of all life, he spoke….
"Isarish, my dear friend… you always said everything happens for a reason. That suffering is a test, that darkness has meaning if we choose to see it. But tell me—what meaning lies in this?" His breath hitched, his body trembling as if the weight of the universe had settled onto his shoulders. "My cat—an innocent creature, untouched by the filth of this world—was torn apart. Ripped from life, not by hunger, not by necessity, but by cruelty. What god, what reason, what justice could ever make sense of this?"
His fingers dug into the dirt, clenching, unclenching, as if grasping for something—hope, vengeance, or perhaps the last vestiges of his own soul.
"This world is darkness," he whispered, voice cracking like glass on stone. "The more you try to find meaning in it, the deeper it drags you down. Maybe that's the truth we refuse to see. We are all part of a cycle, a law older than gods—the strong feed on the weak. And today, my cat was prey."
A shuddering breath. A pause heavy with the weight of shattered innocence. Then, he lifted his gaze, hollow yet burning with a newfound purpose.
"My brother…" His voice dropped, lower than a whisper, heavier than a promise. "If the world is a well of darkness, then I will turn it into a well of blood. If cruelty is the only language it understands, then let me speak it fluently. Help me."
He grabbed Isarish's wrist, his grip trembling yet ironclad. His eyes, red and swollen, reflected the fire of a man no longer seeking justice—but retribution.
"You said your faith demands justice." His voice broke into a plea, raw, desperate. "Your name carries Isa… Jesus. You always preached righteousness. Then help me. Help me… be righteous in my vengeance."
And then, finally, the dam broke. Subhash collapsed against Isarish, his sobs muffled, his body wracked with grief that words could no longer contain.
The wind howled, the trees whispered, the world moved on—indifferent. But within that moment, between two broken souls, something had shifted. Something irreversible.
Justice. Vengeance. Or perhaps something far worse.
And Isarish knew—this was no longer just about a cat.
This was about what happens when the last light inside a man goes out.