Black smoke contrasted sharply against the bright orange sunrise, billowing upwards in a neverending pillar, originating from what looked like the remains of a power plant or military base. It was hard to tell what exactly it was though, since almost nothing remained except charred walls, melted metal, and assorted rubble.

The sun's first rays crept along the barren site, illuminating shadowed corners that were previously too dark to be seen. Room after ceilingless room, it brought into the light, until a figure was unearthed. Huddled up in one of the darkest corners, sat a man with brown hair and a tattered T-shirt. Resting his head on his knees and doing his best to become one with the wall, he was completely immobile except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

The world was waking up. Birds took to the sky to find their little one's first meals of the day. Fat dewdrops formed on any surface they wouldn't slide off. Darkness retreated from the light-flooded battlefield to the safety of the corners. The world was waking up, but the man was not.

It wasn't until a rather large dewdrop fell off of its perch, dangling from what was left of the ceiling, and onto his head that his eyelids finally fluttered open. He woke slowly, stretching his bruised and battered arms, before placing them back onto skinned knees. He looked around, his expression conveying confusion, until he saw the other person in the room; and it all came rushing back. The man's body grew rigid and his eyes froze at the sight of a body; stuck between two huge gears of metal. Even without closer examination, he knew immediately who it was. It was Myles Matterman, his best friend.

The realization of what had happened sunk in and tears pricked the edges of his vision. "No...No, this can't be happening. I...you...he..." His sentence trailed off as he got a good look at what was once his friend, but was now only a mangled, bloody corpse.

Crawling over and holding Myles' encaven head in his lap, he didn't care about the blood that was now smeared all over his front. Overwhelmed by emotions, the man's eyes closed, and he started to sob. He cried over his friend's untimely and violent end. He cried over the realization that he would never get to apologize for the wrongs he had committed against Myles. But above all else, he cried because he knew, deep down, his best friend's death was his fault.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry." He croaked, sniffing and snorting to clear his nose from the mucus that had accumulated as he had wept, "I wish I could go back, and fix this. Or go back to before this whole mess happened. I..." he cut himself off, knowing Myles couldn't hear him. Another round of tears threatened to fall down his face as his mouth curled up into a small, defeated smile. "It doesn't matter. Wishes never come true."

Myles' head hit the ground, inflicting even more injury, as the man stood up. He was about to walk away, when a thought suddenly came to him. People would be devastated if they ever found out what had happened to Myles and despise him if they knew he had caused it.

Distant sirens could be heard as he walked back over to the machine that held Myles captive, and ran a finger over its grimy surface, thinking. If he could get him out of here, and give him a proper burial, no one would know. All evidence would be disposed of. He wouldn't have to worry anymore.

Having made up his mind, he put both hands on the metal and provided some force to the rusty gear, moving it a tiny bit and creating a nasty cracking sound from Myles chest. He winced apologetically, but continued to push, causing more damage to the tissue of his friend's torso.

When he finally had the body free, the sirens were a lot louder than before. He estimated them to be about four miles away. The corpse slumped to the ground and lay at an awkward angle, in a pool of crimson liquid. Grunting as he tried to lift up the heavy corpse, he eventually managed to sling him over his shoulder. It took every ounce of his willpower to prevent himself from bursting into tears again, as he stumbled out of the door and limped towards the woods that surrounded the facility.

In the haste to leave before the authorities arrived, he failed to notice the several pairs of footprints in the dust. They spread out in different directions until they vanished into thin air, as if their creators had ceased to exist.

When he first started digging Myles' grave, he pawed at the rocky ground with his bare hands, but that was taking too long; and sirens could already be heard turning onto the road that would take them to the obliterated building. To hurry things up, he snapped a sturdy branch from a nearby tree and used it as a shovel. Even with his new tool, it took quite a while to dig a ditch large enough for Myles' stocky frame. As ambulance sirens blared from the parking lot, and firemen mobbed the facility, Myles' body was gently lowered into the pit. With his hands folded over his mutilated chest, he lay peacefully in his soil-walled prison; which was fortified when the open-aired ceiling was replaced with dirt and grass was transplanted on top of the grave, as if nothing had ever happened. As the first paramedics exited their vehicles, looking for people who weren't there, the grave-digger spared another minute to mourn; then shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, forcing himself not to look back.