Three years ago, the sun set over the barren, dry desert after hours of driving through a traffic-less interstate: a desperate attempt to free his mind from his constant stimulations. And though the only life in the night around him was cacti, bugs, and small critters, he was lucky there were no people— which was his goal.

  Unfortunately, for Abel, death was not a rare occurrence in this harsh environment—the ghostly remains of tireless dead people, something he thought he'd never get used to as a child, and spirits that existed entirely separate from human existence, not dissimilar to the living, except for their ability to interfere and tamper with the living's emotional energies.

  Vrrr, vrrr, a melodic vibration surprised him.

  Doing his best to ignore his ringing phone, which vibrated from the passenger seat, Abel kept his eyes on the road ahead.

  Vrrr, vrrr, it loudly continued after a pause.

  Abel shook his head, unwilling to acknowledge it. He didn't answer it, nor did he decline it; instead, he let it buzz. He really just wanted everyone and everything to leave him alone.

  Vrrr, vrrr, it wouldn't stop.

  It was comparable to nails on a chalkboard: Abel's psyche chipping away, each passing jingle reminding him of his inescapable predicament. He'll never be rid of the fake, disingenuous personalities pandering for a shallow, meaningless bond, or the constant feeling that no one—not even Cognizants or other vampires—understood his grim experience.

  Abel braced, his body tensing up for the next ring, but it never came; the phone shut off, to his relief.

  Slowing the vehicle, his worn-down tires kicked up gravel and dirt as he drove down a secluded back road—a phantom with an uncountable number of bullet wounds, floating through his car as he drove.

  With a layer of condensation on the edges of his eyes, Abel continued driving beneath the glittering, light-pollution-less heavens of faraway, secluded stars.

  It was no use. No matter where Abel went, he'd never escape the paranormal visions of his Manifest, Van Gogh's Buried Eyes – though he thought of it more as a curse.

  Coming to a stop, Abel parked his red Camry before stepping out into the dark, frigid desert night. Except, Abel enjoyed these conditions with his nocturnal vision and resistance to the cold. He opened up the rear seats to sit with his legs dangling out as he grabbed a guitar.

  And through the peaceful sound of singing insects at night, Abel strummed a slow, melancholy melody on the cords of his scratched-up guitar with skilled, nimble fingers.

  While Abel played, his mind raced with heavy thoughts, matching the dreary acoustics with his gentle singing voice.

  Finally releasing the heavy, isolating pain, Abel poured all of it into the music. His thoughts raced through bitter memories of his experiences with humans: starting with an old friend from school who abandoned him when he needed their help the most, then to his uncle, who only came around when he needed something from his struggling mother, and finally the absent memories where his deadbeat father should have been.

  Abel continued playing. The song grew faster in both pace and intensity of his vocal performance, his eyes sealing tight to fight back the growing rim of tears.

  The hostile mental image of his neighbor, who haunted his family after death for nothing more than his own amusement, or the inescapable moment a close friend died and began to follow him in their afterlife—these remembrances of loneliness, all bottled up, finally found their release in the most private place he could find, and even then there were still spirits of many forms gathered around him to watch.

  A dry, cool wind blew through the spiritually active desert as, again, he increased the tempo. Abel's hope of finding true isolation diminished while he played. Still, with the constant feeling of alienation from people's folly and the whims of spiritual desires, it felt impossible to find somewhere to flee, as he hoped.

  After passing the climax of his musically driven outburst, he returned to its original, slower tempo, his voice fading into the silence of the night as a new idea filled the familiar, lonely void in the back of his mind.

  Instead of trying to make the impossible happen, Abel thought about finding something real, like genuine friends, to fill that hole of meaninglessness.

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  Maybe then he'd finally feel understood by someone, even if they couldn't exactly understand the gory dimension of remains and spirits he interacted with at any given moment.

  Maybe then he'd finally have a reason to care for the people around him and have a stronger attachment to the living world, which Abel currently found himself desensitized and disconnected from, with the constant looming reminder of death in sight.

  Maybe, with the right people by his side, Abel would finally find release from his lonesome existence and discover not only an excuse to smile in this cold, selfish world, but a reason to care about himself and his future.

  Until then, though, all Abel could do was hope - because maybe then he'd finally stop being a spectator in his own and everyone else's lives.

  …

  Abel, already on the way back to the dressing room while in thought, realized that he must have been a naive, stupid child, since this gnawing emptiness still ate at him despite meeting both Baron and Dawn. Abel reasoned, maybe it really is hopeless for him to not feel disassociated from his daily, mundane life in the Noncognizants' world, the magical Cognizant society hidden beneath the surface, and the invisible spiritual world between them both—a cruel combo that only his Manifest ever seemed to see.

  And before opening the door to the band, Abel took a silent breath in an attempt to tame his anxious mind, instead doing his best to focus on the invigorated rush of strength from his recent blood consumption. He pushed through the door to see both Marcus and Simon, each of them sharing a nervous look with him before standing, the two of them evidently ready to go as they stood.

  "Ready?" Simon asked, his fingers fidgeting with his laminated sheet of paper.

  With a quiet, seemingly self-assured nod, Abel walked down the hall toward the backstage area, his two bandmates following behind him, both quieter than they tended to be.

  In a tense silence, they walked, his bandmates unaware of the ever-present void eating Abel from the inside—the realization of his reality only reinforcing its position in his mind. He would find peace neither in solitude nor in purposeful relationships; now, the hollowness of the dark, alienating black hole threatened to consume him in a wave of uncaring apathy.

  As they entered, they walked through a busy backstage, where green-vested workers were scattered about, all running around with different tasks. One of them approached them with a professional smile.

  "Schism, right?" A tall, female volunteer asked, Abel nodding his head wordlessly.

  "Perfect, you're on in 10, so it's your last chance to use the restroom or do any last-minute preparations," she said quickly as she led them to the center of the closed-curtain stage, where their instruments were.

  "We're ight," Abel spoke for them, Marcus taking a seat at his drums as Simon secured his bass's' strap over his shoulder. "Just tell us when," he finished, his guitar in a comfortable, familiar grip.

  Nodding, she walked away to begin the final preparations. The noises of an unseen crowd behind the black curtains made him more nervous - not from the number of people, all unaware of their fragile state, but the idea of messing up in front of Dawn or Baron seemed to worry him more than he had for any other performance.

  In the silence, Abel took a slow, deep breath. His eyes closed to briefly escape everything his vision brought. After slowly inhaling, Abel finished his stressful process of thinking through the what-ifs and controllable variables to bring their success to life.

  Exhaling as he opened his eyes, Abel looked back toward his bandmates. "Let's do this shit," Abel said, his voice carrying a motivating weight. Both Marcus and Simon lifted their heads to match his own— even if his tall, confident posture was just a bluff. Only a few saw through it, Abel understood; the other two fed and relied on it during their performances.

  "Hell yeah," Marcus responded, his partially closed, red eyes still sharp somehow. Simon nodded along, bass in hand, as he spoke.

  And with a final pass toward his drummer and bassist, Abel gave the coordinator they'd been working with a thumbs-up, the lights dimming as she directed people out of the stage's view.

  "Now, to start our night off, we'll be hosting the new band, Schism, for the first time, so let them hear some love," the announcer called over a loud set of speakers, the curtains sliding open as the small crowd unenthusiastically clapped, many people still missing from their seats. It made sense, since they were not only the opening act, but Abel knew nobody came for Schism, except his friends.

  Looking through the scattered groupings of people, Abel quickly spotted both Baron and Dawn, both of them loudly clapping and enthusiastically cheering over the people near them. A subtle, yet charismatic smirk formed before he waved to them, Marcus drowning out the audience as he heavily struck his drum set.

  Joining his beat as the spotlights illuminated them, Abel shredded his guitar while Simon played the bass, their instruments seamlessly synching up as they had been practicing.

  Abel, despite feeling burdened by his worries, doubts, and loneliness, found a familiar release as he energetically jumped around the stage, his loose curls bouncing with him and the music before he returned to the standing mic—the crowd getting louder at the unexpectedly passionate performance.

  Using his raspy, yet gentle singing voice, Abel sang with an outpouring of pained emotions, all of them expressed through his slower delivery of lyrics over the combined fast-paced, heavy instrumental.

  During a quieter part of the song, Abel stepped away to catch his breath. Marcus took over to show off his skill, with Simon complimenting his energy. As Abel wiped away the sweat on his brow, his vision caught Baron and Dawn cheering with their big, genuine smiles – the sight of them made Abel grin happily.

  As he played, Abel thought, maybe he'd never feel like he was a part of life, and he'd always be an outsider looking in, but maybe he'd be able to bear the emptiness a little longer with those two.