Carlos stormed into his apartment and collapsed face-first onto his bed. It had been one of those days again.

Prone on the sheets, he lifted his head and ran a hand through his short, black hair while taking a deep breath. The warm glow of the bedside lamp exposed the two beads of sweat snaking from his temple to the stubble of his chin. Next to the lamp, his deceased wife watched him through the clear frame of a photograph taken last year, mouth open as if she was about to say something sweet to him.

How he wished she could speak encouragement to him right now, with the weight of a burning world on his shoulders. If he could only forfeit his time left in the world for just ten more minutes in Justine’s embrace, smothered by her flowing brown locks, cradled in the dip between her smooth neck and pointed chin, his arms caressing her petite figure like the precious child they never had.

Here one moment, gone the next. Such was life.

Seeking escape from the ghosts gripping his thoughts, Carlos jerked himself to his feet and found his way to the bathroom.

He stumbled to the sink and rummaged in the medicine cabinet for his pills. With shaking hands, he snatched the bottle and hurriedly placed it beside the faucet. In his haste, the bottle fell over, delivering a cascade of pills clacking onto the floor. Carlos cursed, righted the bottle, and stooped to clean up the mess one-by-one.

After returning the handful of fallen pills to the bottle, he popped two into his mouth and swallowed them with water. Vigorously, he began splashing the tap water to his face between labored breaths.

Then suddenly, Carlos paused. Like a sixth sense, he immediately knew he was no longer the only person in his apartment. Someone was right behind him.

But, like many other things, this no longer surprised Carlos.

Without turning around, Carlos remained hunched over the sink, city water still dripping from his bulbous nose.

“This is the third time this week,” he said plainly.

“And you can learn to expect me more often,” a voice replied.

“I told you to go away. To never speak to me again.”

Carlos straightened up before the mirror and saw the all-to-familiar stranger leaning against the bathroom door with white knuckles secured beneath folded arms. The man was dressed in a trench coat with curly black hair running to his shoulders. His eyes looked red and exhausted, and appeared forced into that egg-shaped head of his. He smelled like cigarette smoke, and Carlos called him Sleeves.

“I come back because you leave your door open for me, Carlos,” Sleeves said.

“The front door was locked, last I checked.”

Sleeves shook his head. “Different door.”

Carlos grunted and walked briskly out of the bathroom without drying his face. Sleeves watched as he walked past the door.

Back in the bedroom, Carlos removed his hoodie and set it on the bed, exposing his grey cotton t-shirt to the gentle breeze of the AC.

“You can’t just ignore me.”

Carlos spun to find Sleeves standing in the middle of the room, hands in his coat pockets and shoulders slumped. Carlos knew the snake could slither right beside him without so much as taking a breath. The flesh on the back of Carlos’ neck felt ice-cold.

“I’ve seen you out there,” Sleeves continued. “Staying away from people. Anti-social. Crying like a baby at the drop of a hat. It makes me sick.”

“Maybe,” Carlos answered carefully, “when you lose someone dear to you, you’ll feel the same way.”

“No. I won’t. You see, I’m a man, Carlos.”

“I don’t want to hear this right now.”

“Then why did you leave the door open…?”

“I didn’t!” Carlos snapped. He cursed. “What do you want from me?”

Sleeves smirked and looked around the apartment, fumbling his hands in his pockets. His gaze finally came to a rest on the picture of Justine sitting on the nightstand. “I want you to wake up.”

Carlos rubbed his forehead anxiously and closed his eyes. “I can’t let you stay the night again. It’s impossible to sleep with you here. Please, just… I need you to leave.”

But when Carlos opened his eyes, Sleeves was standing by the nightstand with one hand holding the picture frame high in the air, his beady eyes observing Carlos’ reaction.

Then in one sudden movement, with that glint of mischief still sparkling in his eyes, Sleeves slammed the pictured to the hardwood floor, shattering the frame into hundreds of glassy fragments.

“Justine!” Carlos cried. He was instantly on the floor, pushing the glass aside to collect the actual photo. Before he could pull it out of the frame, one of Sleeves’ boots crashed into Carlos’ side, ramming him against his bed.

“She isn’t doing you favors anymore, cry baby,” Sleeves mocked. “You gotta man up. Look at yourself!”

Carlos kept his head dipped to deal with the throbbing of his side. But while sitting there, slouched against his bedframe, Carlos knew he had other options.

His right hand slid under the bed. The touch of cold steel sent shivers through his arm. Gritting his teeth and steadying his heavy breathing, Carlos pointed the pistol at Sleeves with a weak grip.

Sleeves grinned at the sight. “Hey, you been playing with that thing again? Least you’re doing something in your free time.”

“I swear,” Carlos muttered, “I’ve had enough of you this week. If you don’t get out right now… I’ll…”

Sleeves laughed. “You’ll what? You can’t do it, and you know it. Absolutely pathetic!”

“I’m going to shoot you. I swear I’m going to put a bullet right between those slimy eyes…”

“There you go, that’s better. Prove it.” Sleeves took a step backwards and faced his palms to Carlos. “If you’re a man, start acting like one.”

The gun was shaking horribly in Carlos’ hands. He began cursing the unwelcome guest. “If you ever drag yourself back in here… If I ever see you again, I swear…”

“You will see me again, idiot! Every day! Shoot me!”

“You really think…”

“Shoot!”

Bang!

The whole apartment seemed to shake at the blast. Carlos’ aim was certainly off, but sure enough, he could see the bullet hole right smack in the middle of the man’s chest.

But something wasn’t right. Sleeves was obviously shaken by the shot, but the man was laughing and staring at Carlos’ own torso.

Carlos lowered his head. One big, red bullet hole had destroyed his shirt. A bullet was lodged in his own chest, puncturing his heart and causing three red streaks to snake down his chest.

Carlos looked up in horror, but Sleeves had vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared. There was no trace of the man!

Confused and in shock, Carlos’ body began slumping against the bedframe, losing feeling. He was clasping the shattered picture frame in one hand, forcing Justine to face the gun in his other hand, the barrel pressed to his chest. As reality dawned on him, weakness overcame him, and the gun clattered to the bloody floor of his empty apartment. And as Carlos began to forfeit his life there on the floor, he whispered final words through the blood pooling in his throat.

“I am a man.”