BRADLEY CLARKE - ARES, GOD OF WAR
By 8 A.M. Bradley had awoken. In the time he had been awake he had came to two conclusions: He had most definitely been in some sort of comatose state for an entire year, and that he had something buried in the deeper recesses of his mind. A voice. An unfamiliar voice. Bradley wasn't sure how it had got there, but it was there. It whispered to him in his sleep. And he spoke back. He wondered if he was crazy... or perhaps he just needed some time to readjust to the world. It had scolded him for crashing at his father's place. Called him weak. It was right, in a way. He despised his father, yet he still relied on him in some ways. He wished that he didn't, but he did.
His father had not returned over night, so Bradley decided to remove the note that he wrote and leave without leaving any sort of evidence that he had ever been there, other than the fact that his phone was now in his pocket, and not on the spare room's bedside table. It was probably better this way. That way he wouldn't get any trouble from and could go on with his life. His father wished he was dead anyway. The feeling was almost mutual.
What with his apartment having a new occupant, Bradley made his way up to his friend Danny's flat. Danny was Bradley's closest friend. The best way to describe Danny was a total degenerate. Harsh but accurate. But he was a good guy deep down. He never wanted the life he was given - stealing and conniving. But it was the life he had, so he did everything he could to get by. Yes, he was a criminal. But he was loyal, and he cared about his friends, so Bradley had grown close to him over the years. They'd gone through a lot of stuff together - lost friends, earned their first ever pay-check. Bradley didn't care what others thought of him. He was the one guy who would welcome Bradley at his doorstep no matter what.
"Bradley?" Danny opened the door with evident shock on his face. "You woke up? When?"
"Just last night... You're the first person I've spoke to. Well... apart from some fat bloke who was living in my apartment. Care to fill me in on what's going on?""You know just as much as me, Brad." Danny continued to stare at him perplexed for a few moments before remembering to invite him in. "Come on, take a seat. We need to catch up."
Bradley entered the flat. It looked pretty much exactly the same as it had a year ago. There was a dirty t-shirt on the floor in the corner that Bradley was 99% sure had been there a year ago. He ignored it and sat down on one of the seats in the main room. Danny disappeared in to the kitchen for a few moments before returning with two beers, one for himself and one for Bradley.
"How is everyone, then? Will and the lads?"Danny frowned as he sat down in one of the seats opposite Bradley.
"What is it?" Bradley asked with concern.
"A lot has changed 'round here since you left, Brad." Danny sighed and leaned back.
"I never left.""You might as well have. You were always good at defusing this kind of shit... but we got in to an argument, and, you know, Will being Will, got a bit too mouthy. Got himself stabbed."
Bradley shook his head.
"What? And you did nothing?""Of course I did, but I couldn't save him."
"Fucking hell... It really has been a year. Puts things in perspective." Bradley looked down solemnly.
Silence ensued for a while. In attempt to prevent any sort of awkwardness, Danny spoke up, handing Bradley a cigarette. "Have one, mate. It'll make you feel better."
Bradley peered at it for a moment.
"Nah.""You what?" Danny smirked. "You couldn't go a day without them last time I spoke to you."
"Like you said, a lot changes in a year. I don't know. I just don't feel addicted any more.""Mate, I wish my mum would get a year-long coma," Danny joked. "She really needs to pack her smoking in."
Bradley laughed and leant back in his chair slightly. It felt good to be back. In reality, he never really felt like he had left. But he most certainly had. And he was glad he was here with his friends. But something didn't feel right. Maybe it was the loss of a friend. Or something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He didn't feel normal.