《Illutions of reality》


 Jayn Zanji ?

    As I looked into the mirror with a straight face, the reflection of me was smiling. A big, broad smile that looked evil. The sight sent a shiver down my spine. I quickly removed my focus, trying to shake off the unease creeping in. When I looked again, horrified, the reflection of me also seemed horrified, mirroring my fear.


    Maybe this was just one of the many side effects of a straight seven-hour study session. The life of a medical student wasn''t easy. I still had much and more to study, but my body protested with a strong urge to sleep


    Determined to push through, I went downstairs into the kitchen and opened every cabinet in search of coffee powder. Caffeine, at this point, was something of a drug for me¡ªa necessary evil to keep me functioning through endless nights of study. I searched through every cabinet, my movements growing more frantic with each empty shelf I encountered, but there was no coffee powder to be found.


    "What''s wrong, sweetheart? Want something to eat?" my mom said in her usual caring voice as she entered the kitchen to start the night''s dishes.


    "I just had dinner 15 minutes ago. I just want some coffee. Where''s the coffee powder?" I replied, my frustration slipping through in my tone.


    "You used the last of it to make coffee the day before yesterday. There''s no more," she said, her tone softening, almost apologetic.


    "I''ll just go to old man Semion then," I said, already moving toward the door.


    "At this late hour?" my mom called after me, concern lacing her voice.


    "Might as well grab some wine for me while you''re at it. Semion owes me that much at least," my dad shouted from the living room, half-joking.


    "You''ve been drinking way too much lately. You should care more about your health," my mom countered, her voice carrying a familiar note of worry.


    "A little bit of wine never killed anyone," my dad retorted, a hint of irritation creeping in.


    I left them both to their argument as I stepped out into the cold night. The air was crisp and biting, sending a shiver through me as I zipped up my jacket and set off toward the nearest coffee shop owned by my dad''s friend, Semion.


    Semion was a good man, though old. He used to narrate stories to me when I was a child and still sometimes played soccer with me and my friends despite his constant back pain. The thought of his warm, welcoming shop was the only thing that kept me moving through the eerie stillness of the night.


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    The street was unusually quiet, the only sound being my footsteps echoing against the pavement. The street lamps, being the frauds they were, offered little help. Their weak glow barely illuminated the path ahead, forcing me to use my phone''s flashlight to see anything at all. It was a no-moon night, making everything around me feel darker and more oppressive.


    The entire journey was simply uncomfortable. There was a constant, nagging feeling that somebody was following me, or perhaps I''d just watched too many horror movies. I quickened my pace, the cold air biting at my cheeks as I hurried toward the shop.


    But when I finally reached the place where there should''ve been a big sign reading "Sip and Tip Coffee Shop," there was nothing. Instead of the familiar, cozy coffee shop, there was an abandoned lot with only an orange sign that read "Under construction, proceed with caution." A fence surrounded the area, blocking any entry.


    Confusion and unease washed over me. This didn''t make sense at all¡ªI had been to this shop just last week. Had Semion decided to move out? Even if he did, he wouldn''t do so without at least informing Dad.


    My mind raced, trying to grasp the surreal shift in reality. The unsettling feeling of being watched grew stronger, and I couldn''t shake the sensation that something was terribly wrong.


    I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty lot, my breath visible in the cold night air. The street, now silent and menacing, seemed to close in around me. I wanted to talk to old man Semion, but I didn''t know where he lived, and I didn''t have his contact number.


    I turned on my heel and hurried back home, my steps echoing louder in the stillness, each one accompanied by a growing sense of dread. The journey back was just as uncomfortable, if not more, than the walk to the shop. The darkness seemed to press in on me from all sides, the cold night air chilling me to the bone.


    When I finally reached home, I released a high sigh of relief, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.


    I immediately went into my parents'' room to ask them about Semion, but when I entered, they were both fast asleep. The soft sounds of their breathing filled the room, a stark contrast to the eerie silence outside.


    I quietly closed the door and went upstairs. I was supposed to do another three-hour study session, but that was out of the question now. My mind was racing with too many unanswered questions. I looked at the clock on the wall, ready to turn off the light, but something caught my eye. The seconds hand was going backward. The clock was moving in reverse.


    I rubbed my eyes, convinced that exhaustion was playing tricks on me, but when I looked again, the seconds hand was still ticking backward. Panic surged through me as I grabbed the clock off the wall, shaking it as if that would fix the bizarre malfunction. But no matter what I did, the clock continued to tick in reverse, defying all logic.


    I was too tired to deal with this strange phenomenon. With a heavy sigh, I placed the clock on the table, not bothering to hang it back up. I crawled into bed, pulling the covers over me as I tried to shake off the unease that had settled deep in my bones. Sleep came slowly, and when it did, it was restless and filled with disturbing dreams.


    It was surely a weird day. I almost feel like I''m a novel character being written by someone.

 Nitin ?

    I stared at the blank laptop screen in front of me. Nothing came to mind. I just knew that at this point, it was going to be another day with no progress whatsoever. My fingers started to feel the weight of hopelessness. The cursor blinked rhythmically, a silent challenge to break the silence of the empty page.


    I glanced around my cramped and messy apartment, feeling even more sad and despairing.


    Sudhan, my older brother, was the family''s treasure¡ªsuccessful at anything he set his mind to. A very successful doctor with an income that seemed to multiply almost every month. And here I was, barely accepted for a job at a local bookstore. My dreams of becoming a writer felt more out of grasp than ever before; just sitting in front of the screen with an empty mind was taking a toll on me.


    But tonight, I felt a surge of energy, full of confidence, when I finally got the ideas I had been looking for. A story no one had ever heard of, completely original and unique, one that would prove that I am better than my brother.


    A story about a boy named Jayn Zanji, a medical student, who has a pretty normal life until weird things start to happen to him. After some time, he comes to realize that the world he''s living in, and everything in it, is fictional and is being written by someone, so he tries to escape from it.


    I never typed this fast in my life. This plot seemed so good to me that I thought about it all the time. I just knew this was the one that could get me started. For the next few days, all I could think about was how this story would progress and how I would make Zanji realize that his world was fake. Once, I got so deep in these thoughts that I forgot I had a customer in front of me. Snapping out of my daydream, I realized there were still many challenges ahead.


    I woke up the next morning feeling completely fresh and somewhat changed. I wanted to give the day a perfect start, so I called in to tell my boss I was going to miss work. Let''s just say he wasn''t very happy about it.


    I started with morning yoga, something my mom used to do before I became a disappointment to her and she left me on my own. The stretching felt good, loosening muscles I hadn''t used in a while. This was followed by a cold shower that jolted my senses awake. I shaved my beard clean, watching the suds and whiskers swirl down the drain, a symbolic cleanse. I thought of exercising, but I wasn''t really out of shape, so I dropped the idea of hitting the gym. Instead, I just cleaned my dirty little apartment, wiping away layers of dust and grime. The act of cleaning, of putting things in order, felt good.


    It''s an enjoyable experience to actually work at something you like. I always liked writing, and just thinking of making it a career felt good. I started my first real writing session. I was still pretty decent at writing, just not the best in the world, that''s for sure. I started the story with Zanji seeing his reflection in mirror smiling while he, himself is not. Followed a dialogue with his parents and so on.


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    That''s when I heard the knock. It was strange to me; I didn''t know many people, and there was really no one who would knock on my door. As far as I could remember. The sound echoed through the small apartment, breaking my concentration. When I opened the door, I saw a more-than-familiar face¡ªmy brother.


    "Mind if I just...?" he said.


    "Yeah, sure, come in." It had been ages since we talked to each other. He almost felt like a stranger.


    "It''s a, um, pretty small apartment you''ve got here. Must be hard for you," he said with no expression whatsoever. The last time I saw him show emotions was when we were twelve.


    "Yeah, I just manage it," I said hesitantly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and resentment.


    "You''ve changed. We were fifteen when I last saw you. Now you''re a grown man of thirty-one," Sudhan said.


    "Changed times, changed man, yeah," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.


    "Let''s cut to the chase," he said, looking more serious than usual. He always looked serious, just more so now. "Mom told me how miserable you are. All talk, no commitment. I felt pity for you."


    He knew that I got angry whenever someone pitied me and was saying that intentionally. It didn''t take him long to show his true colors, huh.


    "I thought you said ''cut to the chase,''" I said with sarcasm, my anger simmering.


    "I have an offer for you," he said.


    "Go on." I said it calmly, but I was indeed surprised. My brother, who was like a god in human clothing, showing up all of a sudden to spare some pity for the weak.


    "You become a maid in my house, and I pay you double or triple what any local bookstore would. How about that?"


    "A mighty lord like you coming personally to show kindness for a servant like me? Sounds about right," I said with an angry tone, my hands clenching into fists.


    "I didn''t want to see your loser self ever again, only if Mom hadn''t forced m¡ª"


    "Just tell me, who do you take me for?" I said, my voice getting louder and angrier. "JUST SOME GOOD-FOR-NOTHING NOBODY IN THE PRESENCE OF A BRILLIANT FUCKING GOD!! I COULDN''T CARE LESS ABOUT YOUR JOB OFFER; IT''S NOTHING TO ME. I''LL BURN YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING CAREER DOWN. YOU DON''T KNOW ME; YOU DON''T KNOW WHAT I CAN ACCOMPLISH, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST SHOW UP ALL OF A SUDDEN AND TELL ME WHAT TO DO?"


    The worst part was that he looked at me with pity the entire time, as if I were just some mental patient and he was the one responsible for making me that way. The pity in his eyes burned more than his words. He turned around and started walking away without saying anything.


    "AND NEXT TIME YOU KNOCK ON THAT DOOR TO BRING SOME OTHER SHITTY OFFER, YOU''RE WELCOME TO GO FUCK YOURSELF." He didn''t look back.


    Later, I finished my first chapter and lay down on my bed, and started crying. Even I didn''t know why, but I just did. The tears flowed uncontrollably, releasing the pent-up frustration and sorrow. I cried myself to sleep in the mid-afternoon, the emotional exhaustion finally catching up with me.

 Elias Thorn ?

    For the past 6 hours all i did was scroll up on youtube. I felt ashamed on myself, i felt pathetic. I knew i was built for way more but my body just wouldn''t let me. Or i was just simply lazy.


    The incidents happening in the town of haven really grabbed my attention laterly. A plane crash followed by a meteorite strike followed by a volcanic eruption near the same place was just impossible. The chances of that happening must''ve been astronomical. Now i wanted to visit the place myself, only if my parents hadn''t built this mansion in middle of nowhere.


    I stood up from the table and went down the hallway, i hated it. Having to go in an entire fucking journey just to reach kitchen for fucks sake. I wish i just lived in a normal house with a normal family with a normal neighborhood, or just any neighborhood for that matter. But my parents thought it was the best idea to use their fortunes to build a big fucking mansion in the middle of a forest.


    The only time when i visited a city was 16 years ago when i fell down the stairs and hurt my head. I got so confused and worked up when i saw so many people, vehicles in one place. So sad I''ll end up spending my whole life here. Or maybe i could change that...


    When i reached kitchen, i grabbed the fine wine my dad bought for himself a few days ago. It looked like a red river flowing when i poured it in the glass. My dad would always say I''m to young to drink, try telling that to any other 29 year old, and they''d think you''re crazy.


    My mom and dad saw me from the living room and both of them approached me. I knew what was coming.


    "Ohh dear, should you be drinking so much? You should care about your health darling." My mom said with expressions like i was going to kill myself.


    "Your mom is right Elias, you shouldn''t be drinking wine at such young age, I''ll call your personal doctor tommorow, he''ll come and tell about all the bad things it contains."


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    Fuck you and fuck your doctors. I am not a fucking child you pieces of shit.


    I smiled "I''m going to ok mom, and dad just a bit of wine won''t do any harm, pretty pleace" i said it like a child, i felt extremely stupid doing it.


    "If you say so sweetheart, and if you have anything you want, just tell me, the maids won''t be here today." Mom said, fucking bitch.


    "I will." I said gently.


    They walked away to watch those fucking national park videos, the closest they''ll ever get to civilization.


    The kitchen was full of all kinds of luxuries, 3 refrigerators full of anything, normally there maids who''d bring anything you ask for, they always go to fuck themselves when i need them the most, i needed them to make me one of those lava cakes i had the other day, fuck them.


    I looked everywhere for remaining lava cake from last day but luck is a bitch. But something else grabbed my attention, the shiny knives. I never cooked myself so i rarely saw any of the cooking equipments but these knives looked so clean, so shiny, so sharp that i blushed, and i got an erection. It felt weird at first, but i forgot all about the erection part when i held that knife in my hands.


    It must''ve been heavenly, touched and kissed by gods and angels themselves.


    I hid that knife on the back of my pants and started off for the living room. Footsteps echoed in the hallways, my parents turned back and looked at me, good thing the erection was gone.


    "Is there anything you want honey?" My mom said with her generous smile.


    "Yes." I said calmly.


    "Go on son, you rarely ask for anything." My dad looked proud and excited about my demands.


    "Your lives."


    I jumped at my dad and stabbed him on the throat two consecutive times, my mom let out a huge scream. I pulled out the knife from my dad throat and realized what i had just done and laughed about it.


    My mom tried to crawl away, shaking and screaming but too bad there wasn''t anyone in the middle of this fucking forest to hear her screams.


    I grabbed her blond and silky hair from behind and cut open her throat, her blood leaked out and it looked just like that wine. She tried to say something before i cut her but too late, anyways.


    I really didn''t knew why i did it, but it felt good, it felt right. I layed down beside the dead bodies of my parents, laughing uncontrollably. I was blushing the entire time. The strong urge made me lick my parents blood off the floor, i felt like a dog but i couldn''t stop myself.


    Now, i knew what my next destination was.

 Jayn Zanji ??

    "Look, son, I told you, I don''t know who you''re talking about. I''ve never met this Semion guy," my dad said, irritated.


    "Dad! Are you even serious. Semion, your friend. You told me to get some wine from him just last night. How could you forget about him all of a sudden. He''s been your friend for more than 15 years." I argued.


    "Honey, he must''ve been someone from long time ago and you just remember about him now. And besides, even i can''t remember him so fathef must''ve forgot about him too." my mom said, looking at my disappointed and despairing face. "Just tell us, why talk about this old man all of a sudden?"


    "It''s just that he owned a coffee shop, and last night when I went over to the shop, it wasn''t there. It completely vanished overnight, leaving nothing but a sign reading ''under construction,''" I said, and for a moment, both of them looked at me like I was crazy.


    "Son, have you ever had one of those triangular-shaped colorful candies?" my dad said.


    "No, why?" I said, looking rather confused.


    "Well, back in my days, those candies had an advertisement that went ''Eat Vengars, think crazy.'' We used to make a lot of jokes about it. Your uncle would sometimes eat it and say ''Quite bizarre day, ain''t it?'' in a British accent. Funniest shit I''ve ever heard."


    "Dear, don''t say that. Zanji must be under stress," she looked at me. "Is there anything wrong, sweetheart?"


    "No, I am not under stress, and I am not crazy," I said, louder than I was supposed to. "Sorry, I''ll, um, I''m getting late for college. Bye." I went out with a piece of sandwich in my mouth.


    On my way, all I thought of was how my parents couldn''t even remember old-timer Semion. A bit strange considering how my dad used to talk about him all the time.


    I looked around and saw Mr. Edward in the park at the end of the street. He was with his two daughters, both of them being 16 years old. They used to call me ''Mr. Hair Downward'' when I was little; my hairstyle wasn''t the best, I''d admit. All three of them were enjoying popsicles on the bench. The park was often crowded in the morning. It was full of laughter, cheers, and life.


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    I also saw my friend from colloge, paul. He would often skip college or won''t pay any attention to studying even when he came. I sometimes wonder how he even got in that college.


    All of a sudden almost everyone in the park started to look up. I didn¡¯t know why and looked up myself and saw something truly horrible.


    The sound of the heavens cracking came from far above, bringing destruction with it. It felt like the heavens was breaking and falling down, caught on fire, accelerating towards us. Everyone in the park looked up to see a crashing plane plummeting. There were screams, rising tension, and a mass crowd moving here and there.


    The plane was coming down much faster than expected. My body started shaking, and I stepped back without intending to, soon running away from the expected crash site. People were fleeing the park in masses, some falling down and getting stepped on, some going through the gate while others jumped over walls.


    That''s when it happened. A loud BANG followed by a huge amount of soil uplifting. I got far enough to see others die. The center of the park was absolutely obliterated, and dozens of people instantly perished.


    My throat was too dry to let out a scream, so I stood there, shaking, eyes as large as tennis balls. Screams and yells of the escaped crowd came from nearby, and a lot of people were gathering to help others. There was no one left in the impact zone to help.


    I slowly walked home. I was thinking either too much or nothing at all; I couldn''t tell the difference. Sweat ran down my cheeks, and my breathing rate and heartbeat rose tremendously as I walked away.


    I saw my dad running towards me when I almost reached home. I couldn''t tell what happened next because I fainted.


    I woke up about 40 minutes later, covered in sweat, and the anxiety still hadn''t left me. The news channels confirmed it was a private plane, and it had 14 passengers on board, including the pilot. All were confirmed dead, along with about 26 more people from the park.


    The crash site became a grim tourist attraction throughout the week. Just two days after the plane crash, there was a meteorite impact near the town. If that wasn''t crazy enough, a small volcanic eruption occurred six days later.


    Crazy week, I suppose. At first, these events seemed connected, but later I found this connection theory pretty stupid. Or was it? Who knows¡ªmaybe I''m not even real, for fuck''s sake.


    At least I didn''t have to attend college for five days straight. This made me happy despite all the deaths and bizarre events in Haven. I felt guilty because of it.


    My dad always says the world doesn''t revolve around me. I think I''m pretty close to proving him wrong.

 Vermilion Violet ?

    "There were loud bangs everywhere. Smoke rising, mixed with blood and despair. Noshyan barely made it behind the tree, one hand on his left side of the stomach, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. It didn''t do any good. The bullet hole was too big to just cover with his hands.


    Noshyan lost his final hope and sat there with his head down. His last thoughts were of the life he could''ve lived if he had made it out of this war. He imagined a quiet life in a small village, perhaps by the sea, where the sound of the waves could drown out the memories of gunfire. But those dreams faded as quickly as they had come.


    Time passed, bloodshed grew, and then eventually, there was nearly no more blood to shed. Skin rotted, vests and helmets decayed, but the body never moved. It stayed there for nearly 20 more years before the bones started to decompose too, leaving nothing but what could''ve been something.


    Winters took over the world. The poor and dogs died the same death, while the rich hid their asses in bunkers. Humanity was never closer to extinction.


    A tree formed on the spot where a brave soldier died a few decades ago. Its branches faced the dawn of a new era. An era which nonetheless would face the same fate as the last one. The cycle of rise and fall, of hope and despair, seemed to be etched into the very fabric of existence.


    The process of rebuilding never changed. From stone to fire. From villages to cities. The civilization built itself again in just 300,000 years. This was usually the point where it would settle again for a restart with a war. History, it seemed, was destined to repeat itself.


    Trees grow just to fall, hoping for the other one to do the same. Humans fall, just to rise again, just to fall again nonetheless. The endless cycle of war never stops as long as there are those who cannot look forward to what there is to achieve, but only focus on what is being lost for that goal.


    The tree grew and fell and grew and fell and grew and fell until it was cut down to form a dream. A hope. The town of haven."


    I put down my book, and the whole class clapped for me. The applause felt distant, like it was meant for someone else. I felt like this story was too dark for 9th standard, but it worked out. The students seemed to have absorbed every word, even if they didn¡¯t fully grasp the weight of the message. Teaching doesn''t really suit me anyways. It''s a profession that demands patience, empathy, and a certain level of detachment from the darker corners of human nature¡ªqualities I¡¯ve long since abandoned.


    My former job, being a detective, was just overall better, but my stubborn self just can''t live with failures. There was something intoxicating about the chase, about piecing together the fragments of someone¡¯s shattered life and making sense of the chaos. But strangely, the town of Haven did grab my interest, along with a meteor, a plane, and a volcano. Three events that felt more like the beginning of a horror story than real life.


    "But Mrs. Violet, does that mean that World War 3 will end humanity, and it''ll all have to restart from the start?" A fat boy named John asked, looking disappointed, as if a boy of 8 had heard that the sun was going to explode in 4.5 billion years.


    "Before anyone else asks any questions, let me just clarify, I''m not a fortune teller, and I can''t tell the future," I replied. "Besides, it''s just a story. There''s never going to be a world war again anyway." Let''s just hope so. A hollow reassurance, but it was the best i could offer.


    A life of a detective is full of adventures and risks. There was a new memory every day, a new puzzle to solve, but while teaching high school, every day felt the same. The faces changed, but the questions remained as predictable as the sunrise.


    I had no lecture for next 40 minutes, so i just sat in the staff room, reading the newspaper and watching porn. That''s when i read about the murders in the middle of the Cravor forest. A boy of 29 killing parents and is on the run. The details were few, but that was enough to ignite that familiar spark of curiosity.


    It felt like a match dropped into a room full of dynamite. I wanted to go with a bang, so i did what any non-normal person would do. I wasn''t going to let this opportunity slip by, not when it could be the perfect distraction from the monotony that had become my life.


    I waited out Mr. Clarke''s class; it was about time he was finished with his lecture. When the bell rang, I stood beside the classroom door, looking rather anxious and worried.


    Mr. Clarke was clearly attracted to me, most of the teachers and even some of the students were. He was the kind of man who let his desires cloud his judgment, who mistook attention for affection. He approached me awkwardly. "Mrs. Violet, um, what are you doing here, is something wrong? I, um, am here if you nee-"


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    "Mr. Clarke, I think we need to talk..." I said in a scared and almost crying manner. "Come to the staff room, please."


    He followed me, and by this point, he was completely nervous and somewhat shaking. I could feel tension radiating off him, the anticipation of what might happen next. He was a fool, but a useful one at that.


    When we reached the staff room, it was completely empty, so i stopped there and hugged him while crying. His heart seemed to be in a race. His body stiffened at the unexpected contact, and for a moment, I wondered if he might actually pull away.


    "What''s wrong, Mrs. Violet, why are cryi-"


    "One of the students from 12th standard brought a gun with him." I said crying. "I found it in a cabinet when i saw it was left open, and when i tried to close it, there was a gun inside." My voice trembled just enough to sell the lie, to make believe that i was terrified and vulnerable.


    His face clearly stated the he, without a doubt, fell into the trap and believed me. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the panic setting in as he tried to process what i had just told him.


    "What!? We need to inform the authorities. What was it-"


    I put a finger on his lips. "If we inform the authorities, it''ll only ruin his life. We''re teachers; we''ve got to teach him a lesson without his life getting worse." I leaned in closer, letting him feel the warmth of my breath on his skin. It was a calculated move, designed to disarm him, to make him trust me.


    "But he could''ve killed man students; he''s a criminal, he deserves to get punished. No lesson will teach a scumbag like him anything." His voice was shaky, uncertain, but i could tell he was starting to waver.


    I put my hand on his chest. "Please, Mr. Clarke, I don''t want to ruin the boy''s life. Please just hear me out." I let my hand linger for just a moment longer than necessary, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my fingers. "I put the gun in my car''s trunk, i want to you to get the gun from there. The stundents'' name is armus. I want you to call him here and threaten him with his own gun, and make him apologise."


    "But that''s very dangerous, what if he-"


    I squished his shirt on his chest. "Do you not trust me? Do i mean nothing to you, Mr. Clarke? Please." I let my eyes well up with tears, the final touch to push him over the edge.


    He was clearly blushing at this point, his face flushed with a mix of emotions he couldn''t quite control.


    "Ok, but make sure no one comes in the room while i do this." His voice was barely above a whisper, the words forced out as if he was struggling to breathe.


    I won.


    "Sure, the class beside this room is empty. I''ll stay there and watch over." I had him exactly where i wanted him. It was almost too easy. It''s kinda boring when it''s this easy.


    It was so stupid of the school to not put a camera in the staff room. This''ll cost them. I had always wondered how much damage could be done if someone exploited that little oversight. Now, i was about to find out.


    Mr. Clarke was going downstairs to my car to get the gun. So i took the opportunity to go the principal''s office. Timing was crucial, and i had it down to the second.


    "May I-I come i-in?"


    "Yes" said Mrs. Agatha. And old lady of around 55. She looked up. "What''s wrong, Mrs. Voilet, why are you crying? Oh good lord, you''re shaking too, what happened!?" She was genuinely concerned, which made it easier and a bit more boring to play my part.


    She offered me water; i slowly drank it, giving myself a moment to collect my thoughts. "Mr. Clarke is using my registered gun to threaten a student in the staff room," I said, weeping. The words felt almost surreal, but i delivered them with the conviction of someone who truly believed the lie.


    "Mr. Clarke is doing what!!" She yelled and took the phone and dialed some numbers. "Hello, security, a guy has a gun in the staff room. Call the police and get there as soon as possible." She put down the telephone, shaking. "Mrs. Violet, you stay here, I''ll be back."


    She went outside. I stayed and pulled out my phone and started writing a letter and used to printer on the side table to print it.


    About 2 minutes later i heard an alarm, and all the students running out of classes, running outside. They were taught to hide under their tables in these types of situation but guess that didn''t work.


    There was a rubix cube in her desk. I was decently good at it so i picked it up and started solving it. It was gonna take about 20 minutes before poilice arrived, i had to do something to maybe not waste my time and a cube was all i needed. On average, i could solve a rubix cube in about 2 minutes but my cousin could do it about roughly 30 seconds. I''d admit, i was kinda jealous of him.


    I was right. The cops arrived just 20 mintes later and upon 5 minutes of entering the building they took Mr Clarke in handcuff and placed him in the police car. There were a lot of cops to catch one fat pig. He shouldn''t have trusted a woman''s tears, i wondered who''s gonna trust him with his story.


    The student he threatened, Armus, came out unharmed and was crying out loud, and there were many teachers surrounding him and supporting him. Guess i went a bit too far. Just a bit.


    Mrs agatha then finally entered, took her long enough. "I can''t believe that monster was blaming you for it. He was screaming that you told him to do it. Such disgusting demon." She said. "And the police has your gun for now, they want to see some papers before they give it back."


    "It was my fault i put my gun in my car." I said with crocodile/woman''s tears. Had to play this game a little more to top it all of.


    "No child, don''t blame yourself for it. You never knew that monster would take advantage of you." She bought my tears the same way he did. "Now you go back home, anyone you want me to call? Your family or husband?"


    "No, but there''s one thing." I said wiping my greatest weapon away.


    "Go on sweetheart."


    I handed her my resignation letter. "It''s too much for me now, sorry i can''t."


    "I understand. It''s been a rough time. You always seem so energetic and positive, and experiencing something like this gives trauma. Take your time."


    I won again.


    Finally got rid of this tedious job. It was about time i focused on this Elias guy''s case.

 Elias Thorn ??

    The last time I stopped to fill my car, I almost got caught. I was already a nationwide news, and Haven was still 80 miles away.


    This time, I knew the drill. Use the handkerchief as a mask to fill gas, buy the necessities as fast as possible, and get the fuck out of there before the cashier figures out who I am.


    I tied the handkerchief around my face, feeling like I was digging my own grave. It wasn¡¯t easy, but I managed. Everything went well until the cashier decided to get cute. ¡°You look like a wannabe Batman,¡± he said, smirking.


    I felt a sudden, violent urge to slaughter the piece of shit right there. But I bit it back. Good thing I knew a thing or two about amger control.


    As I headed back to the car, I nearly laughed out loud when I saw someone who had an even worse disguise. The guy looked like a wannabe cowboy, with a ridiculous black cape flapping behind him. I barely made it to my car, trying to stifle my laughter.


    My driving skills weren''t the best¡ªyesterday was the first time I¡¯d ever driven, with the help of a YouTube fucking tutorial. Too bad I had to ditch the damn phone.


    I got in the car and started toward the infamous cemetery in the middle of the forest. Whoever thought it was a good idea to build an entire cemetery in the middle of nowhere deserved an award, shoved up their ass.


    I didn¡¯t have any other options. The bodies in my trunk needed to be taken care of, and it felt better to give them a proper burial instead of leaving them to rot in the house. Not that it mattered¡ªthe cameras in the house had already captured my ¡°good deeds.¡±


    I could¡¯ve used my dad¡¯s Lamborghini, but its trunk was too small to fit two whole ass bodies. Imagine trying to squeeze them in there.


    For most of the drive, I wasn¡¯t even sure if I was going the right way. The road was empty, and the trees closed in around me like a suffocating blanket.


    But the feeling of victory when you finally see the destination hits different. I knew I was on the right road when I saw the graveyard.


    I left the car and walked into the cemetery to make sure no one else was around. I wanted no more blood on my hands. The place was eerily quiet, with only the rustling of leaves to break the silence.


    After checking every corner of the graveyard, I grabbed the shovel from my car and searched for the perfect spot to seal their fate. I found an empty patch on the far left side.


    The entire graveyard was overgrown with trees. I wasn¡¯t sure if graveyards were supposed to look like this¡ªit was my first time inside one. Everything I knew about cemeteries came from old cartoons and horror movies.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I started digging. In movies, they make it look easy, but with a shovel in hand, it felt impossible to dig a six-foot hole. After 20 minutes, I¡¯d only managed a few inches. It was going to take me hours.


    I could¡¯ve just thrown the bodies in the forest and been done with it. But I kept digging.


    One moment, I was digging, and the next, I was biting the dust. A hand pressed my face into the ground, a knee dug into my back, and another hand gripped my struggling leg. I tried to look up, but whoever it was, they were stronger than me.


    ¡°You have the right to remain silent.¡±


    ¡°You have the right to suck my asshole, motherfucker,¡± I spat, my voice muffled by the dirt.


    ¡°The investigating agency will be throwing parties when they hear whose head I have in my hands. Especially Vermilion,¡± the man said, his voice deep and taunting."back there in the gas station i wasn''t sure if you were the person i was looking for with that hankerchief but guess following you was the best thing i could''ve done."


    ¡°Come on, put on those fucking handcuffs on, you stupid cowboy,¡± I said, trying to twist free. He pressed me harder into the dirt.


    ¡°I¡¯d love to, but unfortunately, I¡¯m off duty right now and don¡¯t have my gear with me, so no handcuffs for you, you cunt. By the way, the name¡¯s Godric Hawke. You should probably know the name of the person who¡¯s about to send your sorry ass to prison.¡±


    He pulled out a rope and tied my hands, forcing me to stand up. ¡°Trust me, detective, you¡¯ll pay for this.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re wrong. The agency will pay me for this,¡± he laughed, tightening the rope around my wrists.


    We walked toward the exit of the cemetery. I had one plan in mind, and if it failed, I was done for. I struggled weakly, making sure he felt my resistance but not enough to raise his suspicion.


    By the time we reached his car, he was completely convinced I was a weak, na?ve fool. ¡°I wonder how someone like you managed to kill your parents,¡± he said as we reached the car. ¡°You¡¯re weak, stupid, and to top it all of pathetic."


    I saw my chance and shoved him with my elbow. He stumbled, and I kicked him in the head. Once. Twice.


    He caught my leg and threw me aside, but his face was already a mess, covered in blood, his nose bleeding profusely.


    ¡°Look at what you¡¯ve done, you little piece of shit,¡± he growled, trying to stand. I got to my feet and headbutted him as hard as I could.


    He wasn¡¯t completely unconscious, but he was out of it. I ran to the side of the road and started rubbing my hands against a tree, trying to break the thin rope.


    I hadn¡¯t realized how strong a rope like this could be. It cut into my wrists, making them bleed, but eventually, the rope weakened enough for me to break free.


    By the time I was free, Godric was kneeling beside his car, still dazed. I punched him as hard as I could, and he slumped to the ground, finally unconscious.


    When Godric woke up, he found himself lying in a shallow wooden grave. I stood over him, grinning with excitement.


    ¡°You think burying me alive will end this?¡± he croaked, barely able to speak


    ¡°I wanted to kill you myself and enjoy doing it, but my hands are already red. I doubt they can get any redder than this,¡± I said, smiling down at him.


    ¡°Vermilion will find you,¡± he muttered, tears streaming down his face. ¡°She¡¯ll find you anywhere in the world, and she¡¯ll make you beg for mercy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯ll deal with Vermilion or whatever if she comes after me. And as for you¡­¡± I put the wooden cover over the grave. ¡°Sleep tight.¡±


    I spent four hours digging that grave; there was no way I was digging two more. I threw my parents¡¯ bodies in with Godric and covered the grave with dirt.


    As I walked back to my car, dirt covering my clothes, I wondered how long it would take for Godric to suffocate in that shallow grave. It didn¡¯t matter¡ªI knew where I had to go next.

 Nitin ??

    The last time I cried was three days ago, and before that, it was fifteen years ago. This time, the tears came uninvited, rolling down from my eyes to my jawline, falling silently into the grass. They were like any living being¡ªborn, traveled a brief journey, and inevitably died. Just like Sudhan did.


    It had been so long since I last cried that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to let go, to surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotions that I had spent years bottling up. The rain began to pour, blending with my tears as I stood by his grave, staring at the coffin that held my brother''s lifeless body. His wife, standing a few feet away, was visibly pregnant. She clutched her swollen belly as though she could somehow shield her unborn child from the reality of the loss. Sudhan would never see his own child.


    As the coffin was lowered into the ground, the heaviness in my chest grew, pressing against my ribs like a vice. I could hear the distant rumble of thunder, a sound that mirrored the storm brewing inside me. No one could have expected a heart attack to be his doom, especially at such a young age. He never smoked, was fit enough to run marathons, and yet, here we were, burying him in the earth.


    The last thing I told him was to never knock on my door again. That moment replayed in my mind, over and over, each time more painful than the last. It didn¡¯t matter how I justified it; he was still my brother.


    The funeral was full of wealthy business associates and staff members, all wearing gleaming black suits that seemed to repel the rain as though it dared not touch them. I stood out in my regular shirt and pants, feeling like the disappointment he always said I was. It was as if I didn¡¯t belong among them, like an intruder at a gathering of the successful and the powerful.


    As the crowd began to thin, the rain slowed to a drizzle. I noticed my mother standing by her car, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. She looked so small, so broken, as though the world had finally succeeded in crushing her spirit. I thought about offering her some comfort, something I hadn¡¯t done in years. But as I moved towards her, the air between us thickened with unspoken words and unresolved anger.


    When she saw me approaching, her grief twisted into something harsher, more hostile. She hurried to the other side of the car, making it clear she didn¡¯t want to talk.


    "Mother, I want to talk to you," I said, my voice drained of all energy, barely audible above the soft patter of the rain.


    She turned to face me, her eyes full of anger and pain. The years had not been kind to her; the lines on her face were deeper, her hair thinner, and her once bright eyes now dull with sorrow. "What is there to talk about?" she snapped.


    "I¡¯m sorry about Sud¡ª" I began, but she cut me off, her voice trembling with emotion.


    "Oh, so you¡¯re sorry now, are you?" she spat, the bitterness in her voice like a knife to my gut. "Where was this affection when I sent him to help you? He told me how you yelled at him, even after he offered to help you make something of your pitiful life."


    "I¡ªuh, I¡¯m sorry," I stammered, the weight of my guilt pressing down on me like a heavy stone, making it hard to breathe.


    Her eyes glistened with tears, and she shook her head, her hands trembling as she clutched the door handle. "If you¡¯re really sorry, why didn¡¯t you do something to make it right? You could have¡­ I don¡¯t even know anymore. Just leave me alone." She broke down, her sobs mingling with the remnants of the storm. "It should¡¯ve been you, not him."


    Her words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, knocking the wind out of me. The rawness of her grief, her anger, and her disappointment was more than I could bear. She pushed me away, and I stumbled back, watching helplessly as she got into the car, still crying. As she drove off, taking all my remaining hope, desires, and memories with her, I was left with nothing but despair. I stood alone in the rain, feeling like the burden she said I was, wondering if I could ever rid myself of the guilt that weighed so heavily on my shoulders.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    One by one, everyone left, each with their own lives to return to, their own lights to guide them forward. I watched them go, wondering where my turn in the cycle of struggle, hard work, and success had gone. When it finally came, I¡¯d refused to struggle, refused to work hard, and still expected to succeed. Life doesn¡¯t work that way. If only I had realized that sooner, maybe I wouldn¡¯t be here, watching others go into the light while I was left in the dark.


    I stayed in the graveyard for hours, long after the last person had left. I stared at the freshly covered earth, the large letters on the tombstone spelling out ''Sudhan Chouhan.'' It felt surreal, like a dream I couldn¡¯t wake up from. I half expected him to sit up in the coffin, to tell me it was all a joke, that he was still alive. But deep down, I knew better. He was gone, and nothing I did could bring him back.


    Eventually, the cemetery¡¯s closing time came, and I was forced to leave. I dragged my feet as I walked out, my head down, the rain now a gentle mist that clung to my skin. The walk home was long, a four-mile journey that could have been shorter if I¡¯d taken the bus with the others. But it didn¡¯t matter now. I needed the time, the distance, to process everything, to let the reality of Sudhan¡¯s death sink in.


    When I finally got back to my apartment, I was soaked to the bone, the cold seeping into my very marrow. I couldn¡¯t muster the energy to clean the apartment like I usually did. The clutter, the mess that had become a part of my everyday life, suddenly seemed insignificant. I went straight to bed, skipping dinner. My stomach rumbled in protest, but I ignored it, too exhausted to care. I wondered how much pain a man¡¯s pillow could hold before it overflowed. Mine was a river, the tears soaking through the fabric, staining it with the salt of my grief.


    I slept fitfully, my dreams haunted by images of Sudhan, of my mother¡¯s angry words, of the life I could have had if only I had made different choices. I saw myself standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss, the darkness below calling to me. I wondered what it would be like to fall, to let go of everything and just¡­ disappear.


    When I woke up the next morning, my eyes were puffy, my head throbbing with the remnants of a sleepless night. The apartment was eerily quiet, the silence pressing in on me from all sides. I forced myself to get up, to move, to do something, anything, to break the monotony. I normally do a fifteen-minute writing session when I wake up, a habit I¡¯d recently adopted in an attempt to bring some structure to my otherwise chaotic life.


    But today, my mind was blank. I sat there, staring at the blank page, the cursor blinking at me accusingly. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to write anything, not after everything that had happened.


    Then, out of nowhere, an idea struck me. I decided to create a character named Elias, a man who had everything¡ªlooks, charm, success¡ªand kill a lot of people in Haven just because I could. I poured all my anger, my frustration, my guilt into that story, making Elias a villain who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.


    If I go down, we all go down.


    As the words flowed from my fingertips, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a catharsis of sorts. The story was my way of regaining control, of fighting back against the helplessness that had consumed me. It was dark, twisted, and brutal, but it was mine. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had a purpose, even if it was just to create chaos in a fictional world.


    When I finally stopped writing, the sun had risen, casting a pale light through the dirty windows of my apartment. The room was still a mess, but I didn¡¯t care. I had something to focus on, something to distract me from the pain that gnawed at my insides like a hungry beast.


    I took a deep breath and closed the laptop, feeling a strange sense of relief. The chapter was done, and so was I, at least for now. I didn¡¯t know what the future held, but for the first time in days, I felt like I could face it, like I could take whatever came my way and make it through to the other side.


    The pain was still there, lurking in the background, but it was no longer all-consuming. I had something to hold on to, something to keep me grounded, even if it was just a story.


    As I got up and started to clean the apartment, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I could start to rebuild my life, piece by piece, word by word. And maybe, one day, I would find a way to forgive myself for what I had done, and for what I had failed to do.


    But for now, all I could do was take it one step at a time, one word at a time, and hope for the best.


    Hope, a strange and new feeling, had at last, entered my miserable life.

 Godric Hawke ?

    It was all blurry at first, but as my vision sharpened, I saw that motherfucker standing above my open grave, grinning like a fucking idiot. The sky above was darkening, the first drops of rain beginning to fall, and the irony wasn¡¯t lost on me. Here I was, about to be buried alive, and the heavens themselves were crying on my behalf.


    ¡°You think burying me alive will end this?¡± My voice came out as a croak, each word a struggle against the constriction in my throat.


    He leaned in closer, his grin widening as he savored the moment. ¡°Nope, but it will surely end you." His laughter was cold, echoing in the emptiness around us. "I wanted to kill you myself, enjoy every second, but my hands are already red. I doubt they can get any redder than this."


    My mind was a storm of thoughts¡ªrage, fear, desperation. But one thought cut through the chaos like a knife: Vermilion. She¡¯d find him. She¡¯d make him pay.


    ¡°Vermilion will find you,¡± I muttered, forcing the words through clenched teeth. ¡°She¡¯ll find you anywhere in the world, and she¡¯ll make you beg for mercy.¡±


    He snorted, clearly unimpressed. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯ll deal with Vermilion or whatever if she comes after me. But as for you¡­¡± He placed the wooden cover over the grave, and his face disappeared from view. ¡°Sleep tight.¡± His voice was muffled now, but the sadistic glee was still clear.


    The world went dark, and for a moment, I just lay there, stunned by the surreal horror of it all. Then, two loud thuds followed¡ªthe sound of his parents¡¯ bodies being thrown onto the coffin, sealing me in with the dead. Dirt began to rain down, the soft thump of earth filling my ears as they started burying me alive.


    Panic surged up in me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown out every coherent thought. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a shred of survival instinct kicked in. Don''t panic, conserve your air, and stay still. It was all bullshit, but I clung to it like a lifeline.


    I tried to calm my breathing, each shallow gasp of air feeling like a struggle against the crushing weight of the dirt above me. My mind raced, thoughts flashing by too fast to hold onto. I wasn¡¯t going to make it. I was going to die in this dark, suffocating box, buried alive by a man who couldn¡¯t even do it himself.


    You know what, Fuck it. If I''m dying them I''m going out with a bang. And in a moment of sheer desperation¡ªor maybe madness¡ªI decided to do the one thing that felt remotely within my control.


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    If I¡¯m gonna die, I might as well get one last bit of pleasure out of this shitty situation. I started unbuttoning my shirt, my fingers trembling, fumbling with the buttons in the confined space. The coffin was so small, so goddamn cramped, but I managed to wriggle out of my clothes, tossing them aside. The damp, musty smell of earth filled my nostrils, but I ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.


    I started beating my meat. I thought of Vermilion while doing it, i imagined her sucking on my dick and beat it faster. The harder i imagined her sucking my dick, the harder and faster i beat my cock.


    The shirt my over my head¡ªi didn''t want to accidentally look down and be disappointed one last time.


    As I worked my way through the absurdity of my last act, something kept jabbing at my side. I reached down and found my car key, the one I¡¯d stuffed in my pocket earlier. The coffin was so cramped that no matter where I put the key, it was poking into me. I held it in my hand, trying to find a better position, but it kept tapping against the wooden top of the coffin, making small dents.


    For a moment, I thought about what an idiot I was, jerking off in a coffin, holding my car key like it was some kind of talisman. But then I noticed something strange. Each time the key tapped against the wood, a tiny shower of dirt fell onto my dick. I froze, staring at the small trickle of earth. What the hell?


    My breath caught in my throat, and for a second, I thought I was imagining it. But no, there it was again¡ªa small, steady stream of dirt falling from the top of the coffin. The key must have been making a hole in the wood. I stopped everything, my heart pounding in my chest as I moved the key deliberately, scraping it against the wooden top, widening the hole.


    The fresh dirt was loose, and as I worked, more and more of it began to fall in, filling the coffin. I shifted, trying to cover my mouth with the shirt to avoid inhaling the dirt, but the more I struggled, the more the coffin seemed to collapse in on me. I thrashed, clawing at the wood above me, and before I knew it, the whole thing gave way, and I was buried alive, for real this time.


    I panicked, struggling to push the dirt away, to dig myself out, but the more I fought, the deeper I seemed to sink. My mind was a haze of terror and desperation, but I kept going, fueled by the sheer, animalistic will to survive. I clawed at the dirt, my fingers raw and bleeding, but eventually, I felt the cool, fresh air on my face. I had made it out. I was alive.


    Fuck me sideways, I''M ALIVE. I thought and realized how stupid it was. I was only alive because of the decision of beating my meat for one last time. And of course some credit goes to my car key for it.


    I lay there on the ground, gasping for breath, the rain pouring down on me like a baptism. I was alive, against all odds, and the first thing I did was grab my clothes, pull them on, and run for my car. My hands were shaking as I fumbled for my phone, dialing Vermilion¡¯s number.


    I waited for 15 seconds and then she picked up the phone. "Hello Vermilion, it''s me, Godric."

 Nathan Heddle

    My mom loved taking pictures. Or let''s just say my entire family did. They''d put on the fake smiles and poses in front of the camera, and the second it turned off, they revealed their ugly, angry, and depressing faces behind them.


    They¡¯d miss no opportunity to take pictures. Birthday parties, anniversaries, New Year¡¯s, Christmas, at restaurants, and even at funerals. They¡¯d stop at nothing. Their phones were full of pictures of each and every event of their lives, as if they feared the moments would slip away if not captured.


    I hated it when they forced me to be part of this madness. To smile even in my darkest times, just for what? To be seen by one or two people for a fraction of a second? The weight of those forced smiles felt like a thousand needles pricking at my skin.


    Today was no different. My parents had been saving money for quite a while now to finally rent a private jet so we could visit my grandparents back in India. They hired two pilot for a suspiciously cheap price.


    The entire trip consisted of 14 people: me, my mom and dad, and all my relatives. It should¡¯ve been an exciting experience, but instead, it felt like a chore¡ªa grim obligation dressed up as a grand adventure.


    The morning was a rush. My mom woke me up four hours earlier, and I spent most of the time gaming anyway. But my parents were acting unusually weird today. When I was in the shower, I heard my mom shouting, "Take some pictures in the shower, Nathan." At first, I didn¡¯t hear her clearly, so I shouted back asking her to repeat, but no answer came.


    When I was done showering, I reached my mom, who was packing at the time, and asked what she was yelling.


    She looked up, her eyes full of emptiness, and said, ¡°You must still be half asleep so early in the morning.¡± Her voice was hollow, like she was speaking from somewhere far away.


    I asked no more of this and went back to my room to get dressed. I removed my towel and grabbed my underwear, but stopped dead in my place when I heard a ''ClIcK'' sound, like a photograph being taken, coming from the door.


    I immediately wrapped the towel back around me and ran to the door, finding my dad sitting all the way across the hall on the couch with his phone in his hands.


    ¡°What was that, Father?¡± I asked, huffing slightly from the sudden rush of adrenaline.


    ¡°What?¡± My father replied in an aggressive manner, his usual calmness replaced by an edge I hadn¡¯t heard before.


    ¡°I thought I heard some sound just now and was jus¡ª¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no sound here, boy,¡± he cut me off, glaring at me with eyes that seemed almost... vacant. ¡°Go back and change before you make us miss our damn flight.¡±


    This was the first time in many years he had yelled at me, and his anger over something so trivial didn¡¯t make any sense. A cold, creeping dread began to settle in my gut, but I pushed it aside and quietly went back to my room to change.


    The rest of the time at home was way too weird to describe. The house was usually full of chatter from my mom and dad, and I constantly threw in lame jokes to add to the environment, but today it was dead silent. The only noise was the rustling of their packing.


    As we made our way to the airport, I kept my head down, replaying the events of the morning in my mind. Something felt off¡ªlike we were all pretending to be something we weren¡¯t, but the act was slipping.


    We met up with all our relatives at the airport, and I¡¯ve never been happier to see my cousins. For a brief moment, their presence seemed to dispel the heavy, oppressive atmosphere that had been weighing on me.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    We slowly boarded the plane, and I sat next to my cousin, Ziyush.


    ¡°Your first time?¡± I asked, trying to shake off the unease.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Ziyush replied, his voice quieter than usual.


    ¡°Mine too. We¡¯ll switch for the window seat every 30 minutes if that¡¯s fine with you.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± he agreed, but there was a flatness in his tone that I couldn¡¯t quite place.


    It had been the first time in my 14 years of life that I¡¯d been in the open and wide skies. The view outside was astounding, almost enough to make me forget the strange events of the morning. Ziyush was sleeping for most of the time on the plane, so I took the window seat for more than 30 minutes. He can cry me a river for it, I thought, trying to lighten my mood.


    Soon, I fell asleep myself. I dreamt of the cat my grandma used to have. In the dream, the cat lay on my lap, meowing softly. Suddenly, she jumped on my grandma''s shoulders and started hissing, her eyes glowing with a strange, malevolent light. I tried to take her away, but before I could do anything, she slashed at my grandma¡¯s eyes with her sharp nails. Blood gushed from the wounds as my grandma screamed, but when I tried to stand up to save her, I realized I had no legs. I had no hands. I had nothing. I was nothing.


    I woke up with a huge gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. Everyone in the plane was staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, everyone. Uh, just a... bad dream,¡± I said, feeling extremely weakened and more than a little embarrassed. I reached for some water, trying to shake off the lingering terror of the dream.


    But as I looked around, I realized something was terribly wrong. No one in the plane had taken their eyes off me. Everyone kept staring, their expressions blank and unnerving. For a second, I looked behind me, convinced there was something or someone they were really looking at, but behind me was what i had left behind.


    ¡°Umm, is everything okay?¡± I asked nervously, my voice trembling.


    No one said a thing. That wasn¡¯t the worst part. The worst part was that everyone in the plane¡ªall 13 other passengers, including Ziyush¡ªtook out their phones and started continuously taking pictures of me.


    ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK.


    ¡°What the hell, Ziyush? What is everyone doing?¡± I yelled, a yell full of nothing but horror and confusion.


    ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK.


    I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up, panic rising in my throat. ¡°What is wrong with everybody? Why are you all clicking pictures?¡± I screamed, shaking. ¡°Is this a prank? Mom, Dad, please, can someone explain?¡±


    ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK.


    I ran to the side of the seats, and everyone¡¯s camera followed me wherever I went, their expressions unchanged, their movements eerily synchronized.


    Their eyes unmoved, they were completely empty. Their faces had no emotions nor expression. Nothing but emptiness and coldness.


    ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK.


    ¡°It¡¯s not funny, you all!¡± I shouted, tears welling up in my eyes. The terror was consuming me, a suffocating fog that clouded my thoughts.


    ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK.


    Their reply was nothing but the continuous snapping of pictures, their faces expressionless, full of terror and emptiness. I ran to the cockpit door, desperate for some semblance of sanity. Everyone stood up and followed, their cameras pointed at me, the relentless ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK echoing in my ears.


    I had no other option but to burst into the cockpit. I slammed the door shut behind me and turned to the pilots, my heart racing. But what I saw made the blood in my veins turn to ice.


    The pilots were staring at me with the same emotionless faces, their eyes devoid of any humanity.


    ¡°Everyone outside has gone crazy! They keep taking pictures without saying anything, and I ca¡ª¡± I tried to explain, my voice breaking with fear, but before I could finish, the pilots pulled out their phones.


    ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK.


    My mind snapped. I lunged at one of the pilots, ripping the phone out of his hand and throwing it at his face. The phone hit him hard, and he fell forward, slamming into the controls. The plane lurched violently, pitching downward at a terrifying angle.


    I fell against the glass, struggling to get my hands on what looked like the steering wheel of the plane, but I couldn¡¯t reach it. Beyond the clouds was a town. From the looks of it, it was the town of Haven. We were falling there with no control whatsoever.


    From behind me came the sound of ClIcK. ClIcK. ClIcK. The pilot, in his final moments, did nothing but take pictures of me as I struggled in vain.


    I waited for the inevitable to come. Tears streamed down my face, but it didn¡¯t help. I wondered what those pictures would capture in my last seconds¡ªfear, despair, or something else entirely.


    But the answer didn¡¯t matter. Because in a few moments, there would be nothing left to capture. For the final moments of my small journey, i thought of life, love and death.