April 1st 2022 9:40

“Don’t rely on fate; you must work hard for something that you always wanted.” The Professor with square moustache sternly said to Ansel.

Bullshit. I worked hard for this, but you never, never, ever appreciate it.

Ansel smiled, but bitterly, deep inside the rage has been piled up. The rage caused by rejection several times in his life, he was sick of it. He tried his best to pass the university sooner, so he could get the hell out of that place, and work. The rage was at his highest peak, but Ansel only let out a sigh.

“Which kind of idea that will please you and no one has covered it?” he asked.

“Excuse me? You’re well educated, this kind of topic was too broad to cover and it just bland, I can’t let this pass unless you have found your point.”

It has been a battle for Ansel alone, for him to pass the thesis. His family actually was not at risk of poverty or downfall, but the words from their families, it made Ansel uncomfortable. His father always told him to work harder since then, and he has no mercy. Ansel didn’t want to go to his hometown; it would be a session of face slapping.

“…so meet me on April 20th, I hope you found your point. Remember, your own fate is in your hand. I don’t want to hear any words about its all fate that throw you into this.” when the professor said that, it seemed that the small birds that perched near the tree escaped from the bad omen.

Ansel went out of the chamber of death and despair. His chest was tightened because he piled up his anger for a long time. He walked down the stairs, stomping his feet. His face was red hot. The papers in his hand crumpled. Ansel impulsiveness almost made him threw the paper on the garbage can.

Ansel took a deep breath; he held his head, frustrated. This time, he felt like everything was screwed up; the papers in his right hand were crumpled. One more time, he said that several months ago. He can't continue to face this reality.

Don’t rely on fate.

“I just want to be free. Please, be gentler to me, fate. I’m tired”

"I already do that, all of this was under my plan." Someone walked beside Ansel and said that.

Ansel turned his head, the voice owner was a young woman with white hair in a bun, her hair covered her ears. With the attire of a businesswoman, she looked sharp. She walked as fast as Ansel’s rhythm. Ansel walked faster; probably she was only muttered to herself or on a phone with her earphone. But the woman kept following him.

“Ansel Cakra, I have something to tell you.”

He went down to the crossroad. Tried his best to look calm, he didn’t want her to interact with him. Just passerby passed the street; they might have the same issue. Ansel walked faster

“Hey—“ She pointed from across the street.

Ansel felt a chill when the voice could reach his ears; no one was staring at the woman, just him. The others might not see her.

A ghost in business woman attire? Ansel thought.

Strangely her voice could be more audible compared to the roar of vehicles on the crowded street. The woman skipped her feet, even though she wore high heels. Ansel was frozen for a while, the woman was clearly after him, and she kept her gaze sharp.

Luckily, the traffic lights went green, Ansel running, crossed the street and turned to the crowded area. His figure blended among the pedestrians. Ansel looked back; it seemed that she was not after him.

“Could you spare a minute?” the woman suddenly stood in front of him.

“Get away from me!”

Several pedestrians looked at Ansel as if he was crazy. On their view, Ansel was shouting at the empty space. Ansel was ashamed, he took down his hoodie, and run as fast as he could. He turned left, walked through a small aisle. It was a crowded housing area; no cars could pass this street at this point. Ansel took a shortcut between houses, a tiny street that could be entered two persons at a time. Ansel kept looking behind him. The woman might be lost, especially in this area. At the end of the shortcut, Ansel went through an abandoned garden. He jumped off the broken fence, landed on a spacious road.

Such troublesome, I hate to pass that place! It triggers my phobia.

Claustrophobia, fear of closed space, Ansel has that fear since he was childhood. He was locked on the toilet because he didn’t obey his father’s words.

He looked back, and then looked around, the woman was gone.

Ansel walked for five minutes, and he arrived at his boarding house. He locked up in his room, and threw away all the papers, it floated and scattered in his room. The room was a mess, cables, devices, leftover food that has moulds because Ansel forgot to throw it out. Cobwebs above the ceiling, dust crumpled on the bigger cobwebs. The stench could make anyone throw up.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

How many days since I cleaned these things up? No wonder I was so depressed, huh, even a caveman has a cleaner cave. But I'm too tired for that. Later.

Ansel threw himself to the bed; he stared at the ceiling, with cobweb as free decoration. The stench of his room made him sick; he decided to clean it up.

He found something that he wished to burn years ago; it was a paper with his scores written on it. The paper was supposed to be sent to his parents, but Ansel faked the address, and the mail was sent to his shared-rent house. It was two years ago when he failed hard on a subject. He has to lie that he was fine. He didn’t want his father enraged.

And so, he repeated the class. His family asked about the mail, Ansel couldn’t speak a word. A day before Chrismas Eve to New Year, his father didn’t speak a word to him. From that time, Ansel never came back; he wanted to go home when he finished everything.

He kept everything inside his head; no one was able or wanted to understand him, even his closest friends, except Brian. A flash of thought on his mind told him to end his life. But he has a fear that he would fail at that too.

Ansel sat on the corner, on his bed, he curled like a baby. Not a single tear came out; he was mad, so mad that his tears might be evaporated.

His croaky voice escaped, “Could fate be mocking at me right now? I tried my best, I tried. Does free will still exists?”

There was no answer. Of course, it was a pointless question after all. Ansel forced himself to sleep, letting go all of the frustration in his head. As if all of those were just a dream.

Blank space appeared before Ansel's sight. Everything washed white; ten walls with a gap between each wall, the walls formed a circle. Something was on the centre, a black hole, it was blacker than pitch black, maybe because the whole place washed white paler than snow. The hole has ripples moving constantly. A woman with white long hair to her ankle floated above the hole. Her left feet touched the hole.

It was the woman that was looking for Ansel.

A translucent cloth draped and folded nicely as her dress. Shimmery, with holographic rainbow, when reflected by light, the dress was almost transparent. The drapery of the cloth framed her slim legs. The body of a supermodel, miss universe would be ashamed to compare herself with the woman. A dark purple rose was tied on each ankle.

“I’m not mocking you, nor tested. For you is my best apostle.”

“Who are you?”

Ansel fell on his butt, he skidded to the back. But he felt like he hasn’t moved an inch. It’s not like something holds him in one place. The walls expanded, the hole widened. The woman got bigger.

“I am fate. I am Chaos. I am—“

The last word was cut, Ansel read her lips. From what he saw, she has a name with “A” and “Bi” sound, ended with a P or T.

“I must be dreaming.”

“You are,” she replied. “You are the ruler of dream and hope, you own a dream dimension. This is where you used to work.”

“Yeah, and I have to wake up in three… two…” Ansel pinched his arms hard, “One!” He pinched again, harder, “One!” released the pinch, he rubbed his arms with the red mark. "NO WAY!"

Chaos giggled, she covered her teeth with her hands. "Why are you so afraid of me, my dear apostle?"

“I am not your apostle, I never met you before!”

“Your body seemed to deny what your soul has acknowledged, even the deepest fear. Maybe that’s why you choose the narrow aisle instead of the road that you travelled.”

Ansel’s eyes widened, “what kind of nonsense is this? Get me out of here.”

“Behave!” She shouted, she lost her patience, and then she held her head. “My my, some of his traits remained.”

In Ansel's mind, he thought it was a lucid dream or astral projection or limbo. Ansel racked up the logic on his mind. Sooner when he opened his eyes, he would forget this. Just like usual.

Chaos tilted her head and crossed her arms, “maybe this is not the right time to tell you the truth. You seemed to be confused with life. I will come again someday, in a perfect moment.” She clicked her fingers, and everything was back to a blank space.

The ring of a bell saved him from the bad dream, his phone already rang for several times, and he kept hanging them up. Ansel was shocked, puzzled, the bizarre dream remained so clear in his mind. The phone ranged again, he stuffed it with a pillow. Probably his parents’ asked “how the day is?” stuff. He still didn’t have the strength to tell them the truth.

His door was opened forcefully, "Are you still alive there?"

Brian, Ansel’s only friend in the shared-rent house, has an appearance close to CJ in Grand Theft Auto, but he has a top knot hair and he shaved clean. He often wears undershirt and shorts inside the shared-rent house. This time, he wore a black collared shirt, he just straight back from his office. He brought two takeover foods. It was still steamy and hot, the package has small droplets of steam.

"No, I'm not seeking isekai, just sleeping.” Ansel, still curled on his bed, groaned.

Seeking isekai was a code between them if one of them has a suicidal feeling. It was offensive for some, but they didn't want to be ashamed for having weakness such suicidal thought.

“I called you!”

Ansel woke up, he reached for his phone. Brian has called him for thirty times, he was dead worried. “Sorry…”

“Listen …” Brian put the food beside Ansel, “if you were weary, talk to me.”

"It's the same lame stuff, thesis. You can't understand me, you're a vale—" Valedictorian, Ansel couldn’t continue it. Brian told him it was ‘nothing’.

“That thing? I’m still your friend.”

“Thanks for being one.” Ansel opened the package, fried rice with extra garlic, his favourite. “It’s not my special day, why do you bring me this stuff?"

“Eat when you want to, no special day, just eat!” Brian closed the door.

Ansel looked at the clock on the phone, 10.00 P.M. He slept like a log, for 12 hours straight. Quickly, he drank a bottle of water; his lips were cracking, almost bleeding. His throat was also in pain, his head began to dizzy. A mild dehydration attack, Ansel drank a whole bottle of water.

He was at his full conscious mode, yet that dream doesn’t seem to fade away. Ansel now understood how hard it is to be an author that was being bugged by their nonsense ideas or weird dream for a long time.

"Where's paper?" Ansel rummaged through his cleaned room. He fetched a crumpled paper and put his pen on a paper. "Where should I start?"

Trying to find a way to describe the situation, Ansel racked up his brain. For a few minutes, Ansel put his pen. He crossed out the words that were lame to him, pouted; he was not able to form words to describe bizarre things. He couldn't draw either; his masterpiece was a stickman with a perfect circle head. Ansel bit his pen; he only managed to write the date today, and the description of the woman in the real world.