The gym felt like a furnace, suffocating and packed with restless bodies. The fans overhead sat idle, leaving everyone to stew in the heat. Sweat and complaints thickened the air, mingling with the clamor of voices so loud they could drown out an explosion. First-years and third-years alike crammed into the bleachers, their chatter colliding in a relentless, muggy haze. The first days of school always felt like this—a chaotic, sweaty endurance test.
“Man, it’s like a sauna in here, right?” Jamie’s voice was loud and unnecessary as ever.
“Mhm,” Melo grunted, shifting in his seat. His clipped tone wasn’t subtle, but Jamie ignored it as usual.
Jamie chuckled, unfazed by Melo's disinterest. "Small talk not your thing, huh?"
“Not when it’s this hot. Or, really, ever.”
Mel adjusted himself again, trying to find some semblance of comfort on the unforgiving bleachers. His patience already thinned, and Jamie’s insistence on talking only made the heat feel worse. Meanwhile, Jamie kept running commentary on the people walking by, his energy annoyingly intact.
Jamie nudged him. “Are you ever in the mood?”
“Never. But especially not now.”
Sweat gathered on Melo’s forehead, an unwelcome guest he kept swiping away. He hated how easily he perspired—a trait that might’ve pleased his primal ancestors but annoyed him to no end.
The bleachers filled quickly, the gym growing even more suffocating. Jamie sprawled out with a loud groan, oblivious to the strangers packed around him. Melo envied that about him—how Jamie could do as he pleased. No second thoughts, no hesitations.
“Why the hell did we get front-row seats?” Jamie whined. “My back’s killing me. And it’s not even the front row—it’s the row before the front row!”
Jamie talked obnoxiously loud, sometimes Mel was embarrassed to even sit near him for the fact that he made a lot of enemies from this trait of his.
"Yeah, whoever designed these needs to die," Melo muttered, wiping the sweat off his nose. His dry, sarcastic tone was his way of dealing with the heat—and Jamie’s constant chatter. Although he hated to hear him talk so much, he didn’t mind it as much this time as it was good to focus on something else.
"Agree," Jamie replied with a dramatic sigh before turning his head and flashing a smile at the group of girls walking in front of them, completely ignoring his discomfort.
Jamie shook his head, akin to a dog shaking off water. His blonde hair shook around before settling down at the midsection of his neck, his bangs sitting just above his light brown eyes. Everything from his eye to hair color starkly contrasted his beige skin.
Trnk trnk!
The piercing screech of the mic made the entire room wince. As the massive doors slammed shut, the noise dimmed slightly. Assembly time.
“Should’ve skipped,” Melo muttered, swiping sweat off his forehead again. “But if I’m late one more time, my mom would’ve probably killed me.” He moaned in irritation before shutting up and resting his head between his legs.
“Oh, so now you’re chatty?” Jamie smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Shut up, Jamie.”
The principal stood up on a mini stage, indicating that the assembly was about to start. Voices drew off and silence began to take their place.
"Ahem, students! Welcome to your first year of high school!" the principal’s voice boomed through the speakers, far too cheerful for the situation.
The bleachers erupted into cheers, though half the crowd looked too drained by the heat to mean it.
“How are they so energetic this early? Gross,” Melo muttered.
Jamie snorted. “Bro, do you even enjoy life?”
“No. But it has its moments.”
Jamie chuckled, “You might tell a joke but you’ll never tell a lie.”
The principal droned on, his overly chipper tone growing more unbearable by the second. "We want to welcome all you first years! These will be the best years of your lives—if you make the most of them!"
Melo tuned him out, his blueish-gray eyes half-closed behind his fogged square framed glasses. He hated stuff like this—the noise, the crowds, the heat. Two things annoyed him most right now: the fact that Jamie was next to him and that, despite everything, Jamie was... Jamie. Loud, obnoxious, and far too friendly.
I can help him out. Right? After all, I'm just a mere narrator of this absurdity? Can’t I help him out just a little?
Just as Melo’s patience neared its breaking point, the principal’s speech abruptly cut off, like a skipped section of a video. Then it resumed: “Alright, students! First-years, exit through the back doors, followed by second and third-years.”
The bleachers erupted into chatter as the principal’s booming voice faded into the background. Students flooded the aisles in a chaotic rush toward the exits. Melo, now uncomfortably sweaty, pushed up his glasses and wiped his forehead again. The heat was oppressive, clinging to him like a second skin. The sun and sweat combined to make a nice glow to his body, shining on his bronze skin.
“Finally,” he muttered under his breath. “That was torture.” He began making his way down the bleachers, deciding to skip the overcrowded stairs and just hop down the bleachers. It was only one so he didn’t really mind. What he did mind was saying the constant fake ‘excuse me’ and ‘my bad’ basically every second. It was fake, but in order to keep a peaceful school life, he would continue to do it.
‘Anything to maintain order,’ he thought bitterly.
Jamie was already halfway out of the gym, weaving through the crowd like he knew every face in the school—which, knowing Jamie, he probably did. With his loud voice and infectious grin, he was practically a magnet for attention. Some people say ‘Not all publicity is good publicity.’ Or is that how it goes? I think. Anyways, to Jamie, any publicity was good publicity. Enemies was just another word for friend to him so he had practically been friends with everyone in school. Of course, a very loose definition of what you can call a friend, but I digress. Mel had finally caught up to Jay.
Mel let out an annoyed groan, “I hate crowds.”
“You and your dramatic complaining,” Jamie teased. “Let’s get out of here before you start hyperventilating.”
He quickly sped up his pace, shifting through the numerous students. Stopping for a second for those who recognized him.
Melo followed, adjusting the strap on his backpack. “Do you ever get tired of being friends with the entire school?”
“Nah. Someone’s gotta pull you out of your cave.” Jamie slapped Melo’s shoulder. “Besides, I’m getting you to one of those parties, man!”
Mel shrugged. “Maybe I like the cave.”
Jamie laughed, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Nonchalant. You know, the quiet, mysterious act only gets you so far. Girls like someone with La Passion.”
They had finally broken free of the crowd and entered the school's courtyard.
"Act?" Melo smirked. "I’m just here, y'know? Being myself. You’re the one turning everything into a circus act. I just don’t get why you feel the need to do that.”
“Yeah Yeah” Jamie brushed him off.
A moment of silence followed.
“So, you still on tonight?” Jamie asked, breaking the silence with his usual enthusiasm. “Got a couple of movies lined up, dude, and trust me, I picked a real good one for you.”
Melo sighed, already regretting his agreement.
As they walked, Jamie continued greeting everyone in sight, tossing smiles and handshakes. Melo trailed behind, content to blend into the background.
***
They had already reached their hallway with both of their classes. Jamie paused outside his door and glanced back. “You good? Don’t go all emo on me just ’cause it’s the first day.”
Melo shrugged again. “I’m fine. It’s just school, same as always.”
Jamie flashed his trademark grin. "Alright, catch you at lunch?"
"Yeah. Shoots."
They parted ways, with Jamie ducking into his class while Melo continued toward his. The farther he walked, the quieter it became, and the more he welcomed it. He didn’t mind the noise; he just hated how it cluttered his thoughts. Sometimes, retreating into the quiet—into his own mind—felt easier.
‘Ah, much more comfortable.’
By the time he reached his first class—computer science—the day already felt like it was dragging. Not that he expected much from it. He slouched in his chair near the back, adjusting his glasses again. First period blurred into second, and then chemistry came and went like a slow crawl. It wasn’t until lunch that he felt the pace of the day pick up.
Finally, after the mind-numbing stretch of classes, he stood in front of the one room he actually looked forward to—the writing class. He turned the handle and stepped inside, immediately greeted by a wave of cool air.
There were about twenty students, all already settled.
Mel slid into his seat, pulling out his notebook just as the teacher entered. Miss Summerset—early twenties, he thought, with uhh… rather provocative hips—walked in. Her reddish hair flowed almost to the middle of her back. The way she commanded attention without trying was impressive, even distracting.
“Alright, class,” she chirped, her voice bright. “Notebooks out! Let’s start with five minutes of writing!”
The sound of bags unzipping and notebooks slapping onto desks filled the room. The quiet was a welcome change.
Mel flipped to a blank page. She always did this, starting them off without warning. He hated how it forced them to rush, but whatever. He wasn’t going to let it bother him today.
His notebook flopped open onto the chipped, cool wooden desk. His pencil already scribbled down his thoughts on the blank, lined paper. His hand moved swiftly, each line filled within seconds.
I hate the act of small talk, although I know "small talk greases the wheels of society." It doesn’t make any sense; most of it is fake, is it not? I’m not a pessimistic person, quite the contrary. I just can’t be bothered to put my energy into something I frankly don’t care about. This applies to everyone: friends, family, strangers. If I don’t find it entertaining or meaningful, I simply don’t care. Not to say I’m a jerk, though. I’ll do it; just not to the best of my ability. I guess my mom would call me lazy. I don’t know if that’s the best way to describe me, though. I’d say I’m "resourceful with my energy." What is not important will not get my energy. What is not valuable will not get my energy, and what I don’t care about won’t get my energy.
Now you may be thinking, "Okay, so how do you make friends? What about strangers or relatives you haven’t seen or talked to?" To that, I say, lie. I’m a frequent liar, often to my own demise. But because I do it, I find it easy to tell little white lies. I act like I care, but I don’t. I slightly exaggerate my life to make myself seem personable. Social status is king, and I intend to maintain the level I’m at now: not too popular, not too lonely. Not on the lower end of the spectrum, but not on the higher end. You could say I’m the perfect side character. Although I sometimes yearn for the feeling of acceptance and belonging.
“Time’s up!” Miss Summerset announced, clapping her hands together. “Now, let’s share what we’ve written. Who wants to go first?”
Melo looked to the right of him. There was an empty seat—unclaimed and peaceful. He preferred this. But it was awkward looking around and seeing everyone next to at least one person, even if they didn’t care to interact.
To the left sat Miss Summerset. He liked her, but telling her what he wrote felt strange. I mean, look at it. It kind of plays out like a manifesto.
In the end no one decided to share out loud, but instead to their partners.
Class then began.
Time passed in a blink of an eye. The bell rang, and the room cleared out, leaving only him and the teacher. Melo always moved slowly after class, probably to avoid the crowds. But this was also great because—
‘I can ask Miss Summerset something now.’
“Hey, Miss, I have a quick question.”
“Hey! What can I do for you?”
Melo couldn’t help but crack a smile. For a class that often felt dead, she’s always upbeat.
“Um, I just wanted to ask, how do I create a story, y’know?”
“Ahh, I remember those days. Erasing drafts upon drafts, hoping an idea comes to you like a zap, only for you to wallow in the void of your own thoughts. The best piece of advice I could give you is to always keep your drafts. Don’t ever delete them. They Are all important pieces of you.”
There was a brief pause in the air.
“Ah, thank you, Miss Summerset. Alright, I’ll be going now.”
“Glad to be of help!”
Melo let out a light chuckle and turned to leave, moving robotically.
‘ I don’t know why I always feel so weird when talking. It’s like I don’t really know what to do, or say! Agh! The more I think about it, the more it irks me. Let’s just get out of here already.’
Students emptied out of the school grounds, most already on their way home. A handful loitered near the front gate, likely waiting for their friends. Carmello took his usual path—quieter, less traveled—just how he liked it. I think... I don’t really know much about him to be honest, I’ve only been watching him for a week or so…
Students trickled out of the school gates, most already headed home. A handful of others lingered near the entrance, probably waiting for friends. Carmello took his usual route—quieter, less traveled—just the way he liked it.
I think... I don't really know much about him, to be honest. I've only been observing for a week or so…
The evening sun casted a golden hue across his bronze skin as he stepped out of the building, the breeze ruffling his hair. The quiet was rare for him, but it was a relief—he could hear his footsteps, each one echoing softly.
Whoop.
“Hm? Who’s texting me?” Of course, he muttered aloud. Bad habit.
Brooo! Mind stopping by the store? You’re probably walking now, so just grab some chips or whatever. Thanks!
A growl escaped his throat.
“Bastard...” Carmello muttered under his breath.
He’d been headed to Jamie’s place, but now he had an extra stop. Guess who was thrilled about that? Not Mel. Honestly, not much to narrate here—just a lot of crosswalks, red lights, and the occasional glance at his phone.
He didn’t really think while walking. It was like his brain went into autopilot. Walk. Stop. Repeat. Droid mode activated. It's kind of funny, really. Like R2D2.
BEEP BOOP BOP BEE.
Okay, I’m dragging this. Sorry.
The walk, like I said, didn't consist of much. He was quiet, most of the time alone meant finally a time where he could talk aloud. Shout or scream. Alone time meant expressing his thoughts freely. He was conscious of the fact though that he was walking next to a busy street and passerbyers whether in cars or walking by, would look at him like he was crazy if they saw him talking alone. Even more so it would be worse if someone from his school had seen him.
But, honestly? I think he's thinking about it too much. About what people from school thought, that is.
Oh, wait, he’s finally here! Took him long enough…
Thirty minutes—geez, Melo, pick up the pace!
A cool blast of A/C hit him as he entered the store, offering a brief retreat from the sweat clinging to his shirt. He took a deep breath before venturing deeper into the store.
‘Ahhh, nothing beats air conditioning. Now, where are the chips? Oh, there they are.’
He stopped in front of a row of chips. Not much to choose from, though. Just Cheetos and Doritos. Where’s the Takis? The Lays? Seriously, people! And a party-sized Cool Ranch? Who even eats that?
‘Well, party-sized chips should do the trick. Maybe grab a cola, too. Jamie better pay me back.’
He eyed the prices.
“Eight dollars for a bag? That's like... half a movie’s worth of chips.”
Ah, that’s LA prices for you.
Just when he thought all hope was lost, he spotted it.
“Two for eight? Jackpot!”
He grabbed two bags of party-sized lay’s.
‘Should I go for self-checkout? I don’t have much. But it feels weird when the regular registers are wide open. Oh, whatever, man up, Mel!’
Beep. Beep.
“Will that be all today?” the cashier asked.
“Uh, yeah…” His voice trailed off.
“Hm?” She glanced up, waiting.
“Yeah…” His voice faltered.
Mel had never been great around women—his awkwardness always hung in the air. Either he went silent, or he mumbled as if pleading for mercy from a predator. Today he did the latter. The weather app was a great tool for not dealing with them, but you can’t really do that when you’re trying to buy something.
“That’ll be $8.74. Cash or card?” she asked, tapping something out of view.
“C-Card…” Mel stammered, pulling out his phone.
“You can tap here.”
Beep.
Processing...
Error.
“Eh…?” Mel took a slight step back, sweat started to bead up on his palms. He had checked, 36$ on his card so why is it declining? Just his luck, he always thought he’d been cursed. Today didn’t help disprove that theory.
The cashier glanced away, her face carefully blank, though a trace of empathy flickered. She’d probably seen this happen enough times to know how to spare a guy’s dignity.
“Sorry... let me try again,” he muttered, his hands shaking as he fumbled with his phone.
Beep.
Processing...
Error.
“...”
Silence hung thick, and Carmello’s skin prickled. Sweat dripped down his back now. Murmurs rippled from the line behind him.
“Man, this line long as a bitch. Everybody and they mama here!” A disgruntled voice shouted from the back of the line, barely visible over the people in front of him.
“You can, uh... just take it,” the cashier said, her voice soft, almost apologetic. She pushed the chips toward him, not meeting his gaze.
Mel stepped out of the store, chips in hand.
The only thing left in the store? His pride.
Ding.
Jamie: Hey bro, what’s taking you so long?
Mel: This why I don’t do shit for you.
Jamie: Wow, okay rude. Still coming over?
Mel didn’t bother replying. Anxiety gnawed at him. What if someone from school had seen him? Card getting declined twice in front of a line? He could never show his face there again. Then again he’s probably just overthinking it but this physically hurt me too.
He quickly fled the store, not looking back.
As he walked, his mind replayed the scene. It wouldn’t leave him.
‘My card? Declining? What the hell is going on? Maybe it's my fault. Is this karma for all the times I told homeless people I didn’t have money and then went off to McDonald’s? I really only had enough for me... I was hungry…’
His feet felt like lead. It was as if everyone was watching him. His clothes felt too tight, his bookbag straps kept shifting—he kept adjusting them as though that would fix anything.
Before he knew it, he was standing at Jamie’s door.
‘Oh, I know who to blame for this mess... Jamie, you shall pay for my pride, and it’s not cheap.’
Jamie had been pacing by the door. The sound of his tapping feet echoed through the hallway.
“Where the hell is he? It’s been 20 minutes,” Jamie muttered, his voice a low grumble.
Ding Dong.
“Ah, finally!”
Jamie immediately swung the door open.
“About time, bro! Where you been—”
Thud!
Carmello’s fist connected dead center with Jamie’s nose. KO.
Thud!
Jamie crumpled to the floor with a groan. “Ack! You bitch... What the hell was that for?”
Mel let out a long sigh, satisfaction in his tone. “That felt great.”
“Dickhead,” Jamie muttered, getting back to his feet and clutching his now-bloodied nose. “You get the stuff?”
“Yeah. No thanks to you,” Mel snapped, irritation dripping from his voice.
“When are you not in a bad mood?” Jamie teased, always quick with his wit.
Mel walked past Jamie, slipping off his white cement Retro 3s before stepping onto the cold floor. He handed Jamie the bag of chips and wandered deeper into the house, the chill seeping through his socks.
“Yeah, yeah—I don’t have bad moods, I just hate when things interrupt my natural ord-”
Mel froze in his tracks.
‘Wow.’
He didn’t expect this. Jamie always pulled stunts, but this? One of the most popular girls in school stood right in front of him. Long, brown hair flowing to her mid-back, hazel eyes practically glowing, and skin kissed by the sun. Her red lipstick popped like a neon sign.
‘Oh no. I’m in love. I think? Is this love? I don’t know. I haven’t been in love in a while…’
Wait. What? No, don’t be stupid. You don’t have a chance. When’s the last time you even talked to a girl outside the friend zone? I’ve seen your memories!
“Ahem... Are you going to move, or just block the doorway?” Jamie’s voice snapped him out of his daze.
“Oh, sorry. My bad,” Mel mumbled, managing a half-smile.
“Ladies, this is my buddy, Mel. Mel, meet Scarlett and Chrisara,” Jamie grinned.
‘Chrisara... Of course. I went to school with her. The girl I crushed on—before she friendzoned me. I left her a letter, a poem to be exact. Thought I was Shakespeare or something. And what did she say? “We can be friends! Best friends!” Yeah, that stung. I never looked at girls the same after that.’
“Come on, bro.” Jamie nudged him. “Introduce yourself.”
“Oh, uh—h-hi, I’m Mel,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
“Pft...”
“Pft...”
The girls burst into laughter.
“He’s adorable!” Scarlett grinned. “Come on, sit down!”
Mel moved stiffly, unsure of how to control his legs. His face flushed deep red, and his eyes stayed glued to the floor. His black flared sweatpants got caught under his feet, nearly causing him to trip. His white shirt was already damp with sweat from the walk.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
He took a seat at the far end of the couch, next to Scarlett.
“You’re all red! Don’t worry, I don’t bite!” Scarlett giggled. “Or maybe I do!”
Before Mel could react, she pounced, pinning him to the couch. Her face hovered mere inches above his, her lips curling into a teasing grin.
“You’ve got nice eyes, you know that?” she mused, her long hair falling like a curtain, brushing against his flushed cheeks. “Glad to see they haven’t changed yet…” Her voice turned soft.
Mel’s breath hitched. His heart hammered in his chest, his voice escaping in a weak stammer. “Y-yeah…”
She laughed, the sound light and easy, flashing him a dazzling smile. “Sorry, let me get off you.”
‘She’s the one,’ he thought dreamily.
“You can get up now, bro…” Jamie’s voice broke the spell. He loomed above them, his face hovering too close for comfort.
“Ah!” Mel jolted upright, annoyance creeping into his tone. “Right, sorry… Yeah, let me—uh—move.” He scrambled to the back of the couch, his movements awkward and overly hurried.
Chrisara’s voice cut through his embarrassment. “Hey, Mel! Your hair hasn’t changed much. Still short, huh?” Her laugh carried a playful lilt. “I remember you used to carry that sponge thing around—what was it? A wave brush? You’d rub it all the time!”
“It’s called freeforms,” Mel replied flatly, brushing a hand through his hair. “It’s grown out now—finally got some bangs.”
The rejection from years ago still stung, an old wound she seemed oblivious to. The casual way she joked grated against the bitterness he tried to bury.
“So, Jay, what’s the plan for tonight?” Chrisara turned to Jamie, her shoulder-length black hair swaying with the motion.
“A cursed one…” Jamie declared dramatically, cutting off the lights. “This is the oldest recorded film, according to historians!” He leapt toward the group.
"Er…?" She tilted her head like an animal seeing its reflection for the first time. "Then how'd you get the movie?" Chrisara inquired.
“Blessed by God, obviously!” Jamie replied with mock grandeur. “Found it at a garage sale. The label said, ‘NEED GONE ASAP.’”
“Right…” she muttered, her tone laced with doubt. “Why can’t we just watch Halloween or Friday the 13th like normal people?”
"Whatever, I already bought a VHS recorder just for this moment!" He flung himself forward to insert the VHS tape into the recorder. "So we are going to watch this movie! Afterward, I shall grant you your pick, m'lady." He exited with a bow and squeezed himself next to Mel, wedging between him and Scarlett.
The movie began.
The tape was simple, with a runtime of only 30 minutes. This film was anything but normal. I wonder if Mel gets scared easily. I haven't seen him watch a horror movie yet.
Oh yeah! Back to the movie…
It followed an adventurer uncovering ancient ruins of a pyramid in the desert. Although it didn’t make sense because pharaohs clearly surrounded him. Cameras didn’t even exist back then. To the untrained eye, you might think it’s good costume design, but it’s obvious. It’s time travel!
You can tell by the language they speak. It’s Coptic! No native speakers of that language exist today, and I doubt they found one for a movie that didn’t even hit theaters! Zahaha! Looks like my time in the library paid off. I always thought they were fiction; I guess in this universe—it’s the past.
‘Wow, this is some crazy costume design. And what are they even saying? I remember we had a brief lesson on Egypt, but I wasn’t really paying attention.’
“It's Coptic!" Scarlett yelled. "Wow. They really went all in for this, huh!" Her feet kicked back and forth, making the couch vibrate slightly.
The movie continued, depicting the man trailing the pharaohs through a sandstorm. Instantly, the camera became encrusted in sand, and the only sound was the wind and grains pelting the lens.
A broad voice then boomed, "--------------------------------" Although unintelligible, it resonated—one that overpowered the desert storms. Following that was the dispersal of the storm, revealing only the boundless desert, aglow with the ever-beating sun. Ahead loomed a pyramid, a colossal structure, vastly larger than the Burj Khalifa. It resembled the size of the moon but grounded on Earth, disguised as a pyramid. As the man trailed behind the pharaohs, a figure in black suddenly materialized beside him, as if he had always been there.
The group watched intently, though Mel slightly zoned out.
"I'm going to grab some water real quick." Mel sat up and quickly walked past the screen into the hallway leading to the kitchen.
Mel flicked on the kitchen light, its sudden brightness cutting through the darkened house.
*Alright, cups. Where does he keep his cups?*
He rifled through the cabinets, each one revealing everything but what he needed. Gloves, scissors, an ice cream scoop—everything except cups.
“Jamie, you’d think you’d leave at least one out for guests,” he grumbled under his breath, slamming a cupboard shut.
His stomach growled, reminding him of his missed dinner. The bag of chips on the counter caught his eye.
‘Might as well bring these out.’
Grabbing the bag, he strode back toward the living room, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hallway.
But something was off.
The hallway felt longer—unnaturally so. The walls seemed to stretch endlessly, the distant murmur of the movie growing faint.
‘The hallway wasn’t this long… Was it?’
A cold unease crept up his spine. Shaking his head, he pressed on, chalking it up to fatigue. “Hey, guys, we forgot the chips—”
His words died in his throat.
The living room was gone.
In its place was an empty expanse of white, stretching infinitely in all directions. The couch, the group, even the coffee table—they had all vanished. The only object left was the TV, frozen mid-frame, displaying the black-cloaked figure.
Mel’s breath quickened. The figure stepped forward, its form impossibly dark, as though it absorbed the light around it.
Its face—or rather, its lack of one—was an affront to comprehension. A void filled with too many shapes, too many faces. His mind rebelled against the sight, rendering the figure as nothing more than a blank slate.
Its coat billowed, impossibly black, contrasting sharply with its pupil-less white eyes that bore into him with unnatural intensity.
“---”
"---" A voice that spoke in a myriad of languages. It should have sounded bizarre, but instead, it resonated; it resembled a real language. Although unintelligible, it bore weight. Each character and vowel added pressure onto Mel’s shoulders. His stomach dropped. The palms of his hands grew clammy, and each fingertip collected more sweat. His heartbeat raced.
Badump-badump-badump.*
His hands trembled, his legs refusing to move. His mouth hung slightly open. A deep, instinctive fear paralyzed him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He wanted to run, to scream, but his body betrayed him. His body grew warmer, and his leg started to tremble. There are usually two kinds of reactions to danger, commonly known as fight or flight. Everyone experiences this reaction, regardless of who you are.
Typically, only those two reactions come into play. Sometimes, though, very rarely, people decide to freeze. I say rarely because most of the time, people don’t encounter a danger that paralyzes them—a peril so great that you know, no matter if you run or fight, the outcome has already been determined. I have witnessed it happen, but this is a whole other level; I haven't seen a lower-dimensional being confront something of this magnitude.
The figure extended a hand. On a table that hadn’t existed moments before lay a red book, its beet red cover glowing faintly against the stark whiteness.
Mel’s legs moved of their own accord. Each step felt like wading through thick, invisible tar. He tried to resist, but the pull was irresistible, as though his very existence hinged on obeying. Each step he took was not one of his own, but of this beings. He couldn’t do anything but comply. His leg’s buckled slightly and breathing only got more erratic.
The closer he got, the heavier the air grew, pressing against him like a physical weight. His fingers hovered over the book’s surface, trembling. The strange symbols on the cover seemed alive, twisting and writhing, never forming anything his eyes could hold onto. Sweat dripped from the tip of his fingers onto the book.
The moment he touched the book, a searing heat shot through his body. His vision blurred, and an overwhelming sense of finality washed over him. This was no ordinary object—this was a contract, one that would shatter the very fabric of his being.
And then the space shifted.
The walls turned black, a void deeper than anything he’d ever seen. The figure remained, a black so deep that the color black looks bright. its form now standing out starkly against the abyss.
Mel staggered back, his senses reeling. “What—where am I? What’s happening?”
“Sorry —------------ , This cannot be allowed to happen again,” the figure intoned, their voice steady and firm.”
The voice cut through the void, but it wasn’t the figure’s. Four new figures materialized, their forms cloaked in pristine white robes. Each wore a white mask, cracked in a distinct corner, with intricate designs.
The first figure stepped forward with a crack in the top left, their mask adorned with the image of a sprout emerging from a crack.
The second, a crack in the top right, a lotus flower fully bloomed covered the mask in its entirety.
The third and fourth were not visible to him as they were behind him but he could feel their presence.
“This cannot be allowed to happen again,” the figure intoned, their voice steady and firm.
Behind Mel, two more presences loomed, though he dared not turn to face them. Their silent intensity pressed against his back, a suffocating weight.
The figure in black didn’t move, but its oppressive gaze never wavered.
Mel’s mind raced, his body frozen between incomprehensible forces.
‘What the hell have I gotten myself into?’
The four figures now surrounded Mel, their silence oppressive.
The black-cloaked figure acted first.
It lunged toward the white-robed figure behind Mel, its movements a blur. The target spun just in time, parrying the strike with a calculated grace. But the dark figure was relentless, planting its foot and pivoting with violent precision, delivering a crushing kick to the side of the white-robed figure's head.
The white figure's head snapped to the side but unnervingly rebounded, straightening as though unharmed. Without hesitation, they countered, leaping into the air. Suspended for a breathless moment, they unleashed a barrage of three lightning-fast kicks. Each strike landed squarely, producing a reverberating thud.
The dark figure staggered under the onslaught, clearly stunned. The white-robed combatant didn’t relent. Grabbing the dark figure by the head mid-air, they drove their knee into its skull with brutal finality, sending it hurtling backward a staggering fifteen meters.
A tense silence followed.
Mel remained frozen, his mind struggling to process the chaos unfolding before him.
The dark figure rose, its form flickering as it vanished in an instant. Mel’s breath hitched as the black-clad form reappeared behind the white-robed figure. The latter twisted into a spinning back fist, but the dark figure was already low, ducking under the blow.
Then came the uppercut.
The crunch of shattering bone made Mel wince. Both figures were now airborne, their combat continuing mid-air.
“I see you’ve gotten faster!” the white-robed figure exclaimed, a note of exhilaration in their voice. It was a male.
The dark figure remained silent, its focus unbroken.
The battle became a blur of incomprehensible speed. Though Mel heard the deafening impacts of fists and kicks, his eyes couldn’t follow the movements. It was as if they fought atop invisible platforms, suspended mid-air, their blows shattering the stillness of the void.
What the hell is happening?!
A deep, resonant voice intruded on his thoughts.
“Relax, boy.” A younger female voice from behind came into play.
‘What the—can you read my mind?!’
“Yes. Speak aloud if you prefer; it makes no difference to us.”
‘What are you? Seriously, what the hell?!’
"Hah! Glad you asked! We are what you might call concepts—ideas, thoughts, creations—whatever you prefer, that weren't conjured by man!"
Another voice, more mature and feminine, cutting, interrupted. “You’re making it sound more mystical than it is. We embody foundational forces—creation, death, battle, growth. There are others, of course, but we represent the core.”
Mel blinked, his thoughts whirling. “What about love? Or… hate? Are they also foundational? Wait, why are we even talking about this?!”
“Man-made,” the girl replied flatly. “Their strength comes from belief. A world saturated in hate weakens love, and vice versa. They’re significant but secondary.”
Another voice, boyish and casual, chimed in from in front of him. “You’re taking this pretty well—” It was the figure with the cracked seed on his mask.
BAM!
The black figure crashed down before Mel, shattering the ground beneath it.
‘This is a bizarre dream. Initially, I feared for my life, but now I just want it to end. I mean, I've lucid dreams before, but not to this extent… The brain sure is a peculiar organism, huh?’
As the four figures stood in silence, the space seemed to tighten around them. The man in black writhed, golden chains now coiled tightly around his body like sentient restraints.
"He-hey guys?" Mel managed a weak, lopsided grin.
Fwoosh!
Flames erupted across his body in an instant.
"Agh!" His scream ripped through the silence, raw and unrelenting.
The fire was relentless, searing into his skin, into his bones. Every movement—rolling, slapping at the flames, clawing at his own flesh—only made the heat intensify. The fire consumed him without mercy, his cries growing hoarse as tears evaporated before they could even fall.
The pain was unbearable every second he felt it melting him. His skin was charring in real time infront of his eyes, there was no retreat from the pain. Each second the flames only got more intense, stronger.
"Your body is now merging with —-----," the boy’s voice cut through the roar of the flames, his tone unbothered by Mel’s agony. "You’re the only one we could reach right now, and for that, we’re… uh, sorry? But, hey, heads-up: on your 18th birthday, you’re donezo. Your soul’s gonna plummet straight into hell. Or, y’know, one of the lower realms if you're lucky. Although it's not like that place is any better LOL.”
He continued to howl as the flames intensified. The flames did not give him no rest, they continuously grew stronger and stronger. Every attempt to stop the fire ceased to work. Mel rolled, patted, everything to stop the pain of the flames. But it didn’t work, all he could do was cry and beg for mercy.
Fwoosh!
The world shifted.
Mel jolted upright on the couch, gasping.
"Hey, he’s awake!" Scarlet yelled.
"Bro, you good?"
"Dumbass," another voice chimed in, dripping with sarcasm. "Does he look okay?"
Scarlett's rummaging sounds punctuated the chaos. "Wait—here! My handkerchief!" She held it. "I always keep one for hot days, but you can use it to, um, wipe your sweat?"
Mel swatted her hand. "Don’t touch me!"
He scrambled off the couch, his movements sharp and erratic, and bolted toward the door.
"Mel! Bro, what’s your deal? You’re being a—"
The door slammed shut, cutting Jamie off mid-sentence.
‘What the hell was that?’
Mel's pulse thundered in his ears as he stumbled into the night, dragging in ragged breaths. His legs felt like lead, but he forced himself forward, the cool night air brushing against his damp skin.
‘How long was I out? The moon’s already high—guess that answers that. But that dream… Was it a dream? It felt too real. No, it was real. Those people, that fire…”
His mind raced, questions colliding in his head as he walked the empty streets.
"Mel! Mel!"
‘Oh, great. Now what?’
"Mellll! Slow down, please!"
He turned, catching sight of Scarlett jogging toward him, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
"Geez, you walk fast," she panted, leaning over with her hands on her knees. The moonlight hit her just right, highlighting her cherry-red lipstick. The sharp rise and fall of her chest was dramatized because of her slim frame.
‘Oh, no. Please stop breathing like that. It’s… distracting.’
"Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to hit me again?"
"Ah! No, sorry… And, uh, about earlier—swatting your hand away—I didn’t mean it like that."
Scarlett straightened up, flipping her hair over one shoulder. "Don’t sweat it. I was just teasing!"
“Yeah…”
"Okay!" She slapped her cheeks lightly, as if hyping herself up for something monumental. "Mel, I want you to, um, have my phone number." Her voice dipped as she extended her phone toward him, her face slightly turned away to hide her reddening cheeks. “This never gets easier…” She muttered.
“Huh?”
“Oh! Nothing! here, my phone.”
“Right…”
Mel froze, staring at the phone.
‘Shit this is awkward, fuck! Dammit! I just want to get home but I really do like her and this is like a once in a lifetime opportunity but still i'm just so tired… And to be honest I’m not trying to get my heart broken again.
"Ar-are you done?" she asked, her voice wavering.
"Yeah. You can look now." He handed the phone back and immediately turned on his heel. "I’m heading home. Stay safe."
He didn’t end up putting his number in, but instead jamies.
"Huh?! Wait have to wake u-”
Mel didn’t wait for her to finish, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared into the night. Scarlett stood alone, her hand gripping the phone tightly, her face caught between confusion and disappointment.
(How rude…)
***
Mel reached home, the porch light glowing faintly like a distant star in the darkness. The hallway light streamed through the glass-pane windows of the door, casting fractured patterns on the ground. Shadows flickered as he trudged up the steps.
Click.
The lock turned with a metallic clink, slicing through the night’s muffled silence. The door creaked open, revealing the sterile glow of fluorescent lights that momentarily blurred his vision.
Kicking off his shoes, Mel shuffled down the wood-paneled hallway, each step marked by the floorboards’ groaning protests. He hesitated at the kitchen doorway, where warm light spilled out, hinting at an unwelcome presence. Sighing heavily, he stepped inside.
His instinct drove him to the fridge, where he opened and closed it a few times like a ritual, knowing full well what was about to unfold. He craved an indirect way to shatter the suffocating silence.
“Let’s talk,” his mom’s voice broke the fragile stillness.
Mel froze, dread pooling in his stomach.
“About what?” he muttered, feigning indifference.
“About your future, Mel,” she snapped, her tone sharp and cutting.
“Okay,” he bit back, meeting her gaze. “What about it, Mom?”
“I don’t need your sarcasm right now,” she said, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. “I need you to be serious. You’ve been avoiding this for too long, and we need to address it now.”
Mel exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. “Look, Mom, I’m serious too. I’ll figure something out when I grow up. You don’t need to breathe down my neck about it.” He shrugged, forcing a strained chuckle. “Maybe I’ll work on an oil rig and, I dunno, die on the job or something.”
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Her voice softened slightly, but her words cut deeper. “We need a plan. Whether that’s a university—which we both know isn’t likely—or community college as a stepping stone. You’re not a kid anymore.”
Mel’s shoulders tensed. “Yeah,” he muttered, the edge in his voice unmistakable. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Stop being a smartass,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing. “And stop pretending like your ‘writing dream’ is some golden ticket. We both know you’re not going to be some famous author. It’s time to be realistic.”
Mel flinched, her words striking a nerve.
“Fine,” he said flatly, the air around him growing colder. “I’ll just do whatever you say.”
Before she could respond, he pushed off the counter and stalked out of the kitchen. His footsteps thudded heavily up the stairs to his room, the sound reverberating in the hollow house.
He opened the door, and the sight of his pitch-black sanctuary washed over him like a balm.
A safe space.
He closed the door, ignoring the urge to shower or turn on the lights.
The darkness swallowed him as he closed the door, ignoring the urge to shower or turn on the lights.. He collapsed onto his bed, the moonlight barely seeping through the hastily hung blackout curtains.
For a moment, he let himself drift in the quiet, curling up into a fetal position and clutching his pillow tightly as if it could shield him from the weight of her words. He closed his eyes and let his mind rest.
***
Patter.
Quick footsteps echoed in the distance, pulling Mel from the haze of sleep.
A chill brushed against his skin. ‘Did I leave the window open?’
Eyes still heavy, he stared at the ceiling. ‘Do I even care?’
‘Nah not really.’ He drifted back off.
The sun pierced through his curtains like a vengeful blade, glaring more fiercely than the moon ever had. Birds chirped incessantly, their high-pitched song grating against his ears.
Mel groaned as his stomach rumbled, adding its complaint to the mix.
“Ah, crap!” He shot up from bed. “Did I oversleep for school?!”
He tore through his blankets, throwing them haphazardly as he hunted for his phone.
‘Where the hell is it?’
Despite his disdain for school, his mom’s foul mood from last night was enough to spur him into action. Being late today would only add fuel to the fire.
‘Bro, seriously? This is the one day my phone decides to vanish? Wait, did I just say bro? Gross. Whatever. Where’s my damn phone?’
Mel always had a slight reasoning to believe he was born unlucky. Randomly throughout the year he would have really big spiritually bouts where he would research zodiac signs, moon cycles and the such. Hoping to find answers to his neverending curse, which he never did. In the end all he left with was learning how to meditate.
He searched frantically, hurling pillows and sheets. After five minutes of fruitless effort, he slumped onto the floor in defeat. His head resting on the frame of his bed.
‘Forget it. Who cares if I’m late? I don’t and that’s the only thing that matters.’
His gaze drifted under the bed. A flicker of curiosity sparked.
‘Should I even bother?’
Reluctantly, he peered into the shadows. He needed his phone for his other endeavors anyway and for daily living.
“Damn, I can’t see sh—”
A glint of yellow pierced the dimness. Two deep-set eyes stared back, their black pupils unnervingly large.
Mel froze, his breath catching in his throat.
The thing under the bed stirred, crawling out with grotesque deliberation. It unfolded slowly, its malformed body writhing as it rose to its full height. I don’t even know if you can say it was folded in the first place though, more like it stood straight up.
The creature was a mass of pale, quivering flesh, its surface rippling like waves on a putrid sea. Arms jutted out at unnatural angles, flailing without purpose. Faces—human and distorted—on it, their mouths wailing in silent agony.
Its head grazed the ceiling as it unleashed a blood-curdling scream, the shriek echoed like that of a lost child, reminiscent of a coyote’s wail.
Mel, flat on his ass, found himself glued to the ground, unable to tear his eyes away from the horror before him. He struggled to comprehend the monstrous presence.
‘This has to be a dream. Please, let it be a dream.’
The beast was repulsive, it left behind a putrid smell of rotting meat and the way it moved, used the arms of the humans inside of it to stand up. The hundreds of arms moved indiscriminately and without clear motive, grabbing and scratching onto anything.
“Mel! Answer the door!”
Scarlet's voice shattered through the oppressive atmosphere, snapping Mel from his paralysis.
“Mel! Jamie told me to check on you!” she yelled again, oblivious to the danger inside. “Mel! Come on, I know you can hear me! You weren’t even supposed to be home today!”
Mel’s heartbeat thundered in his chest.
‘Think! I need to get it out of here. But how?’
The beast stood there, unresponsive. Such a loud provocation must be aggravating to an animal, right? Well if you could even call it an animal…
(Outside)
Dun dun.
Scarlet knocked lightly on the door. The cheap paint of the door scraped off and onto her knuckles.
(Maybe the door’s unlocked? Should I? I mean… but still… I’m just checking for safety, right? Yeah, that’s all…)
She softly rattled the door handle until it creaked open.
“Oh, it's unlocked?”
(Pardon the intrusion!)
Mel flinched at the sound of the front door creaking open. ‘No way. There’s no way she just did what I think she did… Mom, you forgot to lock the door?!’
Scarlet peered in, the hallway dimly lit. Only one pair of shoes at the door, which was obviously Mel’s. She could see the light glowing from under a door as she walked through, looking up the stairs.
Mel and the beast locked eyes.
The room constricted, the air clinging to him like a vice. A sickening, sloshing noise oozed from the creature as its grotesque, sinewy limbs churned and rippled, undulating like waves in a diseased ocean. Mel’s stomach coiled, and his breath stuttered, every nerve tingling with raw, primal terror. But this time, the urgency wasn’t just fear—it was survival.
Subconsciously he could feel it, he always wondered if this is what true passion felt like.
The beast lunged.
‘Fast!’ Mel hurled himself sideways, his body scraping against the rough carpet. One of hundreds of the creature’s human hands swiped past him, razor-sharp decrepit fingers raking his shoulder. Pain bloomed instantly as hot blood trickled down his arm, but he didn’t hesitate. Scrambling upright, he wrenched the bedroom door open and careened into the hallway.
Behind him, the monster collided with the closet, obliterating it in an explosion of splintered wood and shattered glass.
“Scarlet! Run!” he screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of desperation.
“Huh? Run? Why—”
Kyrah!
The beast unleashed a screech so shrill and grating that it felt like a blade slicing through his skull. Mel clapped his hands over his ears, but the noise burrowed deep, resonating in his bones.
“Go!” he bellowed again, his throat raw and burning. “Please, just go!”
Pain shot through his right shoulder.
Propping himself against the wall, he staggered down the stairs, his body rebelling against him, causing him to trip over his own feet.
“AH! Fuck! Damn! God, dammit!” Mel groaned, cradling the back of his head. His head collided with the floor before his body.
Scarlet rushed over, her eyes wide with concern.
“Mel! Are you okay? Why did you do that?! We need to get you to a hospital! Your head's bleeding badly!”
She grasped his head, panic evident in her voice.
"Scarlet! Listen to me! Get out of here, now! Call the police! Please!” Mel’s voice was littered with desperation. He didn’t want to seem weak, in reality he was so scared he wanted to run away with her.
Scarlet froze, her wide eyes. "Mel—"
A deafening crack. The ceiling above them groaned before the creature smashed through, its bloated, pulsating form twisting unnaturally in the dim light. Its fleshy surface glistened like oil slicks, rippling with every grotesque movement.
“Mel!” Scarlet’s scream pierced the chaos, but he didn’t dare look.
With a guttural yell, he shoved her toward the open door. “Get out of here!”
Scarlet stumbled outside, her breath hitching as the blood-red moon painted the world in an eerie, hellish glow.
Scarlet was startled by the red illuminating the sky.
(No way…)
The beast, a grotesque amalgamation of human and slop, let out a blood-curdling screech. Its multi-jointed limbs moved with unnatural speed as it lunged towards Mel.
A sickening squelch and crunch echoed through the room.
Mel let out a blood curdling scream.
His right eye had been ripped from its socket. A wave of nausea washed over him as he clutched his bleeding eye with his right hand, blood quickly poured out. His vision of his right eye was cut off instantly.
The beast roared, its distorted limbs contorting unnervingly as it surged toward Mel. His hand shot out, grabbing a kitchen knife from the floor. The cold steel trembled in his grip as he spun toward the sliding glass door. With no time to think, he hurled his body into it.
Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, numbing the pain slightly. He couldn’t afford to succumb to such despair. Survival was his only priority. He stumbled to his feet, a primal feeling propelling him forward.
He spotted a kitchen knife on the floor, its sharp blade glinting in the dim light. Gripping the weapon tightly, he moved with purpose. He knew he had to reach the backyard.
The beast, seeing its prey, made another move immediately followed. Its ‘face’ somehow contorted with pleasure as it pursued Mel. The air was thick with tension, the only sound in the house the heavy footfalls of the creature and Mel’s labored breathing.
He crashed his shoulder right into the sliding glass door, the door exploded around him. Jagged shards of glass tore at his skin, leaving burning streaks of pain across his arms and face. He tumbled onto the cold grass, the night air biting at his wounds.
Behind him, the beast thundered through the doorway, its gargantuan frame squeezing through the shattered remnants of the glass. Each labored breath it exhaled sounded wet and guttural, like something drowning in its own viscera.
Mel’s legs burned as he sprinted toward the flimsy plastic gate ahead. The pain in his shoulder was a relentless drumbeat, but he ignored it, barreling forward. Although Mel wasn’t the biggest standing at 180cm and 60kg, he wasn’t small either. As soon as his body made impact the gate caved in from the inside, small plastic chips flew all over. His shoulder became numb.
The gate crumbled on impact, splintered plastic spraying outward. He stumbled, the sight ahead froze him mid-motion for a second.
The backyard was alive with movement. A family, gathered for what appeared to be a barbecue, stood transfixed under the crimson moon. Their murmurs of wonder and confusion cut through the stillness. Children clutched their parents’ hands, pointing at the sky. Mel noticed a boy about his age, entering the backyard, orange hair. He couldn’t warn him about his fate though, all he could think was maybe in another timeline, under different circumstances, they could’ve been friends.
Mel’s chest tightened. He opened his mouth to warn them, but the words caught in his throat.
‘Im sorry, I'm sorry.’
“I’m sorry,” he whispered aloud this time, the apology hollow.
Behind him, the beast obliterated the gate. Its grotesque appendages lashed out, snaring anything in their reach. Screams erupted as the once-idyllic gathering descended into chaos. Bones snapped like dry twigs, and blood splattered the grass in gruesome arcs.
Mel forced himself forward, his legs heavy with guilt and exhaustion. He darted through the family’s open backdoor, his lungs burning with every gasp of air.
Upstairs or out? Run or hide? It was the only thing racing in his mind.
His mind wanted to run, it was the obvious choice. He needed more bait to get away, but his body was different. It’s wired to know that predators are inherently faster than us, the body needs to hide to escape. Such a basic game like hide and seek was created because of that need to learn how to hide.
His instincts waged war with his reason. Run, his mind screamed. But his body rebelled, in the end he couldn’t beat his nature. The primal need to conceal himself overwhelmed his logic.
He bolted up the stairs, crashing into the master bedroom. His hands fumbled for the closet door, yanking it open. Inside, the darkness wrapped around him like a suffocating shroud. Desperately, he barricaded the door with everything he could find—boxes, shoes, a heavy suitcase. His hands trembled as he worked, every thud of the beast’s approach sending icy shivers down his spine.
The house fell silent, save for his ragged breaths and the distant, guttural squelches of the monster outside.