More Confusion

I collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My room’s a wreck—not that I care right now. Clothes hang off the chair in weird angles like they’ve given up on life. A discarded blanket lies half on the floor, half on the bed, a chaotic reminder of my restless state. There’s an empty bag of chips crumpled on my desk, a mug with leftover tea sitting dangerously close to the edge, and my tablet is still glowing faintly, stuck on a useless webpage that I left open hours ago.

None of this matters. My head feels like it’s been spinning ever since I stepped out of that forest. Lightning, footprints, old men muttering about prophecies—it’s like some bizarre puzzle that refuses to make sense.

I sit up and grab a pillow, hugging it tightly. One footprint. Just one. How does that even work? Animals with four legs don’t leave one footprint. Was the elephant hopping around? Or was it some bizarre anomaly? I picture it stumbling through the forest, dragging one foot behind. It’s a stupid thought, but I can’t shake it. It just doesn’t make sense.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I mutter, tossing the pillow aside. “None of this adds up.”

I glance at the tablet sitting on the desk. Earlier, I’d tried to look into it, searching about elephants and their history. I even found an online discussion group about extinct species and unusual sightings. But it turned out to be a waste of time. Most of the replies were jokes, calling the image a prank or edited. One person even accused me of faking the footprint for attention. Attention. Yeah, right. I closed the tab after that, too annoyed to deal with them anymore.

It’s stupid. All of it. The footprint. The lightning. The old man. None of it should exist, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all connected somehow.

I stand up and start pacing the room, stepping over a pair of boots I’d kicked off earlier. The sound of my footsteps echoes faintly, filling the silence. My brain feels like it’s running in circles. The lightning. The footprint. The old man. None of it should make sense, but it does. I feel it nagging at me like a little voice that won’t shut up.

Why was there only one footprint? Animals with four legs don’t leave one footprint. Maybe it was hopping, or maybe I just didn’t see the others. Who knows? I picture the elephant awkwardly dragging itself through the forest like some out-of-place circus act. I can’t help but laugh, but it doesn’t help. It’s just a way to distract myself.

“An elephant doing the limbo,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. The sound of my voice is small, as if I’m trying to convince myself this is all just a weird dream.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I stop in the middle of the room, facing the window. It’s almost evening, the sky still lit with fading orange and purple hues. I feel a cold, knotting unease in my stomach as I think about the forest again. There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with me. The lightning. The footprint. I keep replaying the image in my mind, over and over.

And then there’s the old man. His words still echo in my head. A prophecy? Who even talks like that anymore? And why was he so calm, like this whole thing was just a casual errand for him? Maybe I should’ve pressed him for more information instead of brushing it off, but what would’ve been the point? He’d probably have gone off about fate or destiny or some other nonsense.

I groan, grabbing my hair in frustration. “I’m being stupid. This is all stupid.”

A knock on my door cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Vrishti?” My mother’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. “Dinner’s ready.”

I freeze for a second, glancing at the door. I know she’s standing there, waiting for me to answer, to come to the table like normal. But I’m not in the mood for it. Not now.

“I’m not hungry,” I reply softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy as they leave my lips. There’s no sharpness in them, no bite. I say it gently, almost apologetically.

There’s a pause. A long, awkward pause that stretches between us. I can almost hear her sigh from the other side of the door. The faint creak of the door hinges signals her departure, though she doesn’t say anything else.

For a moment, I think about getting up, about going to the dinner table and trying to act normal. But my legs feel like they’re made of lead. I stay seated on the bed, burying my face in my hands.

I shouldn’t have turned her away. I shouldn’t have said that. I know she’s worried about me. I can feel it every time she looks at me. It’s like she sees the cracks in me that I try to hide. The things I don’t say, the things I don’t show. I hate that look in her eyes. That pity. It’s not her fault, though. She doesn’t understand.

I look around my room again, my gaze bouncing from the mess to the empty space. My mind is a mess too. And it’s not getting any clearer. I could’ve been out there asking more about the footprint, about the lightning, about everything. I could’ve been figuring out the pieces, piecing them together. But I walked away. I let the old man slip through my fingers. What if I missed something?

I sigh again, feeling the weight of it all settle on me.

The room feels too quiet now. The only sound is the faint hum of the tablet on the desk, still glowing with unanswered questions. I glance at it, picking it up and scrolling through the last few messages from the group I’d joined. None of them had anything useful. Just more jokes, more people dismissing what I found. Maybe I’m just crazy. Maybe this whole thing is just some weird, random occurrence.

I swipe the tablet off and toss it onto the bed next to me.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” I murmur, though the words feel like a lie. “Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this. More that I haven’t seen. More that I’m not supposed to understand yet.

The knock comes again, this time more insistent, but I don’t answer it. Instead, I lie back down and close my eyes. The questions swirl around me, mixing together. The lightning. The footprint. The old man. What did they mean? Why was I drawn to all of this?

And then there’s my family. My mother, who tries so hard to reach me but doesn’t know how.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. My mind’s a maze. I don’t know how to navigate through it. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.

Eventually, I give in to the exhaustion creeping in. I let my thoughts scatter, just for a moment, and drift off into a restless sleep. The last thing I think of before I fall into darkness is the lightning, flashing through my mind again, leaving me with more questions than answers.