Have you ever been to an aquarium? You see all these colorful fish swimming in front of you, and you can enjoy the exotic view without even getting your feet wet. Isn’t it beautiful? I always thought so, too—until I met that old man.

Now, let’s rewind a bit. I remember falling asleep in my cozy bed, wearing my favorite white T-shirt, only to wake up to a gentle, diffused light playing across my eyelids. Slowly, very slowly, I opened my eyes in a half-dream, and before me was a giant wall of pure glass, beyond which lay a stunning underwater world. For those who have seen the movies Finding Nemo or Finding Dory, you’ll understand what I mean. For those who haven’t—well, you’ve missed a lot. I saw white sand on the bottom of the aquarium, sunlight dancing across it from high above through the water. I saw anemones with clownfish playing in them. It seemed like all the brightest representatives of the underwater world were gathered here just for me. My attention was caught by a bright yellow fish, and I watched it intently. To my surprise, I realized that I was in a room where all the walls were made of glass, and beautiful fish and other sea creatures were swimming everywhere around me. I wanted to get closer and carefully examine what was behind the glass.

I put my feet on the floor—not from a bed, but from an ordinary wooden chair (you know, I love to sit with my legs tucked under me) that you might find in any grandmother’s living room. The floor was covered in simple tiles, as white as the sand at the bottom of the aquarium. The tiles were smooth and slightly cool; it felt so pleasant to touch them with my bare feet. The fish continued to dance their dance behind the glass, drawing all my thoughts into this marvelous swirl. My head felt foggy, and without taking my eyes off the beautiful scene, I walked around the entire room, running my hand along the glass, which pleasantly chilled my fingers.

But at some point, I realized that my hand hadn’t encountered any doors or anything like that. I looked around: the room was a perfect cube with glass walls, with only a chair in the center and nothing else. Surely the entrance is from above, flashed through my mind. But when I looked up, I saw nothing but the depth of water and fish swimming above. I couldn’t understand how it happened—I was under a dome with no way out. Returning to the chair, I buried my head in my knees, utterly unable to comprehend how I ended up in this place and how to get out. My thoughts swirled faster and faster, starting to buzz in my head. At that moment, I began to be bothered by a strange cracking sound, growing louder and louder, until it was impossible to ignore. When I finally lifted my head and looked at the glass wall in front of me, it was covered in a web of cracks. To say I panicked would be an understatement. Now my thoughts weren’t just racing for an escape; they were fiercely beating against my skull in desperation, and the more I panicked, the more the web of cracks spread. It was only a matter of time before the glass shattered and the water rushed in. How much time do I have? If I got in here somehow, there must be an exit. Where is it?

“Stop the flow of your thoughts. Don’t panic.”

Some voice inside me spoke calmly but very clearly:

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Your hysteria won’t solve anything. Calm down.”

God, how I wanted to send that inner voice to… well, you get the idea. I was ready to scream with fear: I’m a terrible swimmer, I’m going to drown in this glass coffin, what a horrible way to die. While my thoughts were racing, and I was feeling sorry for myself—so poor and unfortunate—a small piece of glass finally popped out of the wall and rolled to a stop at my feet. Water started pouring in through the hole immediately. I approached the wall, knelt, and tried to fit the shard back into the glass, but it was sharp, and all I managed to do was cut my fingers. The water kept coming in, and as I tried to plug the hole with my palm, my blood started seeping into that beautiful world of fish.

“You still have a chance. Calm down! Stop your thoughts, even out your breathing” , insisted my inner voice.

But I was no longer in control: tears blurred my vision, and I couldn’t see anything anymore. The glass shattered completely in an instant; I hardly felt any pain—just immense pressure, the taste of blood in my mouth, and the beautiful red color spreading gracefully in the clear water.

A gasp from someone on the verge of suffocating, cold sweat trickled down my temples. A bearded man crouched in front of me, his hand touching my knees.

“This is not what I expected when I told my mom I’d talk to you,” I said, barely conscious.

“I understand, child, but you need to learn to control your thoughts,” the old man added patiently.

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that? I always have so many thoughts in my head.”

“But you managed to focus on that fish, didn’t you?”

“What? What are you talking about? How do you know? I thought I was dreaming.”

“Not exactly; it wasn’t quite a dream. You could control everything, and if you hadn’t panicked, you would have found a way out.”

“What are you saying? I looked everywhere; there were no doors or hatches or anything like that,” I snapped, jumping up from the chair I’d been sitting on and pacing back and forth, as I do in moments of intense mental strain. “I want to go home, I want to go to my mom. Take me home now.”

“Calm down, it’s okay.”

The man slowly stood up and approached me. Despite his age, which was evident in the expression of his eyes, the wrinkles, and the gray hair, he looked strong and healthy.

“Sweetheart, everything is in your head,” he said softly, touching his finger lightly to my temple. “Right here. You need to learn to manage it. It’s dangerous for you and others if you can’t control your abilities. Shall we try again?”

“No, I don’t want to. You know how much I hate water. Why water?”

“You can do it, I believe in you. Come on, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair I had jumped up from just a few minutes ago as if burned.

For some reason, even unknown to me, I obeyed that quiet, gentle voice. I didn’t feel like I could argue with the old man, and to be completely honest, I didn’t want to. It’s just that I’m scared of water, and the emotions I experienced can’t be forgotten so quickly, no matter how much I wish I could.

“Sweetheart, you won’t drown if you can control your thoughts and breathing. Let’s try again.”

Gentle, diffused light caresses my eyelids…