The darkness enveloped my small room, echoing the unsettling murmurs of an ancestral secret that, on that night, decided to manifest itself. At just 11 years old, I found myself trapped on the threshold between unconsciousness and revelation, my body awakening to something beyond childish comprehension.
A shiver ran down my spine, an electric sensation warning me of the imminent arrival of something extraordinary. The air around me became dense, and I could feel magical energy bubbling like an electric current beneath the surface of reality. The tension grew, a silent symphony of primordial power.
Without warning, my small room collapsed into chaos of unrestrained elements. Flames danced in the shadows, a storm roared like a hungry lion, and cutting winds howled in uncontrolled harmony. I was at the epicenter of a storm that I myself unleashed, and my heart raced with the intensity of the unknown.
In that moment of chaos, I realized I was no longer in my modest room. The environment was ethereal, a dreamlike landscape where the rules of the known world crumbled. Amidst the storm, something took shape before me: a smiling face, gigantic, plastered on a wall that seemed to stretch into eternity. Its eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom, and its mouth curved into a smile that challenged the very concept of time.
The creature on the wall seemed to recognize me, as if it knew of the primordial magic pulsating within me. I stared at the face, unable to look away, feeling immersed in its ominous smile, a grin that sent shivers down my spine.
And then, as if a curtain were drawn, I woke up. My room, once so tranquil, was now cracked and fragmented, as if my own magic had unleashed a storm of chaos around me.
The timid light of dawn gingerly filtered through the disheveled curtains, casting a soft glow that unveiled my room's subtle palette of gray and the profound embrace of silence. In the quietude, every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet seemed magnified, adding to the stillness that lingered like an unspoken secret.
As I rose from the tangle of sheets, I couldn't escape the palpable dampness covering my body, a thin layer of sweat bearing witness to the intensity of the phenomenon that had just occurred. The room held its breath, and the air itself seemed pregnant with an unspoken mystery, the weight of which clung to the atmosphere like an ethereal residue.
The disheveled curtains, caught in a hesitant dance with the morning breeze, allowed fragmented glimpses of the world outside, further enhancing the room's sense of isolation. A distant hum of nature's awakening echoed faintly, a subtle reminder that life continued beyond the confines of my sanctuary.
In that moment, the enigmatic dance of dawn and silence transformed my surroundings into a realm suspended between dream and reality, where the very essence of the morning held its breath, wrapped in the hushed embrace of a world not yet fully awakened.
My gaze descended to my own body, and my heart skipped a beat. A web of scars marked my skin, as if lightning had danced upon me during a storm. Each mark seemed a reminder of the struggle against the elements, a physical representation of the chaos that had enveloped me. I was now marked by the force of whatever had happened.
Memories of the smiling face on the wall flooded my mind, a haunting echo of fear that sent shivers down my spine. That enigmatic presence had left not only marks on my skin but also on my psyche. I tried to comprehend the connection between the storm, the smiling face, and the experience I had inadvertently lived through.
Faced with the wreckage in my modest room, a sense of urgency overcame me. How would I explain the wreckage and scars that testified to the inexplicable event that had occurred? The prospect of revealing my journey to others sparked a deep fear within me.
I grabbed my phone, the soft glow of the screen illuminating my face. The digital display indicated the sleepless 3 AM. I was alone in the darkness, confronted not only with the scars on my body but also with the indelible marks that the event had left on my life.
Soft steps echoed through the hallway, and my attention turned to the partially open door. In an instant, it swung open, revealing a familiar figure - my mother, with her blonde hair gently falling over her shoulders, dressed only in her nightgown. Running towards me, she enveloped me in a hug, a look of concern reflected in her eyes.
"Are you okay? What happened here?" Her gentle voice cut through the silence, laden with love and apprehension.
"I'm alright, Mom. It's just... I can't quite grasp what happened." My words emerged in fragments, punctuated by the tight embrace I sought in her comforting arms. A surge of emotions washed over me, and an irresistible urge to cry welled up from the depths of my being.
I sobbed, tears streaming down my face. In the warmth of my mother's embrace, everything crumbled. I only felt safe there, in her arms. The weight of the unknown, the scars on my body, and the marks in my room momentarily disappeared. Whatever it was that I had experienced, I knew I had a safe haven in my mother's welcoming arms.
My mother looked over the hug, her blue eyes surveying all the wreckage in the room as her delicate hands checked my body, the scars marking my skin. I felt her gentle touch, a maternal check to ensure that I was truly okay. Amidst the sobs and tears, she just embraced her son, her concern painted in every movement.
As she ran her hands over my back and arms, I felt something different in my body, a sensation I had never experienced before. But, immersed in the emotions that overwhelmed me, it went unnoticed. My mother, in her maternal wisdom, understood that the moment called for more comfort than questions.
After a few minutes, I finally pulled away, meeting her gaze. My eyes, still watery, almost pleaded to know whether I was in trouble or not. With a sweet smile on her face, my mother shook her head.
"My little Ai, don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong." Her words were like a balm to my soul, and she pulled me back into her warm embrace, where I found security and comfort.
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***
I lingered in the kitchen, fixating on the coffee percolating in the machine as though it held the alchemical power to disperse the fog that clung to my mind. The unyielding kitchen clock, indifferent to my internal turmoil, relentlessly displayed 9 AM. Sleep had eluded me throughout the night, and the wearied visage staring back at me from the toaster's reflective surface served as a stark reminder, with dark circles under my eyes resembling scars earned in a nocturnal skirmish waged solely against the relentless onslaught of my own thoughts.
The holodisk, without any ceremony, echoed news about terrorist attacks in the neighborhoods of New Eden. The distant sound of the attacked city mingled with the deep voice of the announcer, bringing an air of urgency that cut through the silence of the kitchen. It was the 21st of the first cycle of 3042, and the shadows of the events in the city echoed in the mornings, where even the coffee lost its comforting aroma amid the disturbing news.
The toaster, a faithful alarm, interrupted my thoughts with its sharp hum. The distraction of the daily routine and the morning ritual were what kept me standing, both literally and figuratively. The cups lined up on the counter, one for me and another for my absent mother in the living room, awaited to be filled with the hot elixir that promised some clarity.
While the city faced its own demons outside, I was here, waking up from a sleep that never came, facing the horrors of the previous night. The coffee, even bitter, was a familiar solace in the midst of chaos, a necessary anchor before confronting the unfolding day.
My mother entered the kitchen, the weight of age marking her face. The once vibrant blonde hair now had strands of white that told the story of the years lived. The wrinkles, silent witnesses of time, accentuated the beauty that aging brought. Her voice was a familiar symphony but now carried the wisdom that only experience could bestow.
I heard her words while still keeping my eyes closed, giving myself a moment before facing the reality of the day. Another sip of coffee, bitter and comforting at the same time. "Still worrying about what happened to that girl?" Her question pierced the silence of the kitchen, echoing like a reflection of my own concerns.
I opened my eyes, meeting hers, and took another sip before answering. "Unfortunately, all this with her family leaves me not knowing what to do; I can't sleep at night." My words were a sigh laden with anxiety, a burden I carried alone.
"You're only 16, my son. At that age, it's normal for these things to happen." Her soft laughter brought momentary comfort, but the anxiety remained like a persistent shadow.
I nodded, returning to drink my coffee as my phone signaled a notification. The train would depart in less than 5 minutes, an unexpected reminder that made my eyes widen. I drank the remaining coffee in one gulp, feeling the comforting warmth contrasting with the urgency of the moment.
I rose from the chair, kissing my mother's forehead, her sweet laughter resonating through the kitchen. I grabbed a staff from behind the door and my small backpack. As I crossed the doorway, the scene unfolded: a mega-apartment complex, my home on the 113th floor. The hallway stretched before me, filled with doors concealing stories as diverse as the lives that dwelled within.
The hallways of the mega-building were like pulsating veins, life and movement intertwining. I navigated through that vertical labyrinth, my steps echoing amid the constant murmur of voices, doors opening and closing, like the heartbeat of the city structure itself.
As I ventured into the expansive stretch of the corridor, panoramic windows unveiled the boundless beauty of New Eden. The city sprawled beyond the observer's reach, skyscrapers entwined with beams of light, composing a breathtaking tableau of urban grandeur. The sun held its celestial position, casting its golden glow across the firmament, its rays dancing upon the glass surfaces of the buildings. This luminous interplay created a kaleidoscopic mosaic, saturating my vision with a vibrant spectrum of colors that breathed life into the cityscape.
As I ran, I greeted familiar residents, some already heading to their jobs, others just beginning their day. "Good morning, Mr. Johnson!" The warm voice of an elderly man echoed through the corridor, answered by a smiling wave. Children, backpacks on their backs, eagerly awaited the school elevators.
Passing a higher floor, I saw Mrs. Lee watering her plants in the corridor, tending to her little personal oasis. "Aidan, good morning! How is your mother?" She asked with a gentle smile, and I replied, assuring her that she was well.
While descending the corridors, the sight of the large Hyper Train became clearer. The clock on my wrist indicated that time was quickly running out. Less than four minutes to descend over 100 floors. Urgency quickened my steps, my gaze alternating between the decreasing numbers on the elevator panel and the approaching station.
Finally, upon reaching the station floor, the doors opened, and I found myself on the bustling platform. The Hyper Train, giant and gleaming, waited to receive its passengers. I ran to secure my seat in time, while the sound of the whistle indicated that departure was imminent.
Excitement engulfed me as I pulled my holocube from the backpack. With a flick of my fingers, the screen materialized in the air, revealing a notification that made me hold my breath. The approval email for New Eden's artillery school was there, an achievement I had long coveted. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of pride and anticipation.
My gaze shifted from the screen to the window, where the cityscape stretched before me. However, the vibrations I felt were not just from my excitement. I looked up, and my heart squeezed when I saw the city's ceiling, the immense dome that protected us. It was once again the stage for an external battle, a spectacle of resistance against unknown forces.
The dome trembled under the impact, its defenses glowing in response to the attacks. "Pomodoro is escalating their attacks again," murmured a voice beside me, expressing the tension in the air. "They're getting bolder." Another comment echoed, "Terrorists, that's what they are. Always causing trouble."
As the news spread among the passengers, I overheard whispered conversations about the motives behind the attacks and the possible consequences. "They say Pomodoro wants to weaken the dome to pave the way for something bigger." Speculation ran wild, fueled by fear and uncertainty.
The holocube still floated in my hand, the approval blinking on the screen. While celebrating my personal triumph, I couldn't ignore the grim reality outside the train. The dome, a symbol of security, was once again being tested.
In that brief respite, I took the opportunity to shift the holocube screen, steering away from the disconcerting reports of the dome attack to a realm of mundane yet pressing concerns. The monthly bills awaited my attention, a duty that had become mine ever since my mother's health started to deteriorate. The list of expenses, akin to a persistent reminder of my untimely immersion into adulthood, flickered to life on the screen.
As I perused the figures, it was impossible to ignore the weight they carried. The responsibility, once shared, now rested solely on my shoulders, much like the growing burden of caring for my ailing mother. The fragility of her health had been a looming presence, and now, in the critical juncture of our lives, the situation had escalated to a distressing reality.
My gaze remained locked on the escalating figure of the hospital debt, an ever-expanding sum fueled by the relentless demands of medical treatments and medications. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on my shoulders, and the initial relief stemming from the approval for artillery school swiftly transformed into a gnawing concern. The truth loomed large: I had pursued enrollment in the school primarily for the consistent monthly salary it promised. The urgency of securing the position was not driven by a personal ambition for military service but rather by the desperate need to sustain my mother's ongoing medical treatments.
While contemplating the mountain of debts, the train suddenly plunged underground, and my reflection appeared on the glass. My dark, long hair fell messily over my shoulders, casting shadows on my face. The scars from the traumatic event when I was 11 climbed my neck and cheek, lines that told a story I preferred to forget but had become an indelible part of who I was.
The train announced the next stop with a soft chime, and I found myself in the upscale area of the city. Teenagers in pristine artillery school uniforms boarded, all passing through the common class towards the premium class, where they would occupy their exclusive seats. I didn't bother to look at them, as my attention was too occupied by the bills and the looming debt.
I turned to my holocube again, diving into social media for a distraction, anything that could alleviate the tension building up within me. As I scrolled through feeds, searching for photos, trivial news, or even memes, something caught my attention. I felt someone sitting next to me, and I turned my gaze to the newcomer.
A boy my age, hair as dark as mine, settled with a sleepy expression. He closed his eyes without saying a word, and I understood the need for silence. We both shared the desire to escape the turmoil around us, even if only for a few minutes.
Without exchanging words, I closed my eyes too, allowing myself to sink into the recesses of my own mind. The train continued its journey, and the constant sound of the tracks echoed in the carriage. The boy beside me breathed peacefully, as if about to plunge into restful sleep. With minutes left until our destination, we found a fleeting oasis of tranquility—a shared connection born from the mutual desire to briefly escape the relentless demands of our daily lives.