Chapter 2

Dylan opened his eyes. To his surprise, the sky was still pitch black. Sleep was the only thing resonating in his mind and he didn’t want that to change. He closed his eyes. Something felt strange. Sleep was no longer the only thing on his mind: a noise resonated as well. Tick... Tock… Tick... Tock… Tick. This noise slowly invaded his ability to rest.

Dylan couldn’t take it anymore. His eyelids rose. He asked himself many questions, marginal yet existential questions. Where did the noise come from? Why couldn’t he hear it anymore? Was the ticking a figment of his imagination? And last but not least, why in the world was the sky still so black?

Unfortunately, he still couldn’t see anything. Despite him being in utter denial, he soon realized that his world was no longer what it seemed to be. It wasn’t full of stars. It wasn’t full of plants. It wasn’t full of birds. It wasn’t full of living things. In fact, it wasn’t full of things at all. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t noisy. It wasn’t chaotic; even so, it was. It was what it was. What was it? Certainly something that was.

What is this, he thought.

he stepped forward. No sound. No ground. Whatever he was stepping on was as black as the nonexistent black sky. He had trouble walking, not because his legs were numb, but because there was no ground to see. Was this what it felt like to be blind? Dylan questioned himself once more. He wasn’t sure if the place was extremely dark or if it was completely devoid of anything.

“Hello?”

No echo either. Sweat trickled down his temple. Lifting his forearm to wipe it off, the cold liquids spread out evenly. He flicked it off to the floor. Dylan hadn’t realized it yet, but this was a critical turning point. It truly resembled one of those times where a very famous physician finally figured out how buoyancy worked, following his discovery with an interjection that became way too popular for its own good.

He was scared of moving, scared of getting lost inside this void. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe if he closed his eyes, it would all go back to normal. He shut his eyes. No panic. Could this situation possibly be evaded? Short answer, no. Dylan hated this environment. He was gazing at nothing, yet he was gazing at something too. Dylan scratched his chin deep in thought. Why was he still here? A dream couldn’t possibly be this well though out, or so he thought. Losing his balance, he tripped over nothing, and quickly bent an elbow to break his fall.

Fallen, he tilted his head up to the surprise of seeing a well spread out puddle in front of him. Finally realizing it, he lifted himself slightly, knees to the ground, and examined the puddle of sweat with amazement. Dylan figured out two things. One: liquids flatten drastically when it comes in contact with the invisible surface. A few droplets were squashed into a spacious puddle, forming a transparent mirror. Ripples undulated gently as he traced his finger through the screen of water; it felt as thin as it appeared transparent. He looked at his finger intensely. The more he moved the tip of his finger around, the more he noticed another oddity. Two: light does not seem to exist in this world, yet every single thing, meaning clothing, skin, sweat, basically anything excluding the blackness, could be seen as if a constant non-altering light was present.

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“Huh.”

Dylan sprung back to his feet. It was fascinating… fascinating yet oh so scary. At least now his eyes were of some use; he was no longer blind. He stepped back. Feeling adventurous, he began walking backwards while eyeing the puddle. A visual support was always nice to have.

He heard nothing, yet it felt so loud. He imagined the calm sounds of the ripple flow, even if it made none. The pool of sweat shrunk each time he backed up. Little by little, he wasn’t so sure where he was anymore. Something rustled. A jolt ran through his legs and he reflexively turned, readying a defensive stance. He huddled his arms closer to his face. Peering through the little chamber he had made with his arms, a familiar bag could be seen. It was but his own. He lowered his arms, picking it straight up. He was overjoyed to finally see something that could actually be seen, or touched even. He sighed for a long second.

He opened the bag and checked the insides; everything was there. He took out his flashlight and turned it on. Nothing. The head of the torch was bright, but it looked like the light wasn’t coming out. He put it back inside a pocket. His eyes dropped after finding something else on the ground. A green body sat there. He pinched the green thing and lifted it to his face. It was the bird plush he had stolen. He wondered. Something seemed extremely fishy there, not that it was a fish. Dylan thought nothing of it: he had seen crazier things hitherto.

The puddle disappeared from sight. Getting overexcited was quite stupid and Dylan knew that. He held the bird tightly in his hands, stressed. He should make a path. He checked if he had a water bottle, but alas, it didn’t look like he did. His tongue was dry.

A moment of discomfort. No one was watching, but, even now, Dylan hesitated awkwardly. Should he spit on the ground of an utterly unbeknownst and potentially detrimental environment or should he follow his extra-essential morality? The green bird’s eyes were perfectly empty yet full of judgment. Dylan looked away. Watery patches bloomed from each gentle expectoration.

His mouth gave out. Spitting was exhausting. He didn’t roam too far from where he started. It was quite disappointing actually. Dylan turned around.

“Hello?” He swore he heard a voice. He hesitated to say it again.

“He-hello?” Nothing.

The water swayed. Dylan tensed. Something was up. Something was not right. Dylan sensed something.

“Hello!” he repeated, half-afraid.

A heavy aura crushed the ambiance. Dylan left the scene. Each step he took sunk into the blackness. It became difficult to move, but nothing seemed to be holding him back. Why was it so hard? Was he frozen from fear? The soundless sounds increased.

What am I doing? he thought.

His bag shook up and down and the plush was strangled with exceeding force. Dylan was running. Everything morphed as his speed grew. The darkness expanded but shrunk, darkened but lightened, and the noises amalgamated and degraded for the worst.

Dylan twisted his foot as he fell through an unbelievably shallow yet deep pit. He attempted to grip a surface; he scratched an unnaturally cold one. His fingers released and the bird went flying in the air. He heard a soft rip. His bag continuously bumped into the rough surface, his pants badly scraped off, and his skin was scuffed. He thudded to the floor. He didn’t want to move. A fleecy body dropped, landing on his forehead. Everywhere hurt. He couldn’t see anything; it was truly dark. Normal darkness dark. It was cold. He stayed put for a while.

He difficultly opened his eyes. His head was leaning on a tree. His bag was on his lap. The feathered bird was prostrate on Tiffany’s chest. His fingers touched the grass beneath. His head hurt. Dylan’s body still throbbed immensely.