Game

It was one of those sunny days that felt wrong. Prinon had woken up far too early, a gnawing sense of unease pulling him out of bed before dawn. His mother and sister were still asleep when he checked on them, tucked in their blankets, oblivious to the strange dread weighing on his mind. The air in the house felt heavy, like the silence itself was pressing against his skin. He moved mechanically, making breakfast out of habit, leaving a note on the table before slipping out the door.

School wouldn't start for another hour, but Prinon couldn't wait. He needed something to distract him. Anything.

When he arrived at the school, the halls were empty, the quiet suffocating. He headed to his classroom, expecting to find it just as barren, but a few students had already gathered—a small group of five, chatting in low voices. Prinon slid into his usual seat, not bothering to join them. The sun outside seemed too bright, almost mocking, casting long shadows on the floor.

He didn't feel like talking.

As the minutes dragged on, Prinon pulled out his notebook, deciding to doodle to pass the time. His pen scratched against the paper, but something in the air shifted—like the pressure of the room had dropped suddenly. Then, out of nowhere, a storm began to brew outside. The windows rattled, the sky darkened unnaturally fast, and the wind howled as if trying to tear the building apart.

Prinon clenched his jaw. He knew. *This was a mistake. Coming early was a mistake.*

He glanced at the group of students—there were only five of them, but one of them was missing. He hadn't seen him leave. A boy had just… vanished.

One of the students screamed, shattering the tension that had settled over the room. Panic spread quickly, voices rising as they tried to make sense of it. But Prinon wasn't intrigued. His first thought was that the boy had slipped out quietly, maybe to get some air. The others, though—they were losing it, making a mess of things.

Bored, Prinon flipped to the last page of his notebook. His eyes landed on a strange pattern that hadn't been there before—a series of lines and spirals that seemed to twist off the paper, forming an intricate web. He frowned, running his fingers over the page, and immediately felt something prick his skin. Thin, hair-like threads were woven into the paper, sharp enough to draw blood.

As a drop of his blood fell onto the page, a jolt ran through his body. It wasn't just a shock—it was like the world had shifted for a brief moment, bending around him. His head snapped up. The boy who had disappeared was suddenly sitting at his desk again, as if he'd never left. Prinon's heart pounded in his chest, but before he could process what was happening, the other students rushed back into the room.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, and Prinon noticed that class should have started by now. But no teacher had arrived. They had been sitting there for over an hour, but it felt like mere minutes had passed. The room's atmosphere grew heavier by the second, like the air itself was thickening.

One of the boys stood up, muttering something about going to get the teacher. But as soon as he moved, another student screamed. They pointed at the boy's shadow. It wasn't human anymore. It had warped into a grotesque, monstrous shape, its limbs too long, its body twisted in impossible angles. The boy looked down, terror etched across his face.

Panic erupted in the room. The boy stumbled toward the door, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, he re-entered from the opposite side of the room—within a second. It was as if the room itself had trapped them. Prinon felt his skin crawl. Something was very, very wrong.

Suddenly, Prinon's water bottle slipped from his desk, crashing to the floor and shattering. His gaze dropped to the spilled water, but instead of his reflection, he saw something else—something from another world. A creature, ink-black and jagged, like a drawing come to life. Its eyes were hollow, and its body twisted like it was made of shadows. Prinon backed away, his pulse racing.

Then, a whisper filled the room, soft but cold, like a breath on the back of his neck.

"You all have one minute left."

The voice slithered through the air, sending a chill down Prinon's spine.

"The last one to survive… gets to leave this room. Each kill earns you an extra minute to breathe."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, one of the boys stood up, his face twisted in madness. Without warning, he grabbed a steel ruler from his desk and plunged it into another student's chest. Blood splattered across the floor as the boy let out a guttural scream, clutching his heart as life drained from his body.

"The hell are you doing?!" another boy shouted, trying to pull the attacker away, but he was shoved back. Chaos erupted.

The killer raised his foot, kicking the other boy in the face with brutal force, knocking him to the ground. Then, he brought the ruler down again, this time on the boy's mouth, tearing his face apart in a gruesome, bloody mess. His screams echoed through the room as he choked on his own blood.

Prinon was frozen, his mind reeling. But before he could react, the crazed boy turned his attention to him. With a wild look in his eyes, the attacker lunged at Prinon, swinging the ruler at his chest.

But before he could process what had happened, the attacker's own body began to convulse. His skin turned pale, his lips blue. He gasped for air, clawing at his throat, but no breath came. Within moments, he collapsed, dead.

Prinon stared, his mind struggling to comprehend the nightmare unraveling around him. He glanced down at the ruler in his hand, slick with blood, and realized—*this wasn't real. None of it was real.*

But then, pain exploded in his chest. He looked down to see the last surviving boy, eyes wide with fear and desperation, had stabbed him in the heart. The room spun, his vision blurring as darkness closed in around him.

The boy ran

- ------

Have you ever wished you could stop time? Sounds cool, right? The idea of freezing the world around you while you move freely, untouchable, unaffected. It feels like the ultimate power. Until you realize the one, horrifying truth: while the universe stands still, *you* keep aging. A year for you, a second for everyone else. The weight of that knowledge crushes any sense of control you think you have.

For me, it wasn't just a curse—it was something far worse.

Who am I? My name is Yead. I've never had the life I wanted. Never had a future to look forward to. Never had anyone who truly understood me. Well, that last part isn't entirely true. There was one person, just one, who actually understood me. My best friend. My only friend.

But let me take you back to where it all began.

My parents—what can I even call them? Monsters? That doesn't seem strong enough. They practiced black magic, made deals with demons, all for one purpose: to grant me the ability to stop time. They said it was a gift, but I learned the hard way that it was more of a death sentence.

You see, that "gift" is the reason my soul left my body before I ever died. Sounds unbelievable, right? But that's my reality. My body kept walking around, kept living like any other person, except it had one key difference—it didn't have a soul inside it. It was just a shell. A hollow vessel.

And me? I wandered. My soul, torn from my body, drifted through this twisted world, searching for something—*anything*—to hold onto. I couldn't just vanish. Not yet. I wasn't ready. My existence couldn't end like this.

That's when I found it. The old sketchbook.

It had been a gift from my one and only friend. My best friend. The only person who ever cared about me, who ever saw me for who I was. He gave me that sketchbook, not knowing what it would become. But in the end, it became my vessel. My prison. My salvation. I poured myself into it, my very soul merging with the pages. I became something… else.

We live in a slum, even though my family has money. The irony, right? Surrounded by filth and decay, while we hoard wealth from the shadows. But none of it matters. My parents—those wretched creatures—force me to use my abilities to rob banks, museums, whatever they can get their hands on. They don't care about the cost. They don't care that I'm slowly breaking, that with each moment I stop time, I lose a little more of myself.

They want to keep it all a secret. Even from my best friend. He has no idea. No idea what I've done, what I've become. If he knew the truth, it would destroy him. He'd never look at me the same way again. He'd hate me.

I hate me.

But now, with the sketchbook in my possession, everything's different. It's no longer just a book—it's my world. My power. My *story*. Inside its pages, I can create entire worlds. I can write my own destiny. Live the life I've always wanted. I can be free, even if only for a little while.

You're probably wondering who that best friend of mine is. His name is Arindom Das.

And he has no idea about the darkness I carry within me.