Whispers in the Dark

As soon as he stepped out of the university gates, his facial expression tightened and shifted. His thoughts, like heavy ropes, were thrown into the depths of the earth.

He plunged into a deep sea of turbulent ideas, which assaulted him from all directions, while he swung between one thought and another.

The pain grew gradually as he moved further away from the university corridors. The mask he wore fell to the ground, and he transformed into someone else, no longer the young man aspiring for success and redemption, but an old, shriveled creature screaming from within.

He took a few steps away from the university walls and sat on a bench in the green park, a place he always saw as enveloped in complete darkness. As he looked at the barren, black grass in front of him, the moment quickly shifted to an entirely different world—a world he despised and refused to enter.

Suddenly, he found himself immersed in a very dark realm, standing inside a small, filthy room reeking of poverty and despair. As he surveyed the scattered, worn-out furniture around him, the glass of water on the table began to move wildly without being touched. The movements grew more intense, and droplets of water sprayed in all directions. Then, suddenly, the glass exploded on its own, shards of glass flying everywhere. One sharp fragment shot toward his pale face, slicing deep into his cheek, leaving a gash.

Before the blood could even spill from the wound, the scene around him shifted rapidly. Though still in the same room, the atmosphere grew even darker. In the dim light, he barely made out two figures violently fighting. His eyes darted cautiously, and he recognized the voices—his parents. The image cleared, and he confirmed it was indeed them! They were hurling insults at each other, flinging glass objects after bitter, hurtful words. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold, as shards of glass flew from their hands, striking him alone.

After a vicious argument, his parents finally noticed their son, his face pale and expressionless. Yet this only drove them to target him directly! They lunged at him, throwing shards of glass at him mercilessly, while his body was drenched in blood. His face showed no reaction, remaining as still as a rock, unflinching as the glass struck his eyes. At that moment, his parents stopped hurling the glass and immediately reached for a new weapon.

His father let out a weak, bitter scream, "Damn you! Ever since you were born, our lives have been hell! I wish I had killed her before she gave birth to you!"

Moments of silence followed as the son absorbed the weight of his father's words, which echoed repeatedly in his mind. Suddenly, without warning, tears mixed with blood began to flow from his glass-pierced eyes. His anger slowly boiled over, his fiery red eyes transforming into a raging volcano. He stared at his parents with a look of terrifying hatred that could move mountains!

Suddenly, he ran wildly toward them, his intent clear as a rushing river in his eyes, screaming hysterically. Before he could reach his parents, his screams intensified, swallowing everything around him… and then, everything vanished.

He found himself lying next to the park bench, with everyone staring at him. He quickly stood up, dusted off his clothes, and walked away.

He reached his rented apartment, and before he could open the door, he heard distant yelling. He didn't even turn to look; he knew it was his landlord, the same landlord to whom he hadn't paid rent for four months. He entered his modest apartment and slammed the door shut. Throwing himself onto the worn-out couch, he sank deep into thought. Moments later, he heard loud banging on his door, crazy knocks that almost tore the door off its hinges. The landlord shouted, "Listen! You son of a b****! This is your last month here, and if you don't pay me before you leave, you're going straight to jail!"

He didn't care about the landlord's problems or his threats. He stretched out on the couch, trying to relax his muscles, and after a while, the storm outside subsided, and the landlord left.

The room was empty, decorated with only a few pieces of worn-out furniture. There was no television, and the apartment's living room featured a large window that let in some faint light from the city, illuminating the otherwise dark, vacant room. He slumped back on the couch, swaying, with his hand covering his eyes as if he were blaming himself for his current situation.

It had already been four years at the university, and still, he hadn't earned his degree. His parents' relationship had deteriorated, and their marriage had turned into a bitter memory; they divorced two years ago. He had promised his mother that he would take care of her, but he had failed to keep that promise. Now, he found himself without a real job and no source of income. His mother was struggling, homeless, and searching for work despite her failing health and old age. As for his father, he hadn't heard from him since the divorce, and they hadn't spoken in years. He blamed himself for this miserable situation, feeling like time was devouring him mercilessly, consuming him from every angle.

In reality, he was in a world without time or reality, drifting in the overwhelming currents that had swept him far from existence and everything happening around him.

Drowning in this deep, painful swamp of thoughts, he decided to escape his reality by sleeping. He slept without a care, sincerely hoping that this time, he would never wake up again.

… His left arm was completely severed, yet he felt no pain or hardship. His attention was consumed by the road as he gazed out of the car window, his focus shifting frantically between the lush green trees and the beautiful scenery surrounding him. He ignored the throbbing ache in the corner of his mangled left arm.

Suddenly, time seemed to freeze as he spotted a solitary, completely dead tree standing out amongst the vibrant, living green forest. This strange tree was entirely different, its branches twisted and lifeless, standing in stark contrast to the lush, healthy trees around it. It seemed to grow without the need for fertile soil or favorable conditions, its roots digging resolutely into a rock—a rock as solid as a fortress entrenched in a silent revelation. The long passage of time had left its brutal mark on the tree's torn and violently cracked form. The rock it grew from was a deep, dead gray, a testament to the relentless march of time.

Suddenly, an excruciating headache forced him out of his sleep and out of the dream. The persistent sound of his alarm blared, indicating it was 7:20 a.m.

He jumped up from the couch, still exhausted from the grueling day before, which had ended with the landlord's screams.

"Damn it, damn it! It's Thursday. I have to get to work. I'm already late! Damn this wretched life…"