ALGORITHM IS GOD

God is the algorithm. Furthermore, God abandoned him.

 Aarav's vision becomes blurry as he looks at the television. His heart beats violently inside his skull.

 It's loading.

 He holds his breath. He shouldn't be so afraid.

 It's only a number.

 Only a rank.

 Only a—

 Ranking #53.

 He pulls in his tummy.

 No. That's— It's an error.

 He reloads the webpage.

 Once more.

 And once more.

 #67.

 His throat choked.

 His fingers are white as he holds the mouse.

 He refreshes after clicking. It clicks and refreshes.

 The number continues to decline.

 🔻 #84.

 No, no, no, no.

 His chest collapses.

His breathing becomes quick and limited, as if he is constantly running out of air.

 His hands shake. He reloads.

 Nothing is changed.

 His book is disappearing. fading. fading into darkness.

 His creation. His restless evenings. His self-sacrifice.

 It's all for naught.

 His ears begin to ring dullly.

 He has a light body. detached.

 He is unable to understand what is happening.

 Everything he does is correct.

 He writes every day.

 He sticks to the timetable.

 He exerts himself to the limit.

 His eyes burned. His fingers burned. His spirit hurts.

 However, the algorithm—

 The algorithm is indifferent.

 It worships nothing but the highest point.

 It only bows down to popular novels.

 It is immune to effort.

 Passion is irrelevant to it.

 It is passive to him.

 God is the algorithm.

 Furthermore, God rejected him.

Aarav takes a deep breath. He digs into his hairline with his fingertips.

 There is an oppressive crushing weight in his chest.

 His heart is beating constantly—

 As if it's trying to get away.

 as he is.

 A whisper creeps into his head.

 "You're falling."

 "You're failing."

 "You're disappearing."

 His mind goes awry. He shudders.

 His book is dying.

 If his book doesn't make it—

 He passes away.

 The room's shadows seem closer.

 It flickers on the screen.

 The screen's words distort. Turn. Bleed.

 There are new alerts.

 🔔 "Your novel is dropping in rankings."

 🔔 "Maintain daily updates or risk removal from trending."

 🔔 "Failure to meet contract terms may result in penalties."

 His eyes spiral.

 He gasps.

 He has burns on his flesh.

 His nails sink into the wood as he holds onto the desk.

He must take a breath.

 He can't, though.

 Aarav's eyesight blurs as he looks at the screen.

 The words become meaningless noise as they blend together.

 His fingers shake over the keyboard, typing meaningless sentences automatically.

 He feels as though every phrase is taking something away from him.

 It's as like he is pouring his soul into a nothingness that absorbs everything and returns nothing.

 The characters are dead.

 The narrative—no purpose.

 The passion is gone.

 He no longer gives a damn.

 Nor do they.

 Section for Comments:

 "This is getting boring."

 "Author-nim, are you even trying anymore?"

 "Drop this novel if you can't write properly."

 "What a shame... I had great expectations.

He feels a hole in himself.

 His stomach rotates.

 His throat choked.

 His hands become painful, but they continue to shake.

 His heart beats loudly, violently, and incorrectly against his skull.

 He holds on to his hair tightly, his nails biting into his scalp as if he were trying to remove the strain from his head.

 However, it refuses to go.

 It will not cease.

 The words stretch and twist, turning into something confusing as the screen flickers.

 Something teasing.

 Something living.

 Like a stranger, his own story looks back at him.

 Like something that he no longer recognizes.

 They feel like ghosts, the characters he used to love.

 Dead, cold, and empty.

 And perhaps he is as well.

 Perhaps that's all he's turning into.

 A device.

 A shell.

 A ghost.

 His head is under increasing pressure. More volume. heavier. Cruel.

"Stop. Simply stop.

 It won't stop, though.

 There will always be deadlines.

 The algorithm is unstoppable.

 The voices will not go away.

 He requires help.

 He must leave.

 He must—

 Inhale.

 Aarav lets out a gasp.

 His lungs are burning. His chest gets pinched.

 He briefly questions whether he is still genuine.

 if his body is still his own.

 Or if he's now just a cog in the wheel—

 A system mechanism that grinds itself to dust.

Simply said, go to sleep.

 But there is no sleep.

 Aarav's body is worn out but his mind is alert as he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling.

 He keeps hearing the psychiatrist's remarks in his mind.

 "You need a break."

 Take a break?

 He nearly laughs.

 He vanishes if he pauses.

 His dream fades if he vanishes.

 And he dies if his dream dies.

 He snaps his fingers.

 His heart will not stop beating.

 He closes his eyes tightly.

 Simply go to sleep.

 Simply take a nap.

 Please.

 His muscles cry out for relief as his body hurts, but his mind—his mind—won't stop talking.

 The room changes in some way.

A shadow.

 observing.

 Waiting for.

 He gasps.

 No. No, it's only in his imagination. He's worn out. Stressed. nervous. That's all.

 He turns over on his side and squeezes his eyes shut.

 He'll go to sleep.

 He must go to bed.

 However, then—

 Click.

 The screen of his laptop flickers to life.

 Aarav's body tightens.

 Everything is painted an unsettling shade of blue by the sparkle that spreads throughout the pitch-black space.

 His stomach churns.

 With hesitation, he turns his head slowly.

 His writing platform is visible on the screen.

 The blank document has a flashing cursor waiting.

 Awaiting.

 anticipating.

 Compose.

 He senses that even though the word isn't there.

 He hears it.

Through the quiet, a whisper moves.

 "Did you think success was free?"

 His throat tightens every breath.

 The air seems heavier.

 The walls are nearer.

 Aarav grips the sheets tightly.

 "Just sleep."

 His body refuses to respond to his reminders.

 Something is hiding at the outside of his vision.

 The shadow.

 It's nearer.

 It's always nearer.

 Sweat seeping through his shirt, his chest heaving, he leaps to his feet.

 The screen of his laptop is still shining.

 The blank paper is still pending.

 The cursor continues to blink.

 Then—

 Tap, tap, tap.

 There's a sentence.

 "You don't get to rest."

 Aarav's heart is icy.

 His hands shake.

 In his ears, his pulse thuds.

 That wasn't typed by him.

 He didn't—

 It flickers on the screen. The text becomes unrecognizable as it warps, twists, and changes.

alien.

 False.

 The darkness around him vibrates.

 The walls are long.

 The air bends.

 The murmur reappears.

 This time, closer.

 next to his ear.

 "Write."

 Aarav's breath catches in his throat.

 His body is immobile.

 The screen of his laptop gets brighter.

 blinding.

 overwhelming.

 Eating.

 His brain yells—

 Then—

 darkness.