The 0-Hour Whisper
June 24th. 6:00 AM.
The morning didn't start with an alarm.
It started with silence.
Not the kind that comforts.
The kind that suffocates.
No birds.
No footsteps in the hallway.
Not even the hum of the dorm refrigerator.
The air felt tight, like the world was holding something in.
Like breath before a scream.
I sat up, sweat already on my neck.
And that's when I heard it.
A whisper.
Right next to my ear.
No mouth. No breath. Just words—
"Zero hour."
My skin went cold.
---
I thought I was hallucinating.
But when I looked outside, the sky confirmed it:
The world was wrong again.
It was blue, yes. But a static blue.
Too still.
Like the sky had been paused, frozen between frames.
Clouds didn't drift.
Wind didn't move.
And sunlight? It shined, but it didn't warm anything.
Even sound was thinner.
I opened the window, expecting to hear birds, cars, students…
But there was nothing.
No crows.
That's when I realized:
All the crows were gone.
Hundreds that watched the world yesterday — vanished.
I didn't know which was worse.
Them being here… or not.
---
Breakfast felt like a dream.
People smiled too wide.
Voices were too high, too rehearsed.
One guy even laughed out loud at nothing.
It wasn't normal behavior.
It was a performance.
Like something was watching — and everyone was pretending not to notice.
The whispers started around the edges.
About the girl from yesterday.
"Seizure."
"Possession."
"She said something about fire."
"She screamed something."
But no one knew exactly what she whispered before it happened.
Except me.
Because I'd heard the same words this morning.
"Zero hour."
---
I didn't go to class.
Instead, I wandered.
Something was pulling me — like I was walking downhill even on flat ground.
It led me to the back of the lecture hall.
To a trash bin, nearly empty.
And right there, half-burned, was her notebook.
I picked it up carefully.
The cover was still warm.
The center pages were charred from the inside out, like the fire had started in the spine.
Ink melted. Edges curled.
But one page near the back was untouched.
Pencil. Rough letters. No name.
Just one line:
"When it blinks, don't look up."
---
The rest of the day passed like a blur.
I couldn't focus. I couldn't relax.
That night, the clouds finally moved.
Not slowly — suddenly. Like they'd been ripped open.
A thin white gash spread across the sky.
A cut.
Like someone had sliced open the atmosphere with a blade of light.
It didn't glow.
It didn't pulse.
It watched.
Not with eyes — but with intention.
A few students saw it too. I know they did.
I saw the way they stopped. Looked up. Went pale.
One even dropped their phone.
And for just a second…
I thought I saw something behind it.
Something alive.
---
I couldn't sleep.
Again.
Not because I wasn't tired.
But because I didn't feel alone.
The room was dark. My eyes were closed.
But I knew something was near.
And just as I was drifting, it whispered again.
From inside my head this time.
"Judgement begins with silence."
---
I woke up gasping.
And I swear —
For just a heartbeat — the moon blinked.
---
> Next: Chapter 15 – Blinking Heaven