Does anything truly not exist?
Or is nonexistence only the absence of discovery?
Does naming something grant it existence?
Can nothing exist if it has not been given a name?
If my name is not heard, do I not exist?
Is Death a certainty if we can only observe, but never experience it during our lives?
How completely out of our understanding does something have to be, before we diminish it to nonexistence?
To say something does not exist is an act of ignorance.
Certainty over existence can absolutely never be had by any being without omniscience.
I lift my head from the burial of my arms.
A brief moment of rest often transforms into a thought prison when the monotony of my classes overtakes me.
I must've slept far too long. The darkness surrounding me is comforting enough to invite ghouls.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, I realize my environment is many things: lifeless, quiet, and carrying a musky smell I couldn't quite label. An oddly rhythmic sound of wind seems to pervade the room. In this unsettling atmosphere, the only thing of certainty is that this was not Parkin High School.
Although there isn't a source of light to speak of, somehow, I'm able to make out some shapes around me. I'm sitting in a chair that seems like it'd shatter if a crow so much as landed on it. The wooden table I had been resting on is in similar condition, in contrast to the sturdy desk I had back at school.
Coming to my senses, I get up to examine my environment—except my left leg is met with unexpected resistance. Feeling down my leg with my hands, my fingers trace a smooth metallic texture. I soon find that it is a manacle connected to a chain, and whatever I'm connected to is heavy enough to completely inhibit movement.
The blood rushing through my head tells me very clearly: I am not dreaming.
My eyes have adjusted enough to make out the thing I'm connected to, to the detriment of my attempts to stay calm.
Separated by merely a few feet of chains sits what seems to be a dense mist of darkness, swirling ominously, about the size of a van.
I soon realize as the figure expands and contracts, that this darkness is alive—each breath amplifying my rising panic.
A hurricane of questions immediately storms in my head.
What is this thing?
How did I end up here?
Where is everybody else from school?
Why was I—
"Prisoner."
A powerful voice rushes my ears, crumbling any thought formations I might've had prior.
My eyes immediately lock onto the darkness embodiment I thought had spoken to me. Terror invades my whole being as I watch the breathing darkness, not daring to speak.
After a few moments of silence—almost as if annoyed—the voice echoes in my head once more:
"Worry not, prisoner. The lowly darkness dweller cannot yet awaken."
Hearing the smooth, powerful voice again, I realize it was not coming from anything surrounding me—but instead directly into my mind.
My heart beats rapidly. "Who... who are you...?" I whisper, barely a breath, still afraid to wake the monster I'm bound to.
The voice reverberates yet again:
"Our name matters not. You have encroached upon our territory, the reason for your captivity."
Confusion.
Shock.
Anger.
Terror.
These emotions swirl inside me as I yell:
"I didn't want to come here!"
Regret strikes me immediately. My eyes widen as I remember my circumstances. Having yelled toward the sky, I slowly turn back to the dark figure—still unable to make it out.
Thankfully, the Voice seemed to be telling the truth; the beast hasn't woken.
"And yet you have, child," the Voice continues. "For this transgression we sentence you to death. You have seven days."
Dread immediately sinks in as I slump to the ground.
Death?
I hadn't even lived. I think back on my eighteen years of life. No friends. No family. No love. No passion.
All I did was breathe.
And now I'm supposed to just die here, chained to this thing?
As if it could hear my thoughts, the Voice again resounds:
"Though I suppose you do have one other option."
My dull eyes spark briefly at hope's reveal. I could almost hear the voice smiling as it smoothly declared—
"You fight, child."
...
A Classroom
I've been teaching at Parkin High for almost four years now. Not to toot my own horn, but the kids absolutely love my classes.
Except Arin, that is.
That boy is an absolute nightmare, I tell you. Won't pay attention for the life of him.
I'd have already raised an issue if not for two things: his being parentless, and his acing of every test I've ever landed on his desk. It's like he gets the answers in his dreams or something. He's taken more naps in class than my newborn takes at home! Look, even now—that boy—
"Mrs. Amy, how do I solve this?" Julie raises her hand, holding out her worksheet and looking at me expectantly.
"One second dear," I reply, walking over toward her. "What do you need help with Julie?"
Scrunching her eyebrows, Julie points at one of the pre-algebra problems she'd been working on. "I'm stuck on this one," she says, with a little frown on her face.
"Oh, with this one..." As I help Julie with her problem, I glance up—and notice something odd.
Across the classroom, Arin is standing.
He's looking right at me.
As he stares at me, it feels as if all my other students had come to a hush. I call out to him, mildly unsettled, "Arin, what's the matter dear?"
He smiles.
I've been teaching Arin for 2 years now. I've seen many sides of that boy: irritated, bored, tired, lonely even. Not once have I seen him smile.
The boy who'd been asleep a moment ago doesn't respond. Instead, he raises his arm, hand outstretched. He closes his hand into a fist—and the classroom erupts in crimson.
It takes a moment for me to comprehend what just happened. My body is painted in crimson mist. Fighting the urge to throw up or faint, I take in the horrific scene before me.
I fall to my knees; what remained of my students were scattered, bloody pieces. Besides my dismembered students, only Arin and I remain—awash in the sea of blood.
I muster my strength to look up at Arin—caught between a "why" and a "how."
Neither leaves my lips.
Finally, Arin speaks:
"It seems I missed one... how odd. This body will need some getting used to."
The voice coming out of Arin's body was deep and inhuman. This thing wearing Arin's skin clearly did not belong here.
I finally muster up the strength to speak to this enigmatic being.
"Why... are you doing this?" I ask, my voice strained.
The being looks at me as if it were looking at an insect.
It brings its fingers close to each other, barely touching, as it releases its voice again:
"You were all... far too loud."
With a pinch of its fingers, Mrs. Amy's life was extinguished.
The being pauses for a moment before looking up toward the ceiling.
It takes a deep breath, seemingly reveling in its accomplishment. As the being breathes out, it smiles:
"So many."
...
Arin's Resolve
Sitting in my decrepit chair, I feel dumbfounded.
Fight?
Fight who? Or what?
The Voice, seemingly responding to my thoughts again, continues: "Prisoner, you have seven days until the darkness dweller awakens. You will fight to the death against other prisoners. Each victory will delay the dweller's awakening."
A chill runs down my spine.
Other prisoners?
Could there have been others thrust into this nightmare?
Were they also chained to these beasts of darkness?
I shudder, grasping the gravity of the Voice's intentions.
I have to kill people?
I haven't even been in a fight—not since I was a kid. Yet now my survival demands murder.
Could I possibly take a life?
Still in shock, I ask a question, already somewhat aware of the answer.
"...And if this thing awakens?" I gesture toward the dark beast.
The Voice echoes in my mind, and with a hint of amusement it simply says, "It will be very hungry."
My stomach lurches as the Voice confirms my suspicions.
Kill to survive—or be eaten by the beast I was chained to.
One question has weighed on my mind, since the moment I found myself in this place.
"How can I return home?" I ask the Voice nervously.
"Your home? Ah... Planet Earth, is it?" The Voice pauses before continuing. "It seems humanity has been annihilated."
...
Annihilated?
My breath caught in my throat.
"By what?" I whisper, half hoping for silence.
Disbelief twists my gut.
What could have possibly happened in the time I've been gone?
Would this hell be my permanent reality?
Could the Voice be lying?
After a moment, the voice curiously responds: "Hmm... we are unsure. Planet Earth has, without a doubt, perished—be it war or some great catastrophe, it matters not. Now, prisoner, answer us: will you fight?"
I stare into the darkness, incredulous. My reality had morphed into something unrecognizable in a heartbeat.
My freedom is gone.
My past is gone.
My planet... is it really gone?
All that remains certain is my will to live.
I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve.
"I will."