The absolute darkness enveloped everything.
From the deep inside there was a terrible noise—men, women, and children screaming.
A cacophony of sounds that was no longer human. Just noise. Panic. The air was rent by fear.
And then—
He was awake.
His vision was filled with the ground. Broken stone. Soil. Cinders.
It was only then that he understood—the screams were not far away. They were very close. The very close ones he heard. The ones who were running. The ones who were fall down and not getting up anymore.
He made an attempt to run.
But there was no change.
His body was not cooperating. It felt heavy, wrong, as if it were not his anymore. He made an attempt to lift his head. It didn't happen. He tried again. Still no result. He was frozen. It was as if someone had laid him on the ground and then left him there like a statue.
He tried to articulate his thoughts.
To yell.
To demand an explanation for what was happening.
To shout for help.
His voice was the only thing that was silent.
He felt like his mouth was shut, as if someone had sewn it mouth. The panic that he felt was like a dagger, swift and piercing, and it was pressing down on his chest so hard that he found it painful to breathe.
What is the reason for me being here?
Why am I unable to move?
He made himself slow down and think. If he could just remember—who he was, where he had been before this—maybe it would be clearer.
The instant he reached for his memories—
Nothing.
Just emptiness. No past. No face. No name.
As if he had never been before this moment.
He noticed the movement.
A child girl appeared in front of him, her feet unsteady, and she was trying to carry another child on her back who was heavy for her. She gently laid him on the ground and helped him to sit upright. The girl's hands were trembling. She was sobbing, but her attempts to mask it were futile.
He just kept looking at her.
He wanted to do something. To offer his help. Just do anything.
But he could not see his own body. He could not move. And he could not even be sure if he was truly there.
The girl lost her temper.
"Are we going to die?" she murmured with a tiny, quivering voice. "What is going on?"
The boy next to her did a teardrop trick with his sleeve and kept forcefully steadying his voice.
"No," he replied. "Nothing's going to happen. They'll come. Always do."
She refused to believe him, crying even more.
"Nobody's coming. They'll murder us."
The boy raised his hand and indicated.
Right to him.
"See," he said. "They will rescue us just as before."
The girl looked where he was pointing.
Not at him.
Right through him.
That was when it dawned on her.
He was invisible to them.
The revelation shook him like a hard blow. He just stood there for a moment frozen. What was it that made them blind to him? The mere thinking of it was such a strong feeling that his chest got tight. He closed his eyes, and tears started rolling silently down his cheeks. He would have wanted to cry out. To ask them to see him. To allow him to assist.
He was about to utter a word—
Then came silence.
No yelling.
No running around.
No breathing.
The stillness was more unbearable than the tumult.
Gradually, he opened his eyes anew, not comprehending the reason why everything was so quiet.
And then it happened.
From the position of his face lying against the floor, the only thing he could see was very near to him. Blood collecting on the broken stone. Bodies being torn and lying very still. The two children near him—vanished. The boy was trying to protect the girl using his whole being.
The effort was worthless.
Before he became aware that he was crying, tears had already begun to flow out of his eyes. After that, he experienced it—his own body collapsing, the nauseating feeling of separation, his head no longer being in the right place.
Anxiety was gone.
Only fury was there.
He fixed his gaze upward with all the strength he had, longing to find out what had caused this. To understand what had ravaged everything.
A black streak shot through the atmosphere—
Directly into his sight.
He screamed as he came back to life.
It was his room. The window was letting in the light of the morning. His clothes were drenched in sweat, and his heart was pounding as if it wanted to come out of his body.
His clock radio was going off right next to his head. Outside the birds were singing.
His mother from the ground floor shouted, her voice showing that she was worried.
"Advay, Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, though his voice was not very trustworthy. "Just a dream."
He went through the motions of getting ready for school, but the shadow loomed over him.
These dreams were not going away. They were more and more vivid.
Showering, he was thinking all the time about the dream over again. Normally, his dreams had been pretty boring, with kids playing, people laughing, and everything being clear and simple. But this was a different case. He had not been able to see it clearly. He had the nightmare of feeling powerless, and the nightmare feeling wouldn't go away. What was this about? What was going on?
He stepped out of the shower, still in a daze. While he was putting on his clothes, his mother yelled from downstairs, "Are you coming down? Hurry up or you will be late again!" Just the usual morning reprimand.
He didn't pay attention to the thoughts, got dressed, and behaved as if it was a common day. He then rushed downstairs, took the toast from his mother that was meant for him, drank milk, did a quick touch of his mother's feet as a sign of respect, and ran out the door with the toast still in his mouth. He climbed on his bike and rode to school, trying to convince himself that it was just another day—even though that dream still hung around in the back of his mind.
After he bicycles away, we watch him reach the school. He is the nice child whom everyone is familiar with, the one who gets surrounded by a number of "Hey, Advay, how's it going?" and so forth as he enters. He grins and engages in little talk back, trying to act all casual. Apparently, he is just as joyful, easily mixing with friends and classmates.
However, with the passing of time his feeling is that he is under pressure. That nightmare was more tiring for him than he knew, not in a physical way but a mental one. After a few lessons he feels somewhat shaky, a certain sort of tiredness is pulling at him. Thus, he takes the usual way out of that situation—he erects his textbook as a tiny wall, places his head behind it and allows himself to be carried away. The wind from the window is soothing to his eyelids.
Then, there it is again. He goes back into that same dream without effort. The same cries, the same weird noises. Just when the terror in the dream reaches its peak, he suddenly wakes up, and the very first thing he notices is his teacher towering over him, wearing a very displeased look. She scolds him for taking a nap during the lesson and asks him to get up.
While Advay was buried in sleep at his desk, the dream had come to him in pieces this time. It was not a complete picture—only the crying faces, fear, and despair of the villagers flashed by him. He got the faded images of the kids, their faces marked by tears, and then the terrible understanding that they had left for good. It was like a sequence of dark and flashing pictures that beat his heart faster and faster and, finally, he woke up with a shock.
He stared at his teacher, who was certainly not happy. She began to chew him out for his sleeping during the lesson, directing him to stay outdoors as a form of punishment. And Advay, still rattled with the nightmare's not-so-distant visuals, stood up attempting to shake off the fearsome feeling of something being very, very abnormal. When he found himself outside the classroom, deep in thoughts, a friend from another group came up to him with a smile.
Advay managed a weak smile and replied, "yes, I think so." They talked a little, it was just small talk to brighten up the situation. The Physical Education teacher then came and said that everybody should go back to class.
When the friend was about to exit, he shouted from the back, "Remember, we have that cricket match after school. Meet at the ground!"
Advay nodded, thinking that perhaps a little bit of game and outdoor would be enough to temporarily distract him from these weird feelings.
Thus, afterwards, Advay lingered for the last bell to ring, but the final period was with that same teacher who had caught him dozing off before.The teacher kept him back for a short time after the class merely to give him a little speech—nothing too hard, just a reminder that he shouldn't be sleeping and that he was a good student who needed to be awake. The teacher justified the punishment as being solely for the purpose of helping the student to remember not to fall asleep again, and then finally released him. Advay quickly took his bag and ran out to the back playground, as he was already about 15-20 minutes late. When he finally reached his friends, he laughed and said, "Sorry guys, the teacher stopped me." They mocked him, saying, "Yeah, yeah. the same old excuses!"
One of the guys, however, just gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and assured him, "No need to worry. We are the first to bat which means I go in first. You can take your time and come when you are ready." Advay acknowledged him with a nod, and he felt a little less tense now that the situation was turning in his favor.
Advayt took a seat on the ground's edge with his elbows resting on his knees. His chest still felt heavy, though gradually he was able to regain control over his breath. The game continued in front of him—players yelling, bat hitting the ball, and some people laughing observing the game.
For some time, he just gazed at the scene.
A player made a good hit, and the boys at the boundary rejoiced loudly. Advay felt the smile coming to his face without his thinking. It was a nice feeling. It was a good day for noise that could not annoy him in any way.
He reclined a little, allowing the hot air to play over his face. The dream had turned pale now, kind of like something that was half-remembered. On the ground, everything was clear—rules, chances, victories, and defeats. Nothing like the turmoil he had witnessed before.
"Hey, Advay!" a guy from the field shouted.
He looked up and waved a hand in acknowledgment.
"Get up, hero. You're up next."
He quietly laughed. His shoulders were, for the first time that day, released.
Advay got up, cleaned his pants, put the pads on, and then the pads. He gradually adjusted the straps as he was entering the well-known routine. When he was done and he sat back down for a quick moment, his breath was already even.
Then there was a loud shout that rang through the whole ground.
"OUT!"
The field erupted in cheers. Advay raised his head just in time to witness a fielder's exultation. Someone slapped him on the back.
"That's your turn now, Advay," a friend of his said. "Go ahead."
Advay got off the ground and went on walking to the pitch. While the outgoing batsman was passing, he bent his head and said, "Play cautiously today; the pitch is really rough," in a low voice.
Advay grinned and even tightened his hold on the bat a little more.
"Don't be anxious," he responded in a carefree manner. "Just trust me."
The moment he got to the center of the field, the other batsman shot him a passing glance.
"Is it over?' he wanted to know.
Advay's affirmative gesture came with the words, "Yes, I mean, what could happen to me at all?"
With this, he made his way to the other end.
He assumed the position and slowly took a look around. The fielders were positioned all over the ground; some were crouching, some were relaxing, but all were looking at him. The sound from the boundary lost its importance and became mere background noise.
Advay softly hit the pitch with the tip of his bat.
Once.
Twice.
He did not take his eyes off the ground under his feet.
For an instant, the brown surface seemed to sway.
The broken stone of his nightmare came back into view—faces in agony. The girl. The boy beside her. And then—another glimpse—both lifeless and still.
Dead.
His heart started to race.
"Advay!"
The sound of his name cut through the mist.
He blinked very hard, and the ground became normal again. Grass. Dirt. Pitch lines.
The non-striker was giving him a questioning look.
"Bro, are you alright?"
Advay swallowed and quickly noddled.
"Yeah, yeah, I am okay."
The other batsman's frown was a little bit more visible.
"Then why have you been tapping your bat and at the same time staring at the pitch?"
Advay managed to put on a feeble smile.
"Apologies. I am alright now."
He scrunched his grip, raised his bat, and turned to face the bowler.
Advay was paying attention to the game during the first few balls that were bowled to him. Every ball he dealt with pushed that weird and awkward tension farther back into the background, and soon enough, the match was going on till evening.
Thus, after Advay eassured everyone on the field that he was all right, the contest continued, and nightfall was in the air. In the end, the match finished, and they all celebrated a little, each one congratulating the other on a nice match. They made jokes like, "Hey, Advay, you looked like you were off in dreamland!" and the audience laughed with them. After a little talking and probably a quick snack together, they all went home.
Little by little, the friends' group got smaller during their walking, to each of them turning off to their own street and waving goodbye. Finally, onlyAdvay and the friend who had first spoken to him outside the classroom during the earlier break remained. While they were walking together, that friend said, "Are you sure you're ok? You looked a bit dazed today. If there is anything bothering you, do not hesitate to share."
Advay just waved it aside, he said, "No, no, I am ok. The reason I was not so lively was because I could not sleep well the previous night." The friend gave him a nod and did not go on with it. Shortly after, they arrived at the friend's house, they bid each other farewell, and Advay went on his way.
When he arrived home, he briefed his mother on the day's events, stating they had a good time and performed well. His mom asked if he wanted dinner, but he declined saying he was not hungry because he already had a meal with his friends. He also stated that he had a little bit of studying to do and off he went to his room, using that as an excuse to have some quiet time.
Afterward, when Advay said he was not hungry and went up to his room, he sat at his desk with the textbooks around him. He flipped over a couple of pages trying to focus on the test that was coming up. The house was silent, and for a short time, he performed his study routine. He looked at the clock, sensing the minutes taking their time to pass.
At last, he had to confront the weightiness in his eyes. He calmed himself by saying that if he were to see that village again in his dreams it would be nothing but the usual tranquil images he had been familiar with before—nothing resembling the frightful dream.
Yet, as soon as he lay down and fell asleep, he began perceiving those weak, far-off cries returning. And just as he was sinking into slumber.