A surge of humidity and a deathly silence surround me.
'Where am I?'
This question flew into my mind as soon as I regained consciousness, and I found myself submerged in pitch darkness, unable to see anything.
I tried to move my body or utter a word, but my limbs didn't respond to my commands. I felt as though I was shackled, unable to make any movement.
I attempted to summon my memory to understand what had happened before this state, but my thoughts got lost in a thick fog, as if millions of images had converged at once, blurring together.
I repeated my attempts many times to escape or even make a sound, but all were in vain, so I paused for a moment.
Minutes, hours, or perhaps days passed—I couldn't tell the time, as it seemed an ambiguous and imperceptible matter.
The feelings of hunger and thirst didn't bother me, nor did the strange wall prevent me from breathing; although it completely surrounded me on all sides, with no gaps to let air in, which was a strange thing, yet it confined my movements entirely.
Accompanying this wall was a sensation of light humidity wrapping around my body and a gentle warmth enveloping me. I also felt slight tremors occasionally pressing in on me.
These sensations didn't help much, as I couldn't see, hear, or smell; it was as though my senses had vanished, or as if I had never possessed them at all.
I asked myself:
'Am I really dead? Then how did I get here? And if I'm not dead, where am I?'
As seconds or minutes—I'm not sure—passed, and the regular tremors continued, the fog in my consciousness began to lift gradually, and I felt an increasing connection between myself and my body. Though I was happy with this, a strange feeling crept in that I didn't know how to describe.
This sensation grew stronger the more my connection to what I assumed was my body deepened. Why do I say that? Because the feeling that my body gave me was different from what I was used to, as if it wasn't my body at all, as if I were wearing new clothes that didn't fit me.
But despite the fragility of this body, I was still alive, or so I thought.
Next to the solid wall, there was a thin barrier wrapping around me, like a delicate handkerchief, preventing any free movement.
My situation remained this way, and my awareness of my body and the strength of my senses increased.
The same sensations—humidity, warmth, the thin membrane, and the wall—and of course, let's not forget the usual movements that shifted my position from time to time, which had become somewhat of a guide to the passage of time.
It was also noteworthy that I, or so I believe, could barely distinguish between day and night: during the day, a faint light filtered through the wall, along with some muffled noise, but it gave me a simple sense of time. At night, however, the silence was much deeper, penetrated only by the steady beat of my heart.
As my senses grew sharper, I began to sense an external presence on the other side of the wall—and I suspected it was the cause of the tremors that occurred from time to time—not the wall or the membrane surrounding me, but something that prevented sounds from reaching me, making them muffled and indistinct.
'Alright... let's sleep for a bit,' I thought to myself, as an attempt to pass the time.
'And here we are, starting a new day with all our energy,' I thought, yawning... Well, I imagined myself yawning, and I also imagined another day passing by. I didn't even have the freedom to nod my head.
After a moment, I thought to myself,
'Looks like I'll spend another day in this desolate silence.'
I noticed that I spoke to myself a lot, but there was nothing I could do about it, my friends. What else could I do? I didn't want to go mad. At first, I only spoke to myself, and then I imagined there were others with me, listening to me.
The problem was that it didn't stop there. My condition worsened when I started pretending that I was the hero of a novel, explaining my situation to the readers so they would understand what was happening.
Do you see where this has led me now?
'I don't even know who I'm talking to now. It seems I'll go mad before I uncover the truth of my situation.'
Time passed as usual; nothing new to mention except the humidity... the warmth... the thin membrane... the wall... and the external barrier, which I believe is the source of the tremors I feel from time to time.
'Am I in Attack on Titan? What's with all these barriers?'
It's worth mentioning that I reorganized my memories once again, for I had nothing before me but a deadly void and a suffocating silence that pushed me toward two options: diving deep into thoughts no one would ever imagine, or drifting into the whirlpool of madness.
There was no clue explaining my strange predicament; the last thing I remembered was being on the verge of a fancy dinner I hadn't even started yet, with a piece of meat dancing in my imagination while here I was, struggling to find an escape!
It was supposed to be my perfect day off: my mood was at its peak, and my plans for the day had been set for months, as if they were an investment deal— a house arranged as if it were a luxurious museum, provisions enough to feed nine hungry families, a collection of my favorite films, including the latest, all neatly scheduled in the new TV's watch list, which I needed an instruction manual longer than the shopping list to operate!
'Everything was perfect...'
I wasn't against the idea of death, honestly. But… wouldn't it have been better if it had delayed just a bit? At least until I had a single bite of Jack!
'I haven't even tasted Jack yet…!'
Man! I've aged for this moment, and now I'm dying, or whatever this is, without even a bite? That's cruel.
By the way, Jack or Sir Jack, isn't a human. Jack is a rooster. Yes, a real rooster… with a name and a story.
When I used to help my grandfather on his farm, some chicks hatched. I decided to take care of one of them myself. Jack was the chosen one, and lucky for him—or me—it was a rooster.
I really loved Jack, and I took care of him from the moment he was a tiny chick to the delicious rooster that would eventually be roasted on my dinner table.
I raised Jack like a member of the family… in fact, I took better care of him than some of my own relatives. I considered him my son, the one I never had.
Gourmet food, a special space, warm baths, occasional feather massages. I even played him classical music while he slept after telling him his favorite stories.
I didn't deprive Jack of anything. I even set aside time each day to talk to him, watching his weight grow with pride, as if I were sculpting a statue with my hands.
He became fatter and bigger than any rooster I had ever seen. I spent months searching for the best recipes, the finest spices, and the perfect cooking method for Jack. It took months of sweat, sleepless nights, care, and attention to make him a gourmet delicacy.
I wanted him to be unforgettable. Something that surpassed all the meals of global cooking shows.
But the irony?
Here I am, not even sure if I'm alive or dead, but one thing's for certain: I was hungry, and Jack… is being eaten without me.
'I'm sorry, my friend. I'm really sorry, Jack… I didn't even get to taste you…'
I wiped away a tear that wasn't actually there—or at least, I imagined it—because I couldn't move. But deep inside, I wished my feelings could reach him... wherever he was.
I whispered to myself:
'Please, don't let them put ketchup on him. We agreed on garlic and honey sauce.'
Just then, Na'ir felt a vague noise, louder than usual, followed by a sudden violent tremor, and chaotic sounds. A sensation of being lifted from his position before ending with a heavy crash, causing the wall that had surrounded him for so long to crack and break.
He tried to comprehend what had happened as his body shook violently, signaling the end of the calm he had become accustomed to.
'What's happening?'
It felt like he had just ridden the fiercest roller coaster of his life.
"Arufa, Tama Etti… Ya Koi."
In the midst of this turmoil, he heard strange murmurs before being gently lifted again, as if someone was carrying him tenderly.
The familiar warmth and calm returned, but things were different now. The wall he had been used to was no longer intact; it had become a cracked mosaic, missing pieces, corroded. The membrane that had contained him... had torn as well.
As the shock gradually faded, and his consciousness began to reorganize, hope returned, and he thought,
'Maybe this is my chance to break free.'
But something deep inside him—a faint voice or an instinctual feeling—tried to warn him:
'Not yet… This isn't the time to leave.'
However, he ignored it. Whatever this barrier was, it no longer deserved its name and no longer served its purpose.
He began his new attempts, determined to break what remained of it and claim his freedom.
He focused all his effort on breaking through the barrier, pushing it time and time again. He felt it crumble, and then he heard parts of it falling around him.
With continued pressure, the barrier finally collapsed.
A wave of light, sound, and smells surged toward him, overwhelming his being in an instant, and his senses returned all at once.
'Finally... I'm free.'