Darkness.
Not the kind that brings rest.
But the kind that suffocates.
Still. Eternal. Oppressive.
William Carter opened his eyes to nothing. No flicker of light. No sound. Not even the comfort of breathing. Just a vast, soundless black.
And yet, his mind raced.
New Year's cheer... the blinding headlights... the twisting of metal... the scream—was it his own? Then the pain... then, silence.
His lips moved before he could process the words.
"So I got in an accident..."
He blinked. No change. No reaction. Just the infinite dark pressing against him.
"Am I in a hospital?" he murmured, expecting the beeping of machines, the sterile scent of antiseptic, the weight of bandages.
But there was nothing. Not even the dull ache of injury.
"Why is there no light? Why can't I feel anything?" His voice trembled now. "Where... am I?"
His mind clawed for answers, but none came.
Only one thing was certain: he was not here, wherever here was.
Suddenly—an image bloomed in front of him like smoke revealing memory.
A room.
Familiar. Painfully so.
His flat.
The one he had bought for himself and Astar.
The one that once echoed with shared laughter.
And then only his silent cries.
He stood in it now.
But it felt wrong. The walls were blurred. The corners shifted like mist. The air hung heavy, humid, suffocating.
"I know this place…" he whispered, dragging his feet across the faded wooden floor, heading toward the balcony door. "I know this place better than my own hands."
He reached for the handle.
His hand moved. Touched it.
But—nothing.
No pressure. No weight. No feeling.
His eyes widened in realization.
"I can move… but I can't feel my body?"
"I can see… but I can't touch the world?"
His breath hitched.
Then the thought hit him like ice down his spine.
"Am I... dead?"
"Is this all that remains? Just… consciousness?"
As if his thoughts triggered it, the air grew colder, thick with something unspoken. He stumbled backward, leaning against the door, facing the dim, haunting stillness behind him.
His eyes fell upon the oval mirror resting against the right closet.
He walked toward it. Slowly.
Afraid. Curious. Desperate.
His own face looked back at him.
But... it smiled.
William's heart skipped. His face wasn't smiling. He wasn't smiling.
But the reflection was. A wide, knowing grin. Cold. Sinister.
He froze. Then, panic.
"What… what the hell are you?" he shouted. "Why are you smiling? How can you—"
The reflection moved.
Not mimicking.
Moving on its own.
And then it spoke.
The voice was sharp—like a whisper dragged over a blade.
"I am you."
"The you that you've buried."
William took a step back, eyes wide with disbelief. "No… no, I—"
"Yes."
The voice cut through him.
"You buried me beneath your emotion. You smothered me with your fantasy. And now, at the very end, you've no choice but to face me."
William shook his head. "What do you mean 'very end'? Why would I bury any part of me?"
The reflection chuckled, its grin widening.
"Because I was inconvenient. I asked questions. I saw patterns. I warned you. But you... you listened to your heart. The traitorous lump of lies and desperation."
"Stop," William said, voice low, unsure if pleading or warning.
"You ignored the signs, William."
The reflection's eyes sharpened.
"You chose not to see. All for her."
His fists clenched. "What signs? What the hell are you talking about?"
The mirror shimmered. Memories burst forth like cracks in glass.
The night she went out for a "girls' night"... the male voice on the call.
Her excuse—it was just her friend's father.
That laugh—muted, but mocking.
The day she went to the city center "with her family"... the 26 ignored calls.
His gut churning. The silence. The doubt. The pain.
William dropped to his knees.
"No…" he whispered.
The reflection leaned closer, its grin fading into cold clarity.
"Yes. You knew. You just refused to admit it."
"You chose daydreams over truth. You chose the illusion of love over self-respect."
He slammed his fist on the floor, but again—no sound. No sensation.
"I loved her!" he screamed.
"Love?" the reflection hissed.
"You loved being loved. You feared loneliness. And in that fear, you let yourself be bled dry."
Tears welled in William's eyes. His voice cracked.
"What should I do, then?"
The reflection paused. For a moment, its features softened—not in pity, but understanding.
"You're a soul now. A consciousness. Nothing holds you back."
It stepped back from the mirror.
"The only question left... is what do you want?"
Silence.
Then, something ancient stirred within him. Not sorrow. Not despair.
Will.
He stood—eyes burning with something deeper than rage or pain.
"I want to live."
"I want to fight."
"I want to be seen."
His voice echoed across the walls.
"I am William Carter. And I am HERE!"
And the darkness cracked.
A sliver of light erupted from the void, blinding, pure, singing with energy. The humid weight dissolved. The walls of the flat shattered into dust. The reflection smiled—this time, not with scorn, but with finality—and vanished.
As William stepped into the light, a sound followed him, like a memory stitched into time. A melody. A whisper of hope.
(Climb Climb atop the hills
that clouds your judgement
and accept how it fills
Run Run towards light
If you still have courage
and will to fight)