06:30 AM.
The gray morning light crept through the gaps in dormitory curtains, creating thin lines across worn wooden floor.
The birds outside began to sing lazily, greeting the new day.
In the distance, the bells of St. Mary's church rang six times. heavy chimes echoing among the old red-brick buildings.
Voltase Watt woke from his sleep with a fresh mind.
But fresh here did not mean clear or calm.
Fresh meant he was fully aware, he was still alive, heart was still beating. that the dream was still stuck in his mind like mucus that couldn't be wiped away.
He lay still for a few seconds, staring at the faded white wooden ceiling with hairline cracks he had memorized.
But something else caught his attention, a sensation still lingering in his chest.
A sensation he did not want to remember, but could not forget.
The burning heat, like molten lead piercing his flesh.
The blood flowing out of his wound, pooling beneath his back, seeping through his uniform, unstoppable.
The numbness creeping slowly, followed by certain, darkening death.
His hand automatically rose to his chest.
He pressed his palm there, feeling his intact skin beneath the navy striped flannel pajamas.
No wound.
No blood.
Just his small, flat chest, with a heart still beating beneath it.
But the sensation remained of the bullet that killed him, a ghost of the death he had felt so vividly.
It was just a dream.
he thought but the words felt hollow in his head.
Just a dream.
He moved his fingers slowly, feeling each joint, each knuckle, making sure everything still worked.
His short, somewhat chubby fingers, child's fingers that had not lost their roundness.
His small hands.
Not the long, sturdy adult hands with calluses on the thumbs.
Or the hands that had held the bayonet.
These were his hands.
Twelve year old Voltase's hands.
Slowly, with still stiff movements, he pushed himself into a sitting position.
The bed, too big for him, creaked softly under his light weight.
His thin, weak legs swung off the bed, touching the cold wooden floor.
He felt The cold spreading through his soles, rising to his ankles, to his shins cold that reminded him he was here, in the real world
not in that place.
You're still alive, he thought, and the thought felt like a mantra he had to repeat to convince himself.
alive.
didn't die.
But his chest still felt strange as if something was missing there, something taken by that bullet.
He stood up, and his knees felt weak for a moment before he found his balance. His thin, weak legs carried him across the room toward the bathroom door.
The door was made of thin wood painted white, with a rusted, loose metal handle.
He opened it, and warm steam from someone on the lower floor who had just showered greeted him, mixed with the smell of cheap soap and toothpaste.
The dormitory bathroom was narrow, only enough for one person at a time.
Its walls were covered with yellowed white tiles, with fine cracks in several corners.
Its floor was made of the same tiles, cold beneath his bare feet.
There was a small sink with a mirror above it, and beside it, a shower stall with a faded plastic curtain.
In the corner, a sitting toilet made of the same yellowed porcelain.
Voltase turned on the sink faucet, and cold water flowed out with a loud gurgle in the small room.
He splashed his face, cold water that was refreshing but not enough to wash away the exhaustion still settled in his bones.
stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, and what he saw was not the boy he knew.
What he saw was a child with weary onyx eyes, pale skin that rarely saw sunlight, and messy black hair he never combed properly.
He washed his face with soap, then brushed his teeth with a worn toothbrush.
His movements were mechanical, mindless, because his mind was still elsewhere. In the dark corpse field, among piles of rotting flesh, beneath the burning heat of the bullet that had killed him.
He combed his hair, but it remained messy and refused to be tamed, as usual.
After finishing, he returned to his room. opened the small wardrobe beside his bed.
It was a cheap plywood wardrobe, peeling in several places.
Inside hung his school uniform. a white long sleeved shirt with a slightly wrinkled black tie, black jeans, and plain black sneakers worn thin on the soles.
He put them on with slow, familiar, unenthusiastic movements.
His shirt felt loose on his shoulders. like all his clothes, because he never grew.
black tie he tied in a loose knot, not too tight, not too loose, just enough to meet school regulations.
Fifteen minutes after waking, Voltase stood before the mirror on his wall an old mirror with a peeling wooden frame.
He examined himself.
Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. simple glasses with thin black frames that made him look more serious than he actually was.
His thin fingers moved automatically, brushing away strands of black hair that interfered with his onyx eyes' vision.
In the mirror, all that appeared was a boy with a flat expression and bored looking eyes.
No emotion emanated from his face. Just an empty stillness, like the surface of water that never moved.
He stared at his reflection for a moment, and in his mind, he wondered what others saw when they looked at him.
Did they see an ordinary boy who didn't draw attention?
Did they see something strange, something wrong?
Or did they see nothing at all, as if he had never been there?
Slowly, his hands rose to his face.
Each index finger touched the corners of his lips.
With stiff movements, he tried to form a smile. pulling the corners of his lips upward, forming an arc that should express happiness or friendliness.
But what he saw in the mirror was merely a strange, unnatural expression, like a mask forced onto a face that didn't fit.
The smile didn't reach his eyes; his eyes remained flat, empty, and bored.
I can't smile, he thought, and the thought didn't feel sad or painful, just factual.
I've forgotten how to do it.
He lowered his hands, and the fake smile vanished from his face, returning to its usual flat expression.
He shook his head slowly, trying to forget that thought.
There was no point in thinking about things he couldn't change.
He had already thought about enough things he couldn't change.
He turned from the mirror and began to take his backpack from beside the wardrobe.
The bag was made of black canvas, somewhat worn, with some fraying at the bottom from rubbing against the floor.
He slung it over his right shoulder his thin, narrow shoulder. and felt its light weight, containing only a few books and stationery.
There wasn't much he needed to bring to school; he had never been a child who carried many things.
walked toward the small table beside his bed to take his phone.
The screen was still dark, but when he touched it, he saw the time.
06:47 AM
He didn't need to check for messages; he had long learned that no messages were waiting for him.
No one called.
No one cared.
With his final step, he left through the door.
He closed the door behind him, and there was a 'click' as it locked automatically.
The sound was small, almost inaudible, but to him, it was the sound that ended one part and began another.
sound that said he had left his room, and now he had to face the world outside.
The dormitory hallway was long and quiet in the morning.
Only a few other children passed by, their faces still sleepy, heading to the dining hall for breakfast or directly to their classrooms.
Voltase walked among them without looking at anyone.
He had learned that it was better not to attract attention.
Better to be invisible.
Outside, the day was beginning to brighten.
Thick gray clouds hung low over the city of Oxford, promising rain that might fall at any moment.
The morning air was cold and damp, as usual, and Voltase could feel the moisture seeping through his uniform, clinging to his skin like an invisible thin layer.
The leaves on the oak trees in the schoolyard moved slowly in the morning wind, and in the distance, he heard the voices of other children laughing and joking.
They don't know, he thought, and the thought tasted bitter in his head.
died last night.
I was shot in the chest.
Can still feel the heat of that bullet in my chest.
He entered the school building an old red brick structure the same age as the dormitory, with tall windows that still retained old wavy glass.
The hallways inside were long and white, with gleaming tiles recently mopped, and on the walls hung old paintings of previous headmasters, their serious faces looking down with unblinking eyes.
The classroom was on the second floor.
He climbed the stairs with steady steps, not rushing, not lingering.
Inside the classroom, some children were already seated in their places, chatting quietly or reading books before the exam began.
Voltase walked to his desk in the back corner—the spot he always chose, because from there he could see everyone without being seen by them.
He placed his bag beside his desk, sat down, and stared blankly ahead.
The math exam would begin in ten minutes.
Didn't feel nervous, unlike the other children around him who looked tense or busy reading their final notes.
He just felt empty, as usual.
His mind was still elsewhere, still trapped among the corpses, still feeling the bullet's heat in his chest.
When the teacher entered the room with a stack of exam papers in his hands, Voltase took a deep breath and tried to focus.
The teacher was a middle aged man with a thin mustache and half moon glasses that always slipped to the tip of his nose. with black hair that has partly turned white with gray hair.
He distributed the exam sheets with efficient movements, and Voltase received his without much thought.
During the exam, which gave only sixty minutes for one sheet of questions, Voltase tried to complete the final math essay.
Thirty minutes had passed since he had written nothing on that essay.
Not because he wasn't smart, but because he 'hated' the subject.
He hated the way teachers taught, the way they looked at him as if he was a strange child, and never really cared whether he understood or not.
What made his mind wander back to last night's dream.
He tried to digest and piece together various logical reasons, something that had meaning, for why he had dreamed such a thing.
But not a single thing seemed logical to him.
Why did he have to dream of becoming an adult?
How did he have to dream of a battlefield?
did he have to die in his dream and feel the pain as if it were real?
There were no answers, no explanations, no theories he could find in his head which, although intelligent, was still too young and inexperienced to understand such things.
Maybe it's just a random dream, he thought.
my brain is just playing tricks on me.
there's no meaning behind any of it.
But he knew that wasn't true.
The dream felt too real, too detailed, too consistent to be a random dream.
All of it couldn't possibly be just a normal dream.
This made Voltase even more confused, until he chose to continue writing random answers on the essay.
His hand moved across the paper, writing numbers and formulas that might be right, might be wrong. he didn't care.
What mattered was that he wrote something, filled the paper with words so the teacher wouldn't ask why he hadn't written anything.
10:15 AM.
Break time arrived, and the classroom that had been silent and tense became chaotic and noisy.
The other children rushed out of the room with cheerful voices, running toward the cafeteria to get food or just to socialize with their friends.
Voltase remained at his desk for a moment, staring at the exam sheet he had submitted with a strange sense of relief.
It's over, he thought.
One more exam, and today is finished.
He stood up, took his bag, and left the classroom.
The long white hallways were now crowded with students passing by, and their voices echoed between the walls, creating noise that made Voltase slightly uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable because it was too crowded and noisy.
He preferred silence, empty, quiet spaces where he could hear his own thoughts without disturbance.
Walked down the hallway, past groups of laughing and joking children, past couples holding hands, past clusters planning something for the weekend.
Everyone seemed to have their own place, their own people they knew, something that made them feel part of something.
Voltase had none of that.
He was merely an observer, someone standing at the edge, watching others live.
At the cafeteria entrance, he stopped to observe the room opening before him.
The cafeteria was a large room with high ceilings and wide windows facing the schoolyard.
Chairs and tables were arranged neatly, most already occupied by students chatting while eating or drinking.
The atmosphere inside was relaxed, warm, and crowded. all things that made Voltase uncomfortable.
But he was hungry, and he knew he had to eat something.
With steady steps, he went to take a tray thin silver tray with many scratches and joined the queue of other students.
He stood there not speaking, or looking at anyone, just waiting for his turn to get food.
The cafeteria's menu changed every day to maintain freshness and nutritional value, but the taste was always the same. enough to fill the stomach, not enough to be enjoyed.
When his turn came, he took a bowl of soup with pieces of meat and vegetables, a slice of bread, and a glass of water.
He placed everything on his tray and looked for a seat.
His eyes scanned the room, searching for a quiet corner where he could eat without having to talk to anyone.
He chose a table near the window, where he could see the view outside the school building a wide green field, tall old oak trees, and the gray sky hanging low over everything.
From here, he could also observe the other students silently, as usual.
He sat with his back against the wall, a position that gave him a view of the entire room and allowed him to see anyone approaching.
had just started spooning his soup when a familiar voice sounded before him.
"You got here so fast."
"I thought you'd still be in class, playing on your phone or something."
Voltase looked up and saw Marie, his always cheerful friend, standing across the table with her tray in hand.
The eleven year old girl had straight black hair with bangs above her eyes, soft almond-shaped brown eyes, and a smile that always made her look brighter than she actually was.
She placed her tray on the table. a sandwich, an apple, and a carton of milk and sat down without waiting for permission, as usual.
"I wasn't playing on my phone," Voltase said flatly. "I doing the exam."
Marie laughed softly, her voice light and cheerful.
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
"But you're usually always on your phone before exams."
"I'm surprised you looked more... focused today? Or rather, more dazed?"
Voltase raised an eyebrow. "Dazed?"
"Yeah, dazed. Like your mind was somewhere else."
Marie took a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly while watching Voltase with curious eyes.
"What's wrong, Voltase?"
"You've looked strange since morning. I noticed in class earlier."
"Usually you can write quickly, but today you just sat there staring blankly at your desk for a long time."
Voltase was silent.
He hadn't expected Marie to notice that.
He thought he was good at hiding his feelings.
But Marie was always more perceptive than he realized.
"Nothing serious,"
He said finally, looking down at his soup.
"Just... couldn't sleep well last night."
Marie tilted her head, her black bangs shifting to the side.
"Another nightmare?"
The question surprised Voltase. He stared at Marie with wide eyes.
"How did you know?"
Marie smiled slightly, but the smile wasn't as bright as usual. There was something soft in it, something almost like concern.
"Because of your face, of course. Every time you have a nightmare, you look like that"
She pointed to Voltase's hand, which was unconsciously still on his chest.
"And like something hurts there."
Voltase lowered his hand quickly, realizing he had indeed been holding his chest.
The sensation of the bullet's heat was still there, a ghost that wouldn't leave.
He looked away toward the window, toward the gray sky outside, trying to gather his words.
"I dreamed I was an adult"
he said finally, quietly.
"On a battlefield. There were so many corpses around me."
"I woke up among them. It felt so real, Marie"
Marie stopped chewing.
Her sandwich stopped near her lips.
Her almond-shaped brown eyes widened, but there was no fear in them, just curiosity and concern.
"Did you die in the dream?"
Voltase nodded
"I was shot in the chest."
He pressed his palm to his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath it.
"the bullet go in, my blood flowing out. the body grow cold and die." He swallowed, his throat dry. "It felt so real."
Marie was silent for a moment.
She just looked at Voltase with gentle eyes, and for the first time, she looked like a girl older than her age
like someone who understood more than she showed.
"You know,"
she said finally
"my father once told me that dreams are how our brains process things we can't understand in the real world."
"Maybe there's something you're trying to understand, something that scares you"
"And your brain is trying to deal with it this way."
"I'm not afraid of anything,"
Voltase said quickly, too quickly.
"I'm just... confused. Nothing makes sense."
Marie smiled, and this time her smile was warmer.
"You know, you're allowed to be scared, Voltase"
"It's okay to be scared. Even the bravest people are afraid of something."
She reached for her carton of milk and sipped it through the straw.
"I'm also afraid of spiders. You'll never see me near a spider."
Voltase almost smiled. Almost.
"Spiders aren't scary."
"To you, maybe. But to me, they're terrifying."
Marie shrugged. "Everyone has their own fears. There's nothing wrong with that."
They sat in silence for a while, eating together without needing many words.
Voltase felt a little better after talking to Marie, even though he hadn't told her everything.
Some things were too strange to explain, even to your best friend.
"Oh, by the way," Marie said suddenly, "Ian left. Did you know?"
Voltase nodded.
"I heard from the teachers."
"Yeah, his family moved abroad. Something about his father's work."
"I'm going to miss him."
Marie smiled sadly. "He always made me laugh with his silly jokes."
"You'll be fine," Voltase said.
"You still have me."
Marie laughed, and her laugh was brighter now.
"Yeah, that's right. I still have you, the flat-faced boy who never smiles."
"But you're my best friend, Voltase. Don't forget that."
Voltase only nodded, but inside his heart, there was something warm. something he rarely felt.
Something almost like gratitude.
07:51 PM.
Night returned after a busy morning and exhausting afternoon.
Voltase spent his time reading a novel he had borrowed from the school library, checked out for three days.
A cheap novel that told silly stories, something he didn't like but still read because Marie recommended it.
The story was about a boy who found a secret world behind his wardrobe, with strange creatures and ridiculous adventures.
Voltase didn't understand why Marie liked books like this; for him, it was all too unrealistic, too sweet, too far from the reality he knew.
But he still read it, because Marie had asked him to, and because there was nothing better to do.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his back against the cold wall, with the book open on his lap.
The small lamp beside his bed glowed dimly, just enough to illuminate the pages, no more.
Outside the window, rain had begun to fall again. the same rain as always, with its long, melancholic whispers tapping the glass with the same rhythm every night.
His eyes began to feel heavy.
The words on the page began to blur, float, and lose meaning.
Yawned and the exhaustion that had accumulated throughout the day finally began to creep in, drowning his consciousness like waves slowly rising to shore.
Closed the book, placed it on the table beside his phone.
He lay down on the bed that had become familiar to him a bed too big, sunken in the middle from years of his body's weight.
He closed his eyes, hugging a pillow that had become dull and smelled of dormitory soap.
A few seconds later, he was asleep, falling into a dark and warm abyss.
09:49 PM.
The phone screen lit up with white time numbers for three seconds, then dimmed and went dark.
At that same moment, Voltase woke up due to the pungent stench that assaulted his nose once again.
The same smell fishy, rusty iron, rotting flesh. entered his nostrils like thick smoke, stabbing the back of his throat, settling on his palate.
His previously dormant brain restarted, and his eyes finally opened wide.
What he saw was what he had seen in the previous dream.
Total darkness, darkness that rejected light.
And above him, a face corpse's face with ashen-green skin, eye sockets full of maggots, and an expression of fear frozen forever.
Voltase experienced a panic attack for a few moments. his heart pounding, his breath gasping, his hands trembling violently before he calmed down.
Although his hands frantically pushed the corpse off his body, shoving it aside with stiff, uncontrolled movements.
The corpse rolled away with a wet plop, just like before, exactly the same.
He stood up again, covering his nose with his palm.
the same body, the twenty one year-old adult man's body, tall and strong. trembled with the same feeling as before.
He hoped to find fresh air, but all he got was air filled with stench and an uncomfortable feeling that made him want to vomit.
The nausea came again, rising from his stomach, pushing into his throat.
He swallowed it back painfully, holding himself back from vomiting among the piles of corpses.
His mind was confused again by this entire situation. Questions like
Why am I back here?
Am I going to die again?
Echoed in the mind of the twelve-year-old child, even though the body he inhabited was that of an adult man.
Fear, confusion, and despair mixed together, creating chaos in his head that he couldn't control.
The same sound from his left side drew his attention again.
As before, a man in faded green clothing emerged from behind a pile of corpses.
Tall, with pale blond hair and dark onyx eyes, staring at Voltase with the same suspicion, the same gaze, the same expression.
Voltase looked at the man, and for the first time, he tried something different.
His mind, which wanted to think further, seemed locked in this moment, this time, forgetting his life in the world outside this dream.
Like fog covering the path to truth.
Preventing him from thinking further, beyond the logic this body provided.
With hurried movements, his finger pointed at the man and then at himself.
A heavy voice that wasn't his came from his mouth.
"We're not enemies,"
he said, and the words felt strange on his tongue, like he was reading a script he hadn't written.
"Even though I know we're actually enemies. But we're not."
As if he wanted to find a different path in this dream's story.
Trying to do something different, trying to change the fate he had experienced twice before.
He didn't want to die again.
didn't want to feel that pain again.
Silence was the answer to those words.
The blond man just stared at him with the same eyes. full of suspicion, confusion, and fear hidden behind a hardening jaw.
He didn't speak, didn't move, just stared at Voltase as if trying to read his mind.
But Voltase ignored that.
Because if he remembered correctly, even though his mind was foggy and not as sharp as in the real world, there would be others approaching this location.
The feeling of threat and danger mixed with pure fear flowed through his veins.
He knew what was going to happen.
Like the dream it before.
"Get your weapon,"
he said, his voice firmer now.
He took a deep breath, looking into the onyx eyes of the pale blond man with the loaf cut.
"Someone is coming."
Voltase chose instead to hide again behind the pile of corpses and play dead.
He closed his eyes, holding his breath low, trying to make his body as stiff and cold as the corpses around him.
Hoped the blond man would follow his instructions and movement.
the vaguely heard movement sounds to his left soft footsteps, boots on bloody mud, held breath.
His onyx eyes opened slightly behind the corpse's face. a face showing bone and flesh eaten by maggots, rotting and horrible, to see what the other man was doing.
The blond man had disappeared among the piles of corpses, following his instructions.
Even though he and that man still didn't know each other, there was a strange trust between them.
a trust born from shared fate, from the fact that they were both trapped in this place.
Before Voltase closed his eyes again, footsteps sounded in the distance.
Three people.
They spoke in a foreign language he didn't fully understand, but some words felt familiar.
words like "check", "clean" and "dead."
They approached, step by step, and Voltase felt rising tension in his chest.
Stab after stab through bayonets at the ends of their weapons pierced the piles of corpses alternately.
As if making sure no one was playing tricks and still alive.
Standard check, twice, on the battlefield.
Voltase heard the sound of metal piercing flesh, the sound of dull, repeated stabs, and each time he heard it, he felt more horrified.
Until they reached near where the two of them were playing dead.
Voltase held his breath, his hidden hand gripping the bayonet knife beneath the corpse's body tightly.
He felt the cold metal in his hand, the familiar weight, and the certainty that this time, he would survive.
waited for the right moment, listening to the footsteps coming closer, closer.
Until a gunshot sounded from his left.
Followed by a loud, horrible scream.
Voltase opened his eyes, shoved aside the pile of corpses covering him, and lunged at someone before him with the bayonet knife in his hand.
He didn't see who the person was.
he just saw a target, a threat, an enemy he had to fight
The hand to hand combat between himself and a dark haired, onyx eyed man before him began wildly.
Voltase swung his bayonet knife, but the man dodged with quick movement and only grazed his arm.
The man responded with a punch to Voltase's face, and Voltase ducked, feeling the wind of the fist brush his long hair.
They grappled, fell to the ground, exchanging punches and kicks among the piles of corpses.
Voltase managed to disarm the man. taking a rifle with a wooden stock and throwing it aside, out of their reach.
Now they relied only on their hands and feet.
Voltase fell to the ground with his neck being choked by the man above him.
He felt those strong hands pressing his throat, crushing his airways, blocking air from entering his lungs.
bit his own tongue, tasting metallic blood in his mouth.
struggled, trying to break free, but the man was too strong.
no
He thought, and desperation gave him strength.
I don't want to die like this.
With his remaining strength, Voltase slammed his forehead into the man's forehead hard.
A dull thud sounded, and for a moment, the man's grip loosened.
Voltase used this brief opening to turn the tables he rolled, changed position, and now he was on top of the man.
He choked the man's neck with one hand while punching his face with the other, blow after blow, hard and merciless.
But Voltase's position shifted again to lying on the ground, his face now the target of punches instead.
The man had turned the tables again, and now Voltase was back underneath, trying to protect his face from the raining blows.
They rolled among the piles of corpses, blood and mud mixing together, sticking to their uniforms, covering their skin.
Meanwhile, on the other side, the blond man was fighting another enemy.
Gunshots echoed in the distance, sounds shattering the grim night's silence.
The blond man maneuvered among the piles of corpses, using the chaotic terrain to his advantage.
He approached one man and made him a human shield, locking his neck from behind and hiding behind his body.
used his opponent's shoulder as a weapon rest and fired another shot with one hand on the trigger.
His other opponent stumbled, fell to the ground, but didn't die.
The blond man approached the other side after discarding this disposable shield. a corpse no longer useful.
He switched from shooting to holding the end of his weapon and the middle of it.
With force, he slammed the blunt end of the weapon into his opponent's head, like swinging a baseball bat at a ball.
But this wasn't baseball.
The man hit by the blunt end dropped his weapon.
He became dizzy suddenly, his body stumbling backward from the severe head pain.
From his forehead, thick red liquid dripped.
Blood.
The blood made the man angry.
He lunged at the blond man, attacking with fists and hands.
The fight turned close range, punches and kicks exchanging among the piles of corpses.
But the blond man, instead of exchanging punches and kicks, swung the blunt end of his weapon like a baseball bat again.
A creative tactic in the grim battlefield and a life or death situation.
He swung, hit, parried with the weapon he held, using it as an extension of his hands.
Until finally, the blond man became careless.
He didn't expect his opponent still had another card up his sleeve an old fashioned weapon
With a long, flat, narrow end, a box shaped middle, and a wooden handle beneath it that curved.
The last opponent's finger was on the pistol's trigger, aiming it at the blond man's head.
A gunshot sounded.
Bang!
The blond man, with a shocked expression, didn't expect this to happen.
His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and for a moment, nothing moved.
Then, his tall body swayed slowly, like a tree beginning to fall.
He fell forward, then backward, finally collapsing to the ground with a dull thud.
Blood began to flow from the hole in his head, seeping into the already soaked ground.
A gaping hole in his forehead, perfectly round with burnt edges from the close range shot.
From that hole, blood flowed profusely mixed with small pieces of grayish pink brain tissue.
The tissue clung to his blond hair, flowed down past his eyebrows, dripped into his still wide open eyes with an expression of surprise that would never fade.
Then, his tall body fell to the side with a wet plop, and from his head wound, more and more blood flowed out, creating a red puddle in the already blood-saturated ground.
Voltase saw it from a distance, and horror ran through his entire body.
He saw how the blond man, who just minutes ago was still breathing, still moving, still fighting was now just a useless pile of flesh.
Blood still flowed from his wound, and occasionally, the muscles in his face twitched, final reflexes of a dead nervous system.
Voltase couldn't look away.
He saw how the man's blood mixed with the mud, how the red puddle grew wider, how the body slowly became stiff.
That could have been me, he thought, and the thought horrified him even more.
I could die like that.
With my head open, with my brains scattered on the ground.
Then, Voltase's position shifted again to lying on the ground, his neck choked by two enemy hands.
He had no time to think about the blond man anymore.
Now, he had to survive.
The man's thumbs formed a crossed pattern, pressing on every airway.
While the other fingers curved into a tight lock.
Voltase's legs kept moving, fighting with all his remaining strength, but he was growing weaker.
His vision grew blurry, and he felt difficulty breathing like a burning sensation in his lungs.
He felt the man's fingers pressing deeper into his neck, crushing his Adam's apple, cutting off airflow.
He could feel the cartilage in his neck grinding under the pressure, and he knew, if the man pressed harder, his neck would break.
He opened his mouth, trying to inhale air, but nothing came in.
Just burning heat in his chest, like fire igniting inside his lungs.
He felt his eyes beginning to water, saw black spots creeping from the edges of his vision.
Darkness began to creep in, slowly but surely.
He felt his hands, still trying to fight, beginning to lose strength.
his legs still kicking, beginning to slow down.
The body growing limp, surrendering to the reality that this time, he would die again.
No
he thought
but his thoughts grew slower, more blurred.
No, I don't want to die.
I don't want to.
He felt his body becoming lighter, as if his soul was slowly leaving his body.
The old beginning to spread to his fingertips, rising to his arms, to his shoulders, to his chest.
his heartbeat slowing, growing fainter, like a drum ceasing to be played.
And then, everything went dark.
In the real world, 02:34 AM.
A few seconds before Voltase opened his eyes, the phone screen lying on the wooden floor, fallen from the table when his small body thrashed in sleep. lit up on its own.
Time numbers appeared on the screen, bright red like blood, for three long seconds.
02:34 AM
Red.
Pulsing.
Like a dying heartbeat.
Then, slowly, the numbers turned white pale white like a corpse, before the screen finally dimmed and went dark completely.
At that same moment, Voltase opened his eyes.
His breath wouldn't come out.
small chest felt like it couldn't move, as if hands were still choking his neck.
He sat up suddenly and his head spun.
The felt terrible dizziness, and for several long seconds, he couldn't breathe at all.
He choked, coughed, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, but air wouldn't enter.
Breathe!
he thought in panic.
Breathe, you idiot!
He pressed his palm to his neck, feeling his intact skin. no hands, wounds, and strangulation marks.
But the sensation was still there, like a ghost refusing to leave.
He felt the pressure there, felt the fingers choking him, felt his breath slowly running out.
still feel how painful it was to have his neck crushed, how terrifying it was when oxygen slowly left his body, was when darkness began to creep in and he knew he was going to die.
Slowly, very slowly, his breath began to come and go.
Each inhale was a struggle, each exhale was relief.
Greedily inhaled air, like someone who had almost drowned and finally reached the surface.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his heart pounded like it would explode inside his narrow ribcage.
He scanned his room with wary onyx eyes, his gaze sweeping every corner, making sure nothing was hiding in the shadows.
Palm was still on his neck, feeling his pulse pounding beneath his skin.
No wounds.
No bruises.
Just his intact, smooth skin.
It was just a dream, he thought, and the words felt heavier than before.
Just a dream.
You didn't die.
You're here.
still alive.
But he didn't feel alive.
He felt like he had just died and died in a different way than before.
This time, he didn't feel the bullet's heat in his chest.
This time, he felt hands on his neck.
This time, he died from choking, from having his breath taken forcibly, from oxygen slowly leaving his body.
He could still feel it.
Could still feel the pressure on his neck.
the panic as his breath ran out.
And death approaching, slowly.
inevitably.
He could also still see the blond man's corpse in his memory. the open head, the blood flowing profusely, the pieces of brain tissue scattered on the ground.
See the shocked expression on the man's face, the wide eyes and open mouth, as if the man couldn't believe he was going to die.
That could have been me
he thought again, and horror ran through his entire body.
He shuddered, and for the first time, he felt truly afraid.
Not afraid of ghosts or monsters under the bed.
Afraid of death.
Afraid of pain.
Afraid of helplessness.
Afraid that one day, he would die in that dream and never wake up again.
Silence filled the room again.
Only the sound of his still gasping breath and the rain outside the window accompanied him.
Voltase couldn't fall back asleep.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks he had memorized, trying to calm his mind that still spun like a stuck cassette tape.
Why do I keep going back there? he thought.
keep dreaming about that place?
dying there?
Now in different ways?
He had no answers.
No explanations.
Just fear and confusion mixed into one.
Thirty minutes later, overwhelming mental exhaustion finally overcame him.
His eyes grew heavy, small tired body began to surrender. He closed his eyes, and slowly consciousness began to fade.
Before he fell completely asleep, one final thought crossed his mind.
I don't want to go back there.
I don't want to feel that pain again.
I don't want to die again.
He fell into dark, empty sleep.
Hoping he wouldn't return to that place again.
the dream would end.
And could forget everything.
But inside his sleep, in the deepest corner of his mind, the whisper continued.
Soft.
Unending.
You'll go back.
ns216.73.217.98da2
and then Add to home screen.