A blink.

  An infinite, deep black composed every inch of the impossible room of nothingness Gabriel found himself in. No door to be seen. No walls or edges that hinted the start or end of the place.

  Seconds stretched into minutes, then days and weeks that blended together. The concept of time and space doesn't exists where you don't have a starting point to reference. No anchor to tether reality.

  The last years of Gabriel's life had been rough. What value had the hours of study when no one wanted to hire him to do what he wasted so many hours in? The promise of a future once dangled before him like a balloon--a fragile lifeline, a way to escape his situation. A escape route to fly away from the crippling debt of university and start living again. But balloons pop far too easily, and when they do, they leave you deflated, rooted in the same place.

  The endless stacks of papers, the hollow words of praise that never translated into paycheck, the mentors who told him until the last day to "wait for the right opportunity" that never came. He had buried himself in his work, clinging to the hope that the child who wanted to study knew better than him. A child who was in love with the animals, but love isn't always reciprocated. That child, so bright-eyed and eager, had believed in a world of boundless possibilities. But what did that child know of debt collectors? Of hollow promises and doors slammed in his face? Gabriel wondered if that boy would still love the animals now, knowing how little the world cared for them—or for him.

  A year ago Gabriel decided to stop waiting. To be active and change his life by himself would be the only thing that could get him out of the hole. The military had seemed like his last chance—a brutal, calculated risk. It would strip him of his freedom, yes, but it would give him the means to pay his debt and finally move forward. Every hour of his day had been dedicated to sharpening himself, pushing his mind and body to limits he hadn't known existed. Every repetition, every drill was meant to turn him into something capable. A weapon. Yet even that plan, cruel as it was, had crumbled before it even began. Just one day short. One. Damn. Day. The irony tasted bitter, like ash coating his tongue.

  Now, what purpose could have been accomplished by him as a weapon without a wielder? Not even without a wielder—without a war to fight for? A sword crafted with painstaking care yet left to rust in its scabbard. He couldn't even find anger in himself anymore. Anger, at least, would imply he still believed in something. He felt hollow, weightless, like a vessel that had lost both its cargo and its destination.

  Every movement he made felt like it took years, yet the moment he stopped, the world seemed to shrink, and time compressed into an instant.

  Moving with muscle memory, he trudged toward an imaginary horizon that could break the monotony that filled him for longer that he can remember, steps that felt too heavy beneath empty boots, blinks indistinguishable from moments of open eyes.

  The silence was suffocating. But it wasn't the same silence he had grown to know before--this silence felt like a weight, as though it pressed against his existence, heavy, like the air itself had stopped moving. An deafening absence. He reached instinctively, but his hand never seemed to find anything, never touching anything solid, not even his own fingers.

  Echoes of less nothingness began to form between long, stretched moments of silence. Each echo grew a little clearer, accompanied by a sense of something just outside of where he can see. Shapes appeared—rings, shadows, figures, barely visible, like the afterimage of a fleeting thought. Like phophenes when closing one's eyes. These images began to morph in synesthetic ways as it happened. A faint, mischievous cackling crept into the back of his brain--childish, the laugh of a prankster reveling in the greatest joke of his life.

  Then, without warning, the void gave way to a deep crimson red. The infinite darkness seemed to finally pull back, as if the very fabric of nothingness was being torn open. It was a sharp contrast, overwhelming and warm, almost as though it was a pulse—a heartbeat.

  The oppressive silence began to ebb away, replaced by a faint, distant rhythm, like the world was slowly starting to breathe again.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "Miss Loren, just keep breathing--like i taught you." The nurse's voice was steady but soft, her knuckles whitened as she adjusted the monitor beside the bed.

  The room was small, the light was bright and reflected on the walls that gleamed a sterile white. The floor tiles had a checkboard pattern, spots near the door slightly worn down.

  "Repeat after me." The nurse's chest rose. "in." A pause, then a slow exhale. "Out..."

  Claude loomed beside the bed, his jaw clenched tight enough to grind stone. Stress, not age, had carved lines around his eyes—a soldier’s face, softened only when he looked at Loren. He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing her trembling wrist. “I’m here, Lori. It’ll be fine.” His voice frayed on the last word, eyes darting to the nurse. “Right…?” his eyes shifted towards the position of the nurse.

  Loren shot him a glare, sweat plastering dark hair to her forehead. "Ow, shut up honey," said Loren with an slight edge to her voice. "You are stressing her more than me."

  He retreated, fingers slipping from her warm skin, and sank deep into a chair that groaned under his weight. His gaze never left her figure--tracking each wince, each ragged breath--as he could share the same kind of pain she was passing through.

  Hours bled together. Contractions came faster and frequently now, violent waves that sent Loren pain through her body. Snarls left Loren's gritted teeth. The nurse anchored herself at the foot of the bed, voice sharpening. “Keep pushing, Miss Arenas! Almost there.”

  A crown of dark hair emerged. Claude's nails dug deep into his palm, drawing half moons in his hand. The bedframe creaked as Loren arched forward. Her roar drowned the nurse’s commands, the sheets tearing loose from their hospital corners.

  Near the door, a round pink figure shifted, its comically short arms struggling to cradle a massive egg. "Sey!", it came closer--A light green pulsed from its body towards the newborn while making a creased expression.

  

  POV ARIS

  Each thudding beat brightened the endless dark, staining the void crimson until it pulsed like an open wound. The rhythm made me move forward towards the only hole i have seen in this wicked place.

  Bright. Too bright.

  A sun loomed from above, its light sliced by shadowy giants forms swaying in my blurry sight.

  I could blink, i could really blink now. I closed my eyes appreciating the voluntary darkness that filled my eyes.

  "Sey!" A shrill voice entered my senses. Creaking hinges. Ragged breaths of relief and the silent whisper of a wind that kissed my skin making me shudder.

  Wet. Every fiber of my body felt wet and slippery, sloppy sounds accompanied every move i made against my will.

  The sting of antiseptic clawed my throat-- too familiar, like the hospitals from before the void. The stench clawed at me, alcohol, blood and something sweetly rotten.

  "Wa--" The plea died in my throat.

  "Waaah! wah!" They came from me. Was i doing those stupid sounds?

  I tried to rub my eyes. My left arm never responded, and the only answer was spasmodic movements from the rest of my body. Then i tried to go step by step, first, my fingers, i couldn't even open them, let alone move my shoulder and extend my elbow. I needed to see with my own eyes where the fuck i was and what they did to me, but no muscle answered my thoughts.

  "Waah" i tried again. I tried to scream until i ragged my lungs, to demand answers but my voice was a stranger's--weak, shrill, pathetic.

  "It's okay baby..." a soft voice came from close.

  "Sh sh..." I was moving at high speeds, my head moved and my clouded vision kept changing with each blink.

  "Hi Aris, i'm your mom," she whispered

  Mom

  A warmth pressed against me. The sound wrapped around me like a blanket. A wall of softness and touched the skin on my left side. A shadow hugged my right. I could hear the fast heartbeats. Not mine. But of my mother.

  How?

  "And this is your daddy" the same voice filled with love talked to me. A new sensation came, my body couldn't hold by itself. A slight tremble made where i was laying shake. He moved me upwards slowly.

  "Finally i can meet you..." a shaky rumble echoed in my ears.

  Something held me, steady but uncertain, as if I were made of glass. I was pulled upwards, my body weak against the movement, my skin brushing against something rougher, warmer.

  A new weight settled over me—heavy, overwhelming. The scent was different from before. A strange dampness touched my cheek, rolling down in slow, hot trails.

  Why…?

  The tremble in his voice, the way his breath hitched—it was all wrong. He was too big, too strong, too solid to sound like this. Like something was breaking inside him.

  "I will protect you Aris," he said.

  I wanted to see. I needed to see.

  My eyes fluttered, struggling against the haze creeping in. The world around me blurred at the edges.

  "He's perfect," the voice whispered again, hoarse, raw.

  Perfect.

  I tried to hold onto that word. But my body betrayed me.

  The warmth, the steady rhythm of heartbeats, the slow rocking—everything pulled me down, deeper and deeper.

  My eyelids drooped.

  Darkness swallowed me whole.