And sometimes... you just don’t want to remember.”
It’s four in the morning.
My room is dark—but not completely.
That thin line between the ceiling and the wall... flickers with the dim yellow light leaking from the hallway.
My heart feels like it’s trying to break out of my chest.
The same dream again.
Same moment.
Same park.
And me... holding that ball.
The ball I always see a few seconds before everything happens...
Before I even realize it, the ball slips from my hand—
And hits my sister’s face.
Her hairpin falls.
She takes a step forward to pick it up.
And I do the same thing I always do:
I kneel down.
But... this dream was different.
This time, when I dropped to the ground and placed my hands there,
I felt something I’ve never felt before:
Coldness.
But not just any cold—
A bone-deep, soul-piercing kind of cold.
And then... something else.
A faint vibration beneath my palms.
Like...
Like an invisible current running through my fingers.
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In that moment, everything stopped.
Even time forgot how to breathe.
The ball never hit the ground.
My sister’s hair stayed suspended in mid-air.
Every sound around me started echoing in sync with my heartbeat.
“What... what was that?”
I couldn’t speak.
It felt like something was crushing my throat.
But I could feel it.
My hands were still there.
Still touching... that thing.
Something invisible.
Yet undeniably real.
Silent.
Dark.
And terrifyingly present.
Then, suddenly—
Blinding light.
Everything turned white and—
I woke up.
My pillow was soaked with sweat.
My breathing was a mess.
Like my fears were doing the breathing for me.
My throat burned.
My heart flailed inside a hollow cage.
I stood up, hoping to steady myself—
But my legs trembled.
I couldn’t shake it off.
That thing... was still there.
Even with my eyes closed, its touch echoed in my palms.
Like a scar that wouldn’t fade.
And it wasn’t just physical.
It clung to something deeper—
Like a splinter embedded in my soul.
I walked to the bathroom.
Splashed cold water on my face.
But the shivering inside didn’t stop.
I looked up.
Met my own gaze in the mirror.
My pupils had shrunk.
Like they’d seen something in the dark.
Then, in a moment of fixation, I looked at my hands.
Right there, in the middle of my palm—
A faint mark.
Was it a scratch? A vein? Just a trick of the light?
I didn’t know.
But the feeling when I touched the ground as a child...
It felt real in the dream.
And that mark seemed to whisper:
“This wasn’t your fault.
This... was only the first call.”