World of Dark

World of Dark

A Story by lingering.deadbeat
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A girl gets transported to a world of dark.

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Here I am, once again I reside in my world of darkness. I do not know how I got here, nor do I know entirely where this place is. What I have come to know, however, is that logic, at least here, is a fallacy. Improbable events can take place here, as evident by my new position. Just a few seconds ago, I was sitting at a park bench, but now it would seem that I’m stuck in someone’s roof. No, not on, in. I sigh and clumsily scrape at the wooden boards. If this had happened a few months ago, I would have been terrified, but I’m now much too tired of this charade to care. Summoning my strength, I tear a plank off of the roof.

Pop. And I’m not even there anymore. I grimace, thinking what a waste of time that was. It looks like I don’t have enough time to be bitter, though. A man wearing a ski mask and a hockey stick seemed to be walking toward me. I glance around and notice I’m still holding the shingle from the house’s roof. I slowly put my other hand on it.

“What do you want?” I shout, stepping back to maintain distance.

I receive no reply, barring some crazed muffled mumbles. I realize that there isn’t much I can do to reason with this man; the chaos has clearly gotten to him, and, to be frank, I can’t blame him. I dash towards him, and, although he forcefully swings his hockey stick, I do something of a somersault and knock him to his knees. I then swiftly whack him on the back of his head with my plank. He collapses slowly.

I hope I didn’t kill him, I think. I check his vitals, first his wrist and then his neck. It’s a good thing he’s still breathing, but it makes searching him a bit more risky. I first snatch his hockey stick, quickly dropping my plank. No doubt it’s a better weapon, and I can use anything I can get in this world. I then decide to take his mask.

It’s me. My face is on that man. I blink, and he’s gone. I quickly turn back and notice a mirror.

I’m holding my head.

Pop. Another place. Looks like a school room of some kind. It seems as if I’m no longer holding the hockey stick, but I’ve got a switchblade knife in my pocket. Thank god, something that might be useful. I slowly turn my head, taking in my surroundings. On my desk is a book, Discours sur les sciences et les arts by one Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Rows of desks and a large chalkboard, unsurprising for a classroom. But it seems there’s someone else there, reading a book. I jump out of my chair and reach for my switchblade.

“Are you a friend?” I ask.

“Who can say?” he grins. I get a better look at him. He has the figure of a middle-schooler, with black curly hair and a large grin.

“If you’re not with me, you’re against me,” I say imposingly, “So, are you a friend?”

“Not everything is black and white, my dear,” he finally looks up from the book he’s reading, seemingly a theoretical book on the matters of space and time, “Friendship, in addition to all facets of life, are extremely complicated principles. I can assure you that I will not put you in any harm directly, but if you provoke me, well, it’s as the humans say, right? Self defense?”

I honestly can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Maybe he’s mad? No, he’s far too coherent to have havoc in his mind. The thing that worries me most, however, is the way he refers to himself as inhuman. Maybe he was created by the world?

“Is that a threat?” I grit my teeth.

Except there aren’t any teeth to grit. It looks like my head’s been replaced by some sort of megaphone. I groan audibly, to which the boy laughs.

“Haha, he didn’t tell me humans were so funny!” his annoying grin grew wider, “I hope I’ll see you again sometime!”

Pop. The moment he says this, I am somewhere else. A massive and sprawling ebony staircase. I quickly touch my face. Back to normal again; it’s been a while, hasn’t it, old friend?. I look at my outfit, and it looks like I’m wearing a large black cloak. I notice a couple of pockets, so I check inside of them. Lucky me, there’s some protein bars inside. I’ve been ignoring my hunger, so I quickly scarf them down. Then I realize the crossroads I’m in. To go up, or to go down? Really, it doesn’t matter; knowing this world, it’s gonna be a negative outcome either way.

But what can I say? I’m an optimist, and I want to go up. Shoot for the stars, right? I don’t give up; if I were a quitter, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. I begin to run up the stairs.

I hear footsteps other than my own coming from below. I look behind myself and notice odd-looking creatures with the faces of garden gnomes. My breathing quickens as they grasp at my ankles, dragging me down to my knees.

“No…” I struggle to say, using my hands to drag myself up the stairs, “No…! I won’t… give up…!”

“Not ever…?” the gnomes tauntingly say.

“NOT EVER!” I shout.

Pop. Relieved, I sat down. I’ve had just about enough madness for one lifetime, but I guess I’m gonna have to suffer a little longer.

Or maybe not. I check my pockets once again and notice a piece of crumbled scrap paper. I unfold it; looks like it’s written in old latin. Somehow, though, I’m able to interpret the meaning, without knowing a lick of old latin.

Warrior. You’ve fought hard. Perhaps not literally, but you’ve gone through many a trial. Trials that have tested your strength, your wit, and, perhaps most importantly, your will. In commendation for your efforts, we have given you a home. This haven will remain free from the chaos that this world typically harbrings, and you can return any time you wish.

We wish you the best in your travels. Maybe you will be the one to fix our mistakes.

Just as I finished reading this letter, various engravings in the wooden walls of this so-called “haven” glowed blue. I take a closer look at them, and they all seem to be names. Some guy named Jordan, a Greek man named Dimitris, and a Japanese woman named Haruhi were some names that I notice. I look down to my feet and find a pointed rock. I smile a little, for the first time in ages, and engrave my own name into the wooden walls.

© 2022 lingering.deadbeat


Author's Note

lingering.deadbeat
written for school, i probably shouldn't have written in present tense but oh well too late

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Added on March 12, 2022
Last Updated on March 12, 2022
Tags: abstract, survival, darkness, insanity

Author

lingering.deadbeat
lingering.deadbeat

San Diego, CA



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Why live a life without doing what you want? That's just a recipe for a life of misery... more..

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