I lost track of the days a long time ago. Could've been weeks. Maybe months. Hard to tell when there's no sun—just that dull red light bleeding through the clouds, like the world forgot what color is supposed to be.
The first few nights were the worst. Cold. Hungry. I'd curl up behind the barricade I made from broken sticks, barely sleeping. Every sound felt like a threat. Every breath, borrowed time.
I kept a sharp stick close. My "spear," if I wanted to be generous. It had saved me once—when a dog-sized thing with too many joints tried to pounce on me in my sleep. I didn't scream. Just stabbed until it stopped moving. Then I threw up. Then I cooked it. Then I ate it.
Tasted like rot and metal. I ate it anyway.
Days blurred. I scouted the area, always careful. The monsters didn't hunt in packs, not always. But they moved like they remembered me. Like they held a grudge. I learned to move quieter, to breathe slower. To watch.
And I learned things.
Some monsters only came out when it was quiet—when the world held its breath. Others followed the trails of black moss that grew like veins across the ground. One type exploded when it died. I didn't make that mistake twice.
My body changed too. Got leaner. Stronger, maybe. My wounds healed faster than they should have. Sometimes I'd feel things slow down for a second during a fight—like I was watching the moment before I died in slow motion. Then I'd move.
It didn't make me unbeatable. Just alive.
I kept surviving. Kept eating. Kept watching the monsters. Sometimes I'd mutter to myself, just to hear a voice. Sometimes I'd laugh at nothing.
I knew I was slipping.
But I kept going.
Because what else was I gonna do?
Then after a few months a thick mist started to appear.
But nothing bad happened so far.
So I just went back to my shelter and slept just like before again.
All of a sudden,it start to feel warm and cozy.
I opened my eyes.
White ceiling. Quiet air. Clean sheets.
I lay still for a moment, blinking slowly, waiting for the pain, the stink, the cold. None of it came.
Just silence.
A soft knock. The door creaked open. My heart skipped.
It was her.
Eve stepped in, holding a tray. She paused when she saw me awake. Her eyes widened, then softened.
"You're finally up," she whispered.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came. She walked over and set the tray down on a little table beside me. Warm steam rose from a bowl.
I stared at her. At the way her hair fell around her face. At the way her voice shook, just a little.
"Eve...?" I finally managed.
She smiled—quiet, like she didn't want to cry in front of me. "I thought I lost you," she said. "You were gone for so long."
Gone.
Right.
I had been somewhere. But it was fading now. A nightmare.
I sat up slowly. My body didn't scream like before. I felt tired, sure—but not ruined. Not dying.
"I'm... back?"
She nodded. "You've been asleep for a few days. They said you'd wake up when you were ready."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't even care. I just looked at her. My hands trembled, and I clenched them under the blanket.
She pulled her chair closer and sat down. I watched her breathe.
Everything felt real.
Warm. Normal.
"I kept visiting," she said, looking down at her lap. "Even when they said you might not—wake up. I didn't care."
She laughed softly. "I brought snacks. Talked to you even when you were out. They probably thought I was weird."
I wanted to say something—anything—but my throat tightened. I just stared at her. At the way she kept brushing her hair behind her ear. The way her eyes never stayed still for long.
My chest hurt in a different way now.
It felt like home.
So I stopped thinking.
I believed it.
I stayed quiet and let her talk. Let the warmth fill the cracks. Let myself forget the cold, the monsters, the black sky.
Because here... she was here.
And that was enough.
I stayed in that hospital for a long time.
Too long.
At first, I thought I had survived. That everything was over.
That I had woken up from a nightmare.
Eve was there.
She smiled at me like nothing had changed.
Her voice was calm. Warm.
She didn't ask questions. She just talked.
About little things.
I didn't care what. I just listened.
We'd sit together. Walk sometimes. Eat together.
I almost forgot everything.
The pain. The monsters.
The cold. The hunger.
Gone.
But something kept bothering me.
A sound.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
A clock. Always ticking somewhere far away.
I heard it in quiet moments.
In the background.
It never stopped.
When I asked Eve about it, she just smiled.
"What sound?"
I tried to ignore it.
But then I noticed other things.
The nurse always walked by at the same time.
Said the same words.
Smiled the same way.
The food tasted the same every day.
Like nothing.
I tried to shake it off.
Told myself I was imagining it.
But I wasn't.
Something was wrong.
And when I looked at Eve...
I didn't know what was real anymore.
But I wanted it to be.
I wanted her to be real.
I didn't question it.
I couldn't.
I told myself this was real.
It had to be.
I tried not to think about it.
But every time I blinked, the edges of the world felt blurry.
Like something was straining to stay together.
One day, I watched Eve make tea. Her movements were too smooth. Too perfect.
I asked her what day it was.
She smiled, said, "Does it matter?"
My throat tightened.
I looked down at my hands. No scars. No dirt.
Too clean.
I stood up, pacing. The sound of the clock got louder in my head.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I pressed my hands against my ears.
"No…"
Eve looked up. "What's wrong?"
I shook my head, breathing harder.
"No, no, no…"
I didn't want this to be fake.
I didn't want to lose her again.
She stood, concerned. "Hey… talk to me."
I stared at her, heart racing.
"You're… not real," I whispered.
My voice cracked.
Tears burned down my cheeks.
"Are you?"
Eve's smile faltered. She didn't say anything.
And that silence hurt more than anything else.
She smiled again, but it didn't feel the same.
Her lips moved like they were trying to say something, but no sound came out.
Then everything… trembled.
The light in the room flickered.
I looked around. The bed. The walls. The window with soft sunlight. All of it—starting to melt, fade, twist.
"No… no, please—" My voice cracked.
I grabbed her hand. It felt real.
Then it turned to dust in my fingers.
"No! No no no!"
I dropped to my knees. My heart pounded, chest tight, breath short.
"Don't go. Please don't go…"
Silence.
Cold air.
I looked up—and everything was gone.
The hospital. The warmth. Her.
Just grey dust swirling in the air.
And then—
I felt it.
Something above.
I looked up.
There it was.
A giant eye in the sky, staring straight at me.
Red. Unblinking. Watching.