Isaac, slumped in his bed, can't tear himself away from his phone. Trapped in his nightly routine, he scrolls without really paying attention. He wishes he could break the habit, yet his eyes always end up finding that glowing rectangle again, the only source of light in his room. Even the moon is absent tonight. The streetlamps are off too.
Only the passing cars sometimes light up the large tilt-and-turn window of his studio. Their back-and-forth briefly illuminates the humble furnishings of his student apartment: an electric hob kitchen, a wooden desk, a simple bed covered in clothes. Isaac yawns. Maybe he should close the shutter. He should already be asleep. He has to get up early tomorrow.
The young man throws his phone onto the mattress, then picks it up again with a sigh. What's the point? He'll do as usual: stay up way too late until he hates himself, then fall asleep from exhaustion. Then get up five hours later to go to work, hop on his bike, drag the pedals to the service door of a little bistro, start his dull 35-hour week — the perfect job for a cynical pessimist like him.
The kitchen helper suddenly thinks back to all the years of study that led him here. So much effort for a master's in social economics, only to end up in catering. Only his addictions to easy meals and dopamine keep him afloat.
A psychologist would probably label the young man fragile and unstable. Maybe even depressed and suicidal.
Isaac is captain of a very shaky ship. A sailor against his will, ready to throw himself overboard at the first passing siren. It would only take one temptation for him to give up. For now, he holds on, or rather, he lets go, drowning in another kind of ocean called the internet.
He scrolls on his phone. Consuming his dose of boxed happiness, trying to forget that there's nothing left in his fridge. That he finished the last bag of farfalle pasta. That he forgot to buy toilet paper. Tonight, he ordered UberEats. It's been four days since he did the dishes.
He sighs again and tosses his phone. It's almost 2 a.m. Turning his head, he meets his reflection in the glass. His brown eyes, black hair, sharp face, dark circles under his eyes. Sighs again.
Suddenly, a sharp bluish light pulls his gaze.
"...Comets?" he murmurs, sitting up.
Then, blackout. Isaac loses consciousness.
--
No sound, no smell, nothing but emptiness. Eyes closed, he immediately senses something is wrong. He's no longer in his room! The sheets have vanished beneath his fingers, and when he opens his eyes, all he sees is a vast white horizon.
"What the..."
He stands up, completely naked. The floor is as cold as tiles beneath his knees. It's freezing, yet there's no wind. The environment is pale and barren. The ground is howlite, the horizon ivory. In the milky, bare sky, the sun looks like an opalescent orb.
Isaac shivers, the temperature so low his feet feel like they're burning. He feels like he's walking on lava. He crosses his arms to warm himself, hands under his armpits, fingers already stiff. Steam escapes his mouth. His black lashes are frosted over and his skin is nothing but goosebumps. He forces himself to walk to avoid touching the ground, but each step feels heavier than the last.
Yet he's convinced he mustn't stop. Ever!
'Am I going to die?' he thinks. 'This is how it ends. In a damn freezer.'
He feels a weight growing in his chest. He distracts himself from the cold. What is this oppression? This tension weighing on him? He knows something… (someone?) is coming. A bad feeling overwhelms him.
Slowly, he turns around. No one. Yet the presence grows. He looks around but can't find the source. A deep despair seizes him. He feels he must find it quickly… or else… the consequences will be terrible! After several seconds that feel like an eternity, he turns toward the sun. The moment his eyes lock onto it, the orb begins to shine tyrannically.
Isaac collapses, his eyes burning, head spinning. Maybe this is the price to pay for his life, because even prostrated on the ground, he feels a comforting warmth caress his bones. The sun's aura envelops him and quickly drives away the frost that had invaded him before. Yet the burns remain, the memory indelible. Still, Isaac sheds a tear of relief as the orb continues its warm descent, hovering a few meters above his head.
The young man, with alabaster skin and hair black as night, knows nothing of the brightness that erased the world to make it monochrome. Everything is now pure, raw light. An indescribable spectacle, worthy of a genesis. Yet he can feel its presence through his eyelids and hands, which cannot fully shield him. Deep down, he knows nothing can stop this light. Not even several meters of concrete.
Suddenly, a voice echoes all around him. Or maybe inside him? He can't say. The voice is genderless, platonic, authoritative. He feels he must listen, yet every cell in his body screams that he's unworthy. This contradiction tears him apart. It reminds him of the earlier clash between hot and cold. It also stirs up other buried things inside him, thoughts he can't yet grasp.
He's disoriented, manipulated. Subjected to a scrutinizing will, indescribable in mortal words. Suddenly, he knows God exists. Yes, he's sure now. God is here, he feels it…!
'The judgment…' he thinks. 'It's time for my judgment… I'm going to be judged. Judged like an atheist…'
Isaac trembles, horrified. To him, gods, religions— all that was just a grand collective manipulation. A social construct where the best and worst of humanity coexist. Today, for the first time, Isaac sees beyond.
The voice continues its litany. It is song, it is whisper, all at once… The language is foreign, yet a message forms in his mind.
'I have been chosen.' He translates. 'I have been chosen. I am one of those… who have been heard… but what has been heard?'
Isaac is confused. He senses the concepts but the clear meaning escapes him. It speaks of 'will' or 'wish.' But what wish? Isaac doesn't know. He doesn't remember wishing for anything! The young man doesn't understand. Why was he chosen, why him? Seeming to react to his doubts, the voice speaks again.
'The desire that comes from within… the embers beneath the ash… the dream a life of weariness cannot hide…'
The communication is laborious, cryptic. Isaac despairs.
'I have received a shard… a piece of… a splinter of…?'
"A piece, a shard… in service… the light will be reborn… what does that mean?" he murmurs, lips trembling. "I don't understand anything…!"
Isaac covers his ears, unable to silence the omnipresence of the divinity tormenting him.
"The choice to… live in the light… leave the shelter of shadow and solitude…"
Sweat beads on his temples veined blue.
"The chosen one must learn… to fight his demons… those of the body and those of the soul… his flesh will be the vessel… I beg you, no! Stop! Shut up!"
His scream tears through the void, like a death knell. Isaac loses consciousness.