Am I dead...?
Where the hell am I !?
He stirred awake, eyelids lifting sluggishly, everything around him was dark and blurred at the edges.
He couldn't grasp what exactly was happening , it was like he just woke up from a deep slumber and found himself drowning in an endless abyss for eternity.
He couldn't feel any sensation nor could move any of his limbs—they were dead frozen as if they didn't exist.
Amid all that darkness, a fragile echo of light shimmered far above, wavering like the skin of an ocean or maybe that abyss was actually an ocean where he was being dragged down—leisurely and calmly.
Just for how long I've been drowning...am I dying?
I-I can't breathe anymore nor can move an inch, so this is how I'm gonna die, huh!?
His eyes began to close and his remaining consciousness started to fade.
Damn it... He smirked a little with obscure complacency and his eyes glanced for once at the surface while closing—from where the glimmering light ray was reaching him piercing through the endless dark.
I wish...I really wish I could do better. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry ______, I... I failed again...
With these last words, he sealed shut his eyes and vanished in the unknown.
***
[Bzz...Bzz...]
"Not again."
A cold, husky sigh slipped out of him as he lay sprawled across the narrow cot, one leg in while other out of the slim blanket, his arms rested flung wide. His eyes, hollow and eerily calm with narrow dark circles under his eyes, facing familiar ordinary ceiling. The room was dimly lit and only a soft glow of sunlight was seeping through the tattered golden-brown curtain over the window - near the right corner of the wall, diagonally to the bed.
He lifted his left hand and rested it over his face, covering one eye and part of his brow.
"Such a nasty, uncanny dream I saw!" He murmured, "Wait! I was crying?" He felt a drop of tear on his finger.
He took a deep breath,'Whatever, it was intriguing, since these dreams or should I call them nightmares, I dunno..., never disappoint me and keep me entertained. I'll never get sick of them, as if I've anything else interesting in my life, maybe I don't even have a life, damn... I'm rotten.'
'Still they feel way too real to be just called dreams, that feeling of not being able to breathe was so real. I almost thought I am done for sure, but that could have been better, if I actually managed to—'
"Yohan! Are you awake or not yet?"
The voice cut through his drowsiness, and he fumbled through the cluttered bedsheets, chasing the vibration.
"Ah...now where it has gone!." He agitated.
"Don't tell me you're skipping school again today!" The voice came from downstairs.
"Ugh... No, I won't. I'm coming, mom...wait a minute!"
Flap!
He found his phone, without even bothering to get up.
"It's already 7:30 , only half an hour left, but who cares, it's not like I wanna go to that Hell Prison" He thought—propped on his right arm, he stared at the screen.
***
He, Yohan, hated his new school for some reason that he himself was not sure about. It's his second and final year in this school and of his complete school life. At this point of life, school was the only thing that he hated more than himself.
Maybe it's because he missed his former school where he studied from the beginning to all these years till he switched last year or maybe he missed his friends or maybe just a friend or maybe just his past self or maybe the time when everything wasn't this twisted and the only worry for him was to just score good in academics.
But now his life had changed drastically or maybe nothing changed, everything that he held dear to just disappeared rather than changing. He felt utterly lonely in a way that's hard to explain despite having a family of four, including his mother, father, an elder sister and himself. Not because they lived apart, but from the quiet belief that no one truly understood him—not even a little.
So, he kept to himself—quiet, withdrawn—talking only in his own head, as if confessing his entire life to someone.The reason he didn't open up to anyone not because he didn't want to, it's just no one seemed to trust him, so he learnt not to trust them either, not even his own family. Because in his view, they always misinterpreted him, even his silence.
He avoided conversation, choosing the solace of isolation over the weight of being seen. Yet his personality was way elusive and contradictory to comprehend, even for himself — driving him into endless self-interrogation — about his very miserable existence and the cause behind all the things, that went wrong, that led to his countless personality alterations time-to-time, from extreme self-loathing to a whole empty human-devoid of emotions, to someone who believes in being kind - no matter what... Suffering from identity crisis and atelophobia, making him highly vulnerable to even losing his sanity, that he couldn't afford to disclose to anyone.
Everything about him felt like an opinion rather than a solid truth, because of his inscrutable personality, extremely capricious behaviour — triggered by some minor things and voices, he felt to hear - that may or may not exist.
***
He dressed up for school lethargically. For once he took a short gaze in the vertical mirror with edges shimmered with silver leaf detailing - beside his room door. Dull looking face with mediocre features but rather symmetrical, wearing a white linen shirt with gray trouser and a tie - tied gently around his neck, then carried his bag to the main door to depart.
"Yohan, what about the breakfast! I made this early for you, just eat it already, it won't take long" His mom asked firmly from behind.
"I told you several times that I don't feel like eating while going to that school, I can't— even if I try to. I'm going I'll eat after coming back." Yohan replied while facing the handle of the door.
"Just take a bite at least and drink the milk poured in the cup, you may go then."
He drew a short breath, eyes still calm, as if there are no emotions within them," 'kay. "
Sat on one of the chairs near the table to have his quick morning feast.
"Have you completed your assignments? Make sure to ask one of your friends in class if you missed anything important since you skip school too much."
"Friends, huh!" He hummed in a low husky voice while holding a spoon in his right hand.
"Said something?"
"Um...Nothing."
"I'm telling you again, this is your last year in school, spend it wisely, and decide what you have to do for your future, all our hopes are on you. And if there's something you wanna say, just talk to us. You ain't talking at all lately, as if you've lost someone. Tell us if something is bothering you and quit this act."
"And I've told you so many times, there's nothing like that. I'm out now, I've eaten." He stood up and walked out of the home.
'Like you'll try to understand even if I tell', Yohan thought,'I can't even explain to myself what exactly is wrong with me - how am I supposed to explain this to you in words.'
"There's no benefit in consulting him. He's arrogantly stubborn and has become egocentric, you shouldn't care about him this much, Mom." said his sister, Siyun—who was sitting beside him near the table - having her breakfast, before departing for her work. His sister was a primary school teacher at that time in a school, not much further away from their home. She joined it right after completing her graduation from a private university, in order to support the family's finances. While their mother, Noyul, was also well educated but had to be tied up with the household responsibilities. She was highly sensitive for the family's future and tender-hearted, always habitually anxious for even minor things.
'Such a weird life I've, X.'
While walking Yohan started talking in his head - as he often did. The street was mildly crowded. It wasn't chaos, just a usual rush in an early morning, under the softened warmth of the Sun. But he was in a trance-like state, completely oblivious to his surroundings.
'Even till now I couldn't achieve anything, not a single worthy thing in my life. I've been good at multiple things but I've mastery in none. Damn, It hurts when you are good at almost everything but best at nothing.'
'I've always been a talented learner or maybe not talented but just someone who always yearned to learn something new. I still remember how good I actually was in variety of stuffs - from physical combat, art, writing, science, cooking (used to mess this up more though), to even in my studies , that I used to think I can conquer everything I set my mind to, blind to the vastness of the world, being good or average at something won't lead you anywhere. This world demands the best! Only the best can thrive fully, people like me just get neglected and crumbled under the system of this cruel world.'
'There's a thing that I can just start focusing on one single goal and try to become best in that, but I've a fear, a fear much greater than anything for me, the fear of failing... What if, I decided to choose a path and if I failed to reach where I'm supposed to be, there'll be no coming back, especially for me. First hurdle will be to convince my family, that I'll choose this path, which will not be easy, and just in case I failed on the path I chose, I'll not just lose myself but the very unstable faith THEY'VE in me as well. But choosing the path others want for me? That's just another flavor of losing. Either way, I'm walking into the same end. Just the route changes.'
'Right now I'm walking on a one way path shrouded in gray smog, where I've a slight idea of what lies ahead, and that's not worth seeing for sure. I've no fight left anymore, I'm just dragging myself in the pathetic hope that maybe, maybe something might change and I'll come out of this perplex tragedy of my mind. I hate this false hope, I really hate it as much as I hate myself. I no longer feel anything, but there's a time I used to care and worry about everything and everyone.'
'Maybe I've no emotion left inside me, except frustration. No idea what it's called, but I've reached that phase of life where I've...
No worry about the future,
No regret for the past,
No awareness of the present,
- Just accepting the fate which I once never believed.'
***
After around 10 minutes of plodding, Yohan arrived at school, and sat in the last, in the corner with no interaction or greeting with anyone. It's his second year and yet he didn't know the name of a single classmate. Bullies tried to rattle him, to provoke a reaction—but he ignored them, detached, as if their words could not touch him and no one else seemed interested to befriend him nor he himself. For him, school was a place to exist, not to live.
He spent the entire class either with his head low or eyes glued to the window, but seeing nothing. The world outside moved, blurred, meaningless, while inside his skull a storm raged—thoughts twisting, looping, suffocating him.
'I don't think there'll be anything good to come in my life anymore. I'm done. I just wanna give up, but can't. I'm a gutless coward.' Yohan, scrambling with his thoughts being oblivious to what's happening in the class and then he took out a black veiled notebook and commenced writing something.
He wrote, 'I don't know who the hell I am anymore.
Maybe I'm not even a person—just a messy compilation of opinions. A patchwork creature stitched together by hands that were never mine.
And if I strip all that away… there's nothing underneath. Just a hollow outline wearing a name.
I try remembering the original "me,"
the version that existed before everyone else's voices dug into my skin.
But it's gone—buried, erased, overwritten so many times that I can't tell if he ever existed at all.
Some nights I wonder if I'm just a malfunction—
a broken echo pretending to be human,
dragging around a self that died a long time ago.
And the worst part?
I don't even feel scared.
Just… empty.
Like identity isn't something I lost—
it's something I never had in the first place.'
That notebook was his diary, it was a graveyard for the parts of him that he didn't want to forget. Ragged thoughts, sharp pangs of pain, memories that clawed at him, and even the nightmares he somehow treasured, found refuge there.
'Still! Why was I apologising in that dream today though and to whom?' Out of the blue he thought about his dream amidst writing. 'Was that a reference to my past regrets? Who knows, I often see such dreams. Now when this class will be over!'
Yohan zoned out as the teacher droned on—some big announcement, maybe about exams, tournaments, or some competition—but the words didn't reach him. His mind was elsewhere, completely untethered from the classroom noise.
***
Yohan had arrived back at home and began ascending the stairs to his room.
"You came early today?" His mom asked while holding spatula in her hand, perhaps preparing lunch.
"Uh... Yeah, I wasn't feeling well. Don't worry I didn't skip anything important." But maybe he did.
He walked to his room-threw his bag on the cot and lied on it like someone half dead, and trudged with a sigh." I haven't given up yet, but nothing feels the worth at this point, even if there's a single good day awaiting me in future, I would've still drifted this out longer but I'm sure there won't be any. This world is rotten beyond repair and so I'm. Only my absence can benefit my family, being alive only makes me a burden." saying this, Yohan stood up and took out a red strap from his bag and climbed on a backless chair and fastened it to a metal hook on the ceiling, with expressionless face.
He was attempting a suicide. He looped the other end of the strap around his neck. The chair beneath him wobbled slightly. His breath came shallow, uneven and he thought for last.
Should I've burnt my diary? Whatever, I won't have to care about anything, once I am dead. F*ck, I couldn't even talk to her for once. I wish there's no other life awaiting me after I die. I can't do all this sh!t again...
Bzzzt—ring—ring!
[Phone Ringing...]
He halted and for the first time his eyes widened, maybe he was nervous, but it was utterly stunning for him to see someone calling him, since no one actually used to call him. He couldn't remember how many months it had been since someone actually called him except for his mom, but she was downstairs, probably stirring something in a pan. She wouldn't bother with a call.
"Is this a sign or what?"
"Who could it be now? I swear if it's some loan offer bullsh!t..."