There are moments of doubt—the "what ifs" that linger when reflecting on the past or contemplating undoing a choice. The instant your mind begins to wander, you've already stepped into the past. And in that moment, you realize: many people aren't on the front lines. They aren't the main characters, side characters, or even cannon fodder. They do not exist in the story at all. I am one of them—the non-existent one who sees everything, captures everything, always in the dark, on the sidelines, never taking action, just existing.
Like every other day, I go with the flow. Recently, there's been a lot of news about murders and high school girls reporting creepy stalkers. It's overwhelming how some act with deep heroic virtues while others delve into destruction and pain. One makes the mess, another cleans it up. Such is the oddity of life.
The investigation starting from stalking and progressing into serial killing has been stirring up widespread panic. Initially, it was dismissed as a false alarm, but the media frenzy, fueled by fake testimonies and exaggerated claims, only intensified the fear. For months now, there hasn't been a single day without a call—some with genuine concerns, others nothing more than pranks. It seems some people find joy in the suffering of others, entertainment in their misfortune. Life feels like a drag, a never-ending cycle, and I have no desire to be a part of it. That's why I remain a shadow—quietly observing, never involved.