The Day After
950 Words
I didn’t go back to sleep.
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There was no point.
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Even if I tried, I knew what I’d see.
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Nothing.
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Just that same empty space where last night should have been.
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I stayed on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands long after the sun came up.
The blood was gone now.
Washed off.
Scrubbed harder than it needed to be.
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But I could still feel it.
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Like it had sunk deeper than skin.
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I exhaled slowly and stood up.
“Get it together,” I muttered.
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Normal.
Today needed to be normal.
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That’s what I told myself as I got dressed.
That’s what I told myself as I avoided the mirror.
That’s what I told myself as I stepped outside.
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The world didn’t care what happened to me last night.
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People walked past like nothing had changed.
Cars moved.
Voices blended into noise.
Everything kept going.
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And somehow—
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That made it worse.
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Because if something *had* happened…
Something bad…
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Then why did everything feel so… untouched?
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I tightened my grip on my bag and kept walking.
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School.
Routine.
Focus.
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If I stayed busy, maybe I wouldn’t think about it.
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Maybe I wouldn’t hear it.
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*You won’t get that lucky.*
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I stopped walking.
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My breath caught slightly.
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No.
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Not here.
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Not now.
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I kept moving.
Faster this time.
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“You’re imagining things,” I whispered under my breath.
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But the words felt weak.
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Unconvincing.
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By the time I reached the gate, the noise of people pulled me back a little.
Laughter.
Arguments.
Normal conversations.
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Grounding.
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Good.
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I needed that.
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I stepped inside.
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And immediately felt it.
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That same pressure.
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Subtle.
But there.
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Like something had shifted.
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My eyes scanned the courtyard.
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Nothing looked out of place.
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But my instincts didn’t relax.
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They sharpened.
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Watching.
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Waiting.
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“Nyra.”
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I turned slightly.
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A girl from my class waved at me.
I forced a small nod.
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Normal.
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“Hey,” she said, falling into step beside me. “You look… tired.”
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I almost laughed.
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“Tired is one way to put it,” I replied.
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She studied me for a second.
Too long.
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“You okay?” she asked.
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There it was.
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The question.
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I shrugged lightly.
“Didn’t sleep much.”
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That wasn’t a lie.
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Just not the truth.
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We walked in silence for a few steps.
Then—
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“You hear about what happened?” she said.
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My stomach tightened.
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“What happened?”
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She lowered her voice slightly.
“Someone got attacked last night.”
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Everything in me went still.
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“…Attacked?”
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“Yeah,” she said. “Near the east side. They said it was bad.”
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My chest felt tight again.
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Too tight.
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“What do you mean ‘bad’?” I asked.
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She hesitated.
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“Like… not normal bad.”
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My heartbeat started picking up.
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“They said the person barely made it,” she added. “And whoever did it just… disappeared.”
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Silence filled my head.
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Loud.
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Heavy.
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*You already know.*
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“No,” I said under my breath.
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“What?” she asked.
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“Nothing.”
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I forced my expression to stay neutral.
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But inside—
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Everything was shifting.
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That empty space in my memory.
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The blood.
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The voice.
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And now this.
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It wasn’t a coincidence.
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It couldn’t be.
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I stopped walking.
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“Nyra?” she said.
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“I forgot something,” I replied quickly. “I’ll catch up later.”
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She frowned slightly but nodded.
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I turned—
And walked away.
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Fast.
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Too fast.
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I didn’t stop until I was alone.
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Then I leaned against the wall, my breathing uneven.
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“No… no, no…”
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This wasn’t happening.
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It couldn’t be.
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I closed my eyes, pressing my hand to my forehead.
Think.
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If I did that—
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If I hurt someone—
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My chest tightened painfully.
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“I wouldn’t…” I whispered.
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But the words didn’t feel solid anymore.
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Didn’t feel true.
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Because I didn’t remember.
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And that was the worst part.
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I didn’t remember.
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Which meant—
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Anything was possible.
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A cold feeling settled in my chest.
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*Say it.*
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The voice again.
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Closer.
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Clearer.
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“No,” I said.
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*Say it.*
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“I didn’t do anything.”
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Silence.
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Then—
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A soft, almost amused response.
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*Then why are you afraid?*
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My breath caught.
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I didn’t answer.
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Because I didn’t have one.
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Or maybe I did.
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And I just didn’t want to say it out loud.
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I pushed myself off the wall.
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I needed answers.
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Not guesses.
Not fear.
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Answers.
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And there was only one place to start.
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Last night.
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Whatever happened—
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I was going to find it.
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No matter what it showed me.
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Because not knowing?
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That was worse.
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Much worse.
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*Good,* the voice whispered.
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And for the first time—
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It didn’t sound distant.
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It sounded… satisfied.
- Writer
