Chapter five: Into the Void
809 Words
The fog arrived not like a veil, but like a mouth swallowing the world whole.
Linet stood barefoot on the grass, her dormitory window still open behind her, curtains fluttering like severed wings. She hadn’t realized how she’d gotten here. One moment she was asleep. The next, standing amidst students who shouldn’t have been awake, all facing east in utter silence.
No one spoke. Not even the wind.
The courtyard felt like a suspended breath—its rhythm dictated by something ancient, inaudible. Some of the students were still in pajamas. Others wore their uniforms backwards. One girl held a cracked mirror to her face, weeping without sound. Another boy was carving spirals into his arms with a tuning fork, his blood catching the mist like a communion.
Linet felt something behind her eyes—an itch, a pulse, a rhythm not her own.
Then, they all hummed.
Low, like the Earth remembering an ancient grief. The sound rattled her spine. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt stitched. Her vision doubled for a moment. Everyone had two shadows—one physical, the other… twitching, disobedient.
A flash.
For a second, she saw Rocky.
Sitting cross-legged atop the old chapel roof. Shirtless. Eyes glowing faintly green. Smiling, as if orchestrating a symphony only he could hear.
He raised a finger.
The crowd dropped to their knees in unison, except Linet. She remained standing—trembling, resisting something that whispered her name from inside her own mouth.
She turned to flee—
—but she was already back in her bed.
Sweating.
The fog gone.
The clock blinking 4:01 AM.
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8:45 AM – Psychology of Dreams Class
Linet walked in late, the professor mid-lecture. The board read:
> “When the dream becomes more real than memory, madness is not far behind.”
Every student turned to look at her. Identical smiles. Identical tilts of the head. Identical eyes: glassy, expectant.
She sat between Kendi and a boy named Yusuf. Neither blinked. Neither spoke. She checked her notebook. Every page was filled with Rocky’s name—scribbled in her handwriting, over and over, but she hadn’t written a word.
The professor turned. It wasn’t the same man who’d taught them last week. This one was younger, with a long scar running down his cheek, and a slight limp. He spoke directly to her.
> “Do you believe in shared hallucinations, Linet?”
The class leaned forward.
She hesitated. “No…?”
He grinned. “Good. Then let’s test that.”
The lights flickered.
A low hum began—just like the courtyard.
Linet felt her body freeze.
The chalkboard cracked.
Students began mouthing a word she couldn’t hear.
Rocky’s voice whispered inside her skull: “Say it, and be free.”
She stood suddenly, knocking over her chair.
Then—
Flash.
She was outside.
Rain. Thunder. Alone.
Or… not.
Behind her, a statue of Saint Elora wept blood. Its mouth open. And inside its mouth… a tongue. Real. Pulsing.
She heard footsteps behind her.
She turned—slowly—expecting a student.
It was Rocky.
He wore a priest’s robe, soaked in ink. His eyes bore into her, not with love, not with hate—just recognition.
> “You’re waking up, Linet,” he said gently. “I’ve always liked the sound of your mind unraveling.”
And then the ground beneath her melted into water.
She fell—
Deeper, through pages of her diary, pages that bled, pages that screamed.
When she finally landed, she was in a dark lecture hall filled with mirrors instead of students.
Each mirror showed her—a version of herself smiling, crying, bleeding, hanging.
Only one version was screaming, banging on the glass.
She ran toward it.
Behind the glass, that Linet yelled: “Wake up! He’s not real! He’s you!”
Then Rocky’s hand pulled her away—from behind, from nowhere—and whispered:
> “You’ll ruin the play if you keep breaking character.”
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Later – Saint Elora Courtyard
Back in reality—or what pretended to be—Linet sat on the grass, surrounded by other students reading books that had no titles.
She couldn’t remember if today was Tuesday or never.
Kendi sat beside her, braiding a lock of Linet’s hair into a noose.
“Do you remember when you first met Rocky?” Kendi asked, voice syrupy.
Linet tried to answer—but the words tasted like feathers.
“Shhh,” Kendi smiled. “He’s listening.”
The fog returned.
From within it, the faint hum again—like a tuning fork struck against bone.
Reality began to ripple.
And Linet, finally, began to scream—
—but no one heard her.
Because now, she only existed in Rocky’s version of the story.
And he had just turned the page.
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- Writer
