He walks endlessly in the woods trying to find the pathway, and starts worrying that he has lost, then—something—a dim light in the distance.
Just beyond the darkness, a light pole stands like a beacon, flickering through the trees. He sprinted toward it; he wasn't lost.
Atama entered a damp, leaf-strewn old asphalt road illuminated by flickering poles. Long shadows were cast at his feet by the faint buzzing of the lightbulb above in the still night. Looking for anything that can help him.
Then he noticed it, left side a few meters away, there was a huge street sign with white alphabet with yellow numerical numbers that said, 6 miles to Wiwaka City. Since his house was situated between the borders of Urthakamadalu and Wiwaka, Crime wasn't just an issue. In Wiwaka, it was the cornerstone of the city. Even the mobs were allegedly connected to the government and were secretly pulling strings behind closed doors, according to rumors.
Urthakamadalu was a small town with quiet streets that wound through different neighborhoods. Most of the folks lived peaceful, simple lives away from the hustle and bustle of the cities of crime.
* * *
A regular brick house, its cream-coloured walls were spotted with old and dirty patches. A rusted bicycle frame from years of rain was leaning against the side, one wheel bent. The majority of houses in the neighborhood had roof tiles had sloped tile roofs—neat, familiar, and uniform.
Not Atama's, though. There was no roof over his house, nothing but a flat ceiling. His home was situated on a small plot of land close to the town's edge.
Knock, knock.
Atama opens the door latch after he knocks a few times. There was nobody inside, and it was dark, but Atama didn't seem to mind. All he wants is sleep. No more, no less.
Books, old clothing, and forgotten items piled into corners filled his small, disorganised room. A tiny bed in the corner drooped inward from when he was a kid; the mattress sank as if it had given up on supporting him.
For a while, Atama sat on its edge, still. His eyes wandered around the room, but his thoughts were elsewhere, reliving every moment that seemed to be a blur, every event of the day. The weight of it all pulled at him slowly. His eyelids became heavy.
Minutes went by.
Then he reclined on the old mattress, staring at the ceiling. One hand rested over his bruised arm after what he had previously done to the thug in the toilet. In those silent moments, he chuckled a while, cause how absurdly stupid that was, as he encountered that kind of event. But those little laughs came to a faint, as he sighed how tired he was.
He kept staring at the ceiling.
Until, at last, his eyes closed.
Silent. Motionless, no sound, no movement, just dark. But only then, a sound whisper. It was a high-pitched melody almost identical to a violin. As high-pitched melody goes, it's slowly descending, a heartbeat ticking, and there's also a sense of wind. Atama opened his eyes, the smell of damp soil as the cold earth pressed against his back, and with his naked feet. A branch shadow hung over him, in the midnight stars. As he sat up, looking at the surroundings where trees stood like threatening thorns.
Where am I?
He thought. Above him, he saw a large, shining pale moon in the northern sky. It was huge, and it was closer to the land. If he had superpowers, he could jump into it.
Scooping up a handful of dirt, he reached down. It was rough, but oddly brittle, like dried ash, and crumbled easily in his palm. He noticed the hue was a deep bluish shade that shimmered subtly in the moonlight, neither brown nor grey.
Atama scowled as he let the dirt slowly slide between his fingers. This forest was new to Atama. The trees' shapes, the ground's texture, and even the air itself felt strange, unlike the woods close to his house. His footsteps were light on the brittle soil as he started to walk slowly and almost aimlessly. Something about it pulled at his senses, but every step felt like he was slipping further into a dream. It was too sharp and too vivid to be a sleep-induced illusion.
His gaze drifted upward, attracted to the heavens.
Above him, the stars glistened, closer, stranger; it's his first time seeing a real star. He was surprised and amused by the look on his face. It was fascinating, where the light of the constellation moved slowly, and some flickered. Like threads woven across the sky, many were grouped in close formations and connected by slender strands of light. Though it was overshadowed by the shine of the moon.
Atama wandered farther and farther into what seemed like an endless, living maze with every step. The paths curved irrationally, the trees twisted posing in odd shapes, and the scenery changed slowly, as if it were breathing beneath his feet.
He didn't hesitate, though.
The panic that had seized him, the fear of becoming lost, was gone. Atama felt strangely at ease. Though the place has a dreadful feeling, because in his mind, he knows whether it was real or a dream, but to him, there's a sense of realness.
Hours upon hours go by, as the moon drifts away, in the vast dreaming world. Atama could see the constellations more clearly now, brighter and sharper, strewn across the heavens like a complex map in the last of the moonlight. However, something wasn't quite right.
He continued walking indefinitely, his steps leading him in no particular direction.
The moon hung just above a far-off slope to his south, illuminating what initially appeared to be a mountain. However, as he gazed, he became aware that it was not a mountain at all. The land fell gently upward and disappeared into the darkness.
It nearly resembled the world's ceiling. He paused, eyes narrowing as he scanned the starlit sky again. Then it hit him. A few of the stars were in motion. Slowly. In neat rows, Cars.
And others—still, but glowing faintly. Lights from lamps.
He felt his heart skip a beat.
He asked himself in thought. Did I just get transport to the upper world? I've been walking many miles now, so why am I not exhausted yet? Am I dreaming? But why is it so real? One question led to another, and soon his mind was full of the thought, each one more unrealistic question coming out of the blue after he realized that he was in a world that he had always been curious about. It's the ceiling world rather than the last.
He checked the surroundings and came to his conclusion that it was similar to what he saw back on Earth. The Colors, The Trees, the terrain, where a crevice in some part.
Crack….
Behind him, Atama heard a sharp crack reverberate through the mist of the woods as confusion twisted around his thoughts.
Atama froze.
His breath caught as his body stiffened. There was a person present, observing.
Trying not to make a sound, he started to move his feet slowly and deliberately. His heart thumping louder than his footsteps, he closed the gap between himself and the source of the cracking sound with each silent shift backwards.
Atama looked into every nook and cranny of his vision. Something pressed against him, a presence, in that panting silence. Unable to see but impossible to ignore, a sly, evil feeling slithered through the air.
An Aura withering Atama body, making him look weak, too fragile for him to stand the presence. As he clenched his fist, jaw tightening then, he heard a sharp, swift sound from behind. Atama's eyes darted. It was fast; he almost captured what he saw. It was a shadowy figure; long arms, long legs, both limbs captured the similarity of human anatomy.
Eyes flashed, in those moments when Atama saw the glimpse of the figure, he said. "Oh, ok, I'm out…"
And proceed to run away.
In fear, he ran. He ran. To nowhere he goes, dodging between thick tree trunks and broken roots, fear seized his chest. His body moved instinctively, nimbly, with panic driving each step. He continued despite branches whipping past him.
This is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream. He thought, trying to cleanse his mind, his eyes were squinting, trying not to get whiplash from the branch while in swiftness.
Squinnng!!!
The screeching of screaming in the back, deafening his ear, hearing it gives it a taunting feel. Under the blue-tinged, starlit sky, he pushed himself harder, his feet hammering the brittle ground. Shadows stretched in all directions as the trees passed in a blur.
Then—crack. A sharp, thunderous snap echoed through the trees. Not a branch breaking. A whole tree.
Something overhead.
Something heavy crashed through the canopy before he could react. He was struck hard across the side by a log, thick and swift. His world whirled sideways before crashing into darkness as the force knocked him off his feet.
Atama attempted to stand, but his legs refused to move—frozen in shock, trembling beneath him. Raw, pulsing pain swept through his veins like fire. Even though everything was surreal, he could not deny that this was real. He shifted his eyes and gritted his teeth. Beside him, a dark shadow splayed across the floor. Slowly, Atama looked upward. And what he saw was a figure standing there—humanoid in shape, almost identical to a human. This time, light shimmering passing, crossing the creature under the moon, he could see the silhouette.
Bright, sinister eyes shining white, dazing in silhouette, those eyes were small at first, but they grew larger over time. This creature had messy, long hair that almost covered all of its body. It was crouching on a thick branch above with its limbs bent low and clinging with unnerving ease, resembling a predator waiting to strike. Its fingers were too long and too thin, gripping the branch like claws, and its long arms and legs clung to the bark with unnatural precision. Stretched thin over a wiry, sinewed frame, the skin, if it could be called that, was pale and taut, nearly translucent in the starlight.
In vain, Atama pushes himself from the thing above him, pushing himself backward, palms scraping the uneven ground, crawling away from the creature. The creature stood there, remaining silent. It just watched, giving Atama a chance to escape. As Atama crawls with shaky legs, he dragged himself farther before he was able to get up into a ragged run. Fear propelled him forward, but his legs hardly responded, stumbling over rocks and roots.
Then—light.
The landscape was washed in warmth as the sun's golden rays slowly spilled over the horizon as it started to rise. Under the touch of dawn, the world's curved slope glowed as if the sky itself were exhaling.
With his breath ragged and his teeth clenched, he pushed harder. Long, dappled rays of the rising sun's golden light spread across the forest floor as it passed through the trees in front. Atama trailed after them. The sunlight beckoned him on, guiding him through the darkness and encouraging him to keep going, like a path carved by warmth itself. Every step became steadier. Even though it was laboured, every breath felt more vital. And now the light was in front of him, but fear still bit at his heels. And he dashed in its direction.
"I don't want to die... Please, God, I don't want to die."
The words came out of Atama's mouth in fragmented gasps, barely whispered rather than yelled, as though saying them aloud might make them seem real.
The shock still pulsing through his body made his hands tremble, exhausted from swinging. He thought not to die here, where his body would never be discovered.
Then, in an explicit moment, Atama felt a mighty force, punching, cracking his bones, and shredding his limbs. Within those moments, he looked back and tried to glance at the creature's face. The rays of the sun shine on both of them, but Atama couldn't see the creature's face.
Atama was punched hard behind his back and thrown away; his body crashed through a tree after being flung through the air. It was far, it was quick, Atama screaming, tormented. It was excruciating. Atama's mouth gaped open as he struggled to breathe, his lungs fighting for air that wouldn't come. At his sides, his hands were limp, useless, and unresponsive, and the nerve inside his head was shrinking, wanting to explode.
Then he noticed it. Directly before him. The creature, in person.