Chapter 7.
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It is not known where, it is not known when
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The guy flies off the cliff into the ocean, he is terrified. His body freezes in millimeters from the raging surface of the water, the frothy waves crashing violently against the jagged rocks below. The roar of the ocean is deafening, each swell a reminder of the peril that awaits him. The teenager is breathing heavily, his clothes are wet through and through, clinging to his skin like a second layer. A thin trickle of blood runs down his temple, mingling with the salty sea spray that hits his face.
Suddenly, a middle-aged man slowly flies up to him, his red and white cloak fluttering dramatically behind him like a banner in the wind. A smug smile spreads across his face, as if he's enjoying the spectacle. He reaches out, patting the boy on the head like a pet, a patronizing gesture that sends anger surging through the teen. In a burst of frustration, he swings his hand, trying to hit the man, but instead loses his balance and plunges into the tumultuous water below. Laughter and curses fill the air, mocking him as he sinks beneath the waves.
Gasping for breath, the teenager crawls out of the water, drenched and shivering, whispering a curse under his breath. The rocky cliffs loom above him, steep and formidable, their surface rough and jagged, resembling the teeth of some great beast. With determination, he begins to scale the unforgiving rock face, his fingers digging into the coarse stone as waves crash violently against the cliffs, sending spray into the air. Each climb is a battle against the slippery surface and the roar of the ocean, the storm brewing in the distance.
As he reaches a small ledge, he notices a nest tucked away in a crevice, sheltered from the wind and rain. His heart races with excitement as he spots the bird eggs nestled within—delicate, pale shells that promise nourishment. He carefully plucks them from their nest, hiding them in the folds of his wet shirt. Just as he turns to descend, a loose stone gives way beneath his feet, sending him tumbling down towards the churning ocean.
He crashes into the water with a resounding splash, the cold, bracing saltwater enveloping him, pain radiating from his head as blood flows from his broken temple. Yet, amidst the chaos, a strange exhilaration surges within him. He rises to the surface, gasping, and as he breaks through the waves, a happy smile spreads across his face. He swims to the rock, clinging to it for dear life, and opens his hand.
Inside are the two broken eggs, their contents spilling out, but he doesn't care. With a sense of triumph, he tilts his head back, thirstily drinking the rich, warm yolk, savoring every drop as if it were the sweetest nectar. But the storm is growing stronger, the winds howling and whipping around him, sending chills through his body. He can feel the power of the ocean beneath him, the relentless pull of the current threatening to drag him down.
With renewed determination, he grips the rock, his muscles straining against the onslaught of the elements. The ocean rages below him, a tempest of fury, waves crashing like thunder, but he presses on, driven by survival and the thrill of the challenge that lies ahead.
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I sat up on the bed with a jerk, my heart racing as if I'd just run a marathon. The sheets were cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from my confusion. I reached for my glasses on the bedside table with the familiar, automatic motion, my fingers brushing against the surface, only to realize that they weren't there. It was strange, too strange, and a wave of unease washed over me.
I looked around the room, the first hints of panic fluttering in my chest. The walls were painted a deep shade of blue, casting an almost suffocating atmosphere in the dim light. Shadows clung to the corners, and the only illumination came from a small bedside lamp that flickered as if struggling to stay alive. The furniture was dark and heavy, adding to the oppressive feel of the space. A wooden dresser stood against one wall, adorned with trinkets I didn't recognize, while the nightstand was littered with what looked like unread books and a half-drunk cup of tea that had long gone cold. This wasn't my home. I had never seen this place before.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I shifted my focus back to myself. I was wearing a simple white T-shirt and dark pajama pants, but my body felt different. I lifted my arms, examining the faint scars and the strength in my muscles. They felt familiar yet foreign, a combination of power and fragility. My fingers traced over the contours of my face, feeling the stubble on my chin and the familiar weight of my cheeks. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and noticed the air was thick with an unfamiliar scent—a blend of wood polish and something floral, almost comforting yet unsettling.
Driven by curiosity and a hint of fear, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cool floor sending a shiver up my spine. I stood up slowly, balancing as I fought the slight dizziness that accompanied my sudden movement. My feet padded softly on the hardwood as I made my way to the window. I hesitated, my heart pounding with anticipation, before drawing back the curtain.
What I saw outside took my breath away. The city sprawled beneath me, a labyrinth of concrete and glass shimmering in the fading light. Skyscrapers pierced the twilight sky, their windows aglow like a million tiny stars. The streets below were alive with the pulse of urban life—cars darting through intersections, people hurrying along the sidewalks, the distant sound of laughter and chatter wafting up to my window. Yet, despite the vibrancy, there was a strange disconnection; it felt like a world I was watching from afar, a life I was not a part of.
I leaned closer to the glass, the cool surface soothing against my forehead. My reflection stared back at me, a stranger with wide eyes filled with confusion. The longer I looked, the more details I began to notice. The man looking back at me had short, curly hair that framed a face I felt I should recognize. A hint of scruff lined his jaw, and the intense gaze in his eyes held stories I couldn't remember. Who was this person?
I tore my gaze away from the window, my mind racing as I scanned the room once more. The walls were adorned with photos of a man and a woman, images that seemed to capture moments of joy and love. They stood arm in arm, their smiles wide, eyes sparkling with affection. I felt a strange pang in my chest, an emotional resonance that suggested I should know them.
Carefully, step by step, I made my way to the door, each creak of the floor beneath me echoing in the stillness. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob, a swirl of uncertainty churning in my stomach. What awaited me on the other side? I turned the knob and opened the door, peering into the dim hallway.
Directly across from me was a bathroom, its door slightly ajar. The faint sound of dripping water reached my ears, and I could see the gleam of white tiles inside. My curiosity piqued, I stepped inside. The bathroom was small but immaculate, with a glass shower stall and a sleek sink. The mirror hung above the sink, and I hesitated again, bracing myself for what I might see.
As I approached the mirror, the reflection that met my gaze sent chills down my spine. The man looking back at me was undeniably familiar yet foreign—a 25-year-old man with short curly hair and sharp features that I somehow recognized. The same intense eyes stared back, filled with confusion and a hint of desperation.
"Hughie…" dry lips whispered, the name escaping me before I could even think. I froze in shock, the weight of the realization crashing down around me. Am I Hughie from The Boys?!