A boring life had been all John'd lived for the past twenty years in this piece-of-shit world called Earth. Wake up, eat, work, eat, shit, and sleep—that's all he did, day in, day out. Sure, getting a girl was possible, but a stable relationship? Ha. That was a fucking myth.

Same city. Same miserable routine. Same hollow ache in his chest by nightfall.

"What a meaningless, shitty life," John whispered every night before he shut his eyes.

And then, everything changed the day a mysterious truck appeared out of nowhere—and hit him while he was lying in bed.

He died, screaming like a pig. Blinding, excruciating pain—that's all he felt.

Dying hurt like a bitch. Especially the way he went. A fucking lorry ran him over. You think that doesn't hurt? Try it. Imagine being run over before your soul even gets a chance to escape your mangled body.

So yeah, he guessed he'd died. Who really knew, though? Only the living could confirm that. Probably his neighbor. Maybe those relatives who'd be all too eager to engrave "Rest in Peace" on his tombstone.

"Rest in Peace," my ass. John cursed as the pain was still clawing at him, and all he saw was darkness, endless darkness.

It wasn't in his body since he didn't have one right now—it felt like it was deep in his soul, twisting and burning him from the inside out. Like a fire that couldn't be put out.

At first, John had laughed. Dying hurt like a bitch, but he could handle it. But then, it wasn't funny anymore. The pain dug in deeper, and he realized he wasn't laughing. He was screaming—no, begging—to be free of it.

"What now?" he screamed, but the only response was a chaotic noise, a screeching that twisted through his skull, sinking the pain deeper. Every curse he hurled at gods, saints, and heaven only worsened the agony, like steam rising from his soul.

He screamed until he couldn't anymore. The pain clawed through him like jagged claws, and he learned his lesson. He kept his mouth shut.

He tried to move, but the pain…the pain was killing him. It felt like his very soul was about to shatter. If he took one more step, he was certain he'd be nothing but ashes in the void. So, he stopped. Just stopped.

He waited. And waited. Days? Months? Years? Who knew? Time lost all meaning as he sat there, carrying the pain like an anchor.

If this was the afterlife, it was one hell of a boring one. Slowly, he began to miss the shitty days back when he was alive when at least there was the illusion of control.

But nothing changed. Eventually, he got used to the darkness. The pain that gnawed at his soul dulled, turning into a dull ache, as if it had fused with him. It became part of the void—part of the nothingness.

At first, it was just an empty space. But after what felt like days—or years?—the darkness began to take shape. It had teeth, gnawing at him, daring him to scream just to break the silence.

And then, one day, he realized he missed the pain. So he started singing, humming whatever song came to mind, desperate for any distraction. The pain flared up, but he kept singing, louder and louder, grasping at the air like he could claw his way out of the void.

"Shut up!" a voice suddenly boomed through the darkness, archaic and heavy.

Oh, someone's here! He thought, a flicker of hope cutting through the emptiness. He probably shouldn't go around talking to strange voices in this place, but really—what could go worse? He was already dead.

"Hello? Anyone there?" he called out. Silence.

"Hey, don't be shy! I'm new here too. You can call me John!"

Silence.

He kept talking, hoping his endless chatter would break through. But after a while, it got awkward. So, he stopped.

"Oh, so you're ignoring me? Fine!" he muttered. "Guess I'll just keep singing. Who knows? My beautifully tone-deaf voice might win you over."

And so, he sang.

"I said, SHUT UP!" The growl came again, even more venomous this time. "You… are the only soul foolish enough to cling to consciousness here. It's tiresome."

John grinned, unfazed. The voice's anger didn't faze him. Instead, he launched into the Titanic theme song, louder this time.

"You annoying pest! Do you want me to crush your pathetic soul?"

Oh, I'm shaking. He sneered back. You would've done it already if you could. What's stopping you, Mister Big Shot?

"So, you know," it replied, voice dripping with menace. "Alright, I can't destroy your soul, but I can make you wish I did."

Suddenly, a searing heat surged through John, like his very being was being set ablaze from the inside out. His skin felt like it was melting off his bones, the air around him thick and oppressive. He let out a loud crackle of laughter, mocking the sensation.

"So this is torture? I don't even feel an itch. Come on, can you do better?"

Hundreds of ways. That's how many methods the entity tried to torture him.

First came the searing heat. Then came the freezing cold, like shards of ice piercing through his soul. Then a crushing weight, like the entire universe pressing down on him. But he just laughed. All of it. Laughed.

The more he laughed, the madder the entity got. Honestly, he preferred this to being alone in the endless dark.

The more he defied it, the more he felt something shift—like a crack in the darkness, a fracture in its patience. "Do you think you're special, human?" the voice sneered, almost amused. "We'll see how long you last."

Some immeasurable time later.

"Impressive," the entity muttered, as if it were finally realizing its efforts were pointless. "Human, this is the realm of eternal slumber. Why are you the only one awake? Can't you just… sleep?"

"I wish I could, but I don't know how," John replied with a shrug.

"Then at least shut up. You're disturbing the other souls."

"I can do that," he offered, grinning. "But only if we can have a nice conversation. You know, so I don't accidentally wake anyone else."

"Let's make this quick," it grumbled.

"Fine by me. First question—who are you?" John asked.

"You don't need to know. You lack the qualifications to even speak my great name," the entity replied, sneering.

"Ah, a significant improvement from 'none of your business.' Moving on. Where am I? Heaven? Hell? Do those even exist?"

"I already told you. This is the Realm of Eternal Slumber," it said, a smug edge in its voice. "Heaven and hell? You've got to be kidding. Your human ideas of the afterlife are painfully primitive. Thanks to you, you've already disturbed hundreds of thousands of souls from their blissful oblivion."

Suddenly, the entity began to sing—a haunting, almost hypnotic lullaby that seeped into John's bones, pulling him toward sleep. The air thickened as if the very atmosphere was pushing him down. But he knew that if he drifted off, he'd probably never wake up again. So, in a bold move, he joined in, matching its lullaby with his very off-key version.

The lullaby intensified, and his eyelids grew heavy, but he refused to succumb. Each note felt like a chain pulling him closer to the abyss. Still, he kept singing, louder, defying the lull. If he was going to wake up, he sure as hell wasn't going to do it quietly.

"Keep your voice down—and sleep," the entity snapped.

As if he'd just lie down and obey—that's the last thing he'd ever do. He was human, after all. Defiance and rule-breaking were etched deep in their souls.

You think we're lowly? It's our wit, and our minds, that put us at the top of the food chain on Earth, John wondered. Now here I am, wide awake. And believe me, the trouble I'm bringing is beyond anything you could imagine.

He soon understood something crucial: the pain he carried was the only thing keeping him awake.

The entity began singing again, and he joined in, off-key as ever. As soon as it stopped, he did too. This back-and-forth went on for ages until the entity finally snapped, its patience worn thin. It couldn't kill any souls here—its only duty was to lull every soul into eternal slumber, just as it slept.

"What is your deal, human? I need to enter slumber soon."

So it wasn't as cunning as he thought. Perfect. This would be a piece of cake.

"Sorry, I just can't sleep here. And if I stay, well… I'll probably start singing again. Why don't you just send me out of here?"

"No. That's against the rules."

"Fine by me," John said cheerfully and launched back into the lullaby.

"Alright, fine! I'll send you out! But understand this: I'm not breaking any rules. It's your wish and yours alone."

"Agreed!"

The moment John spoke, the air shifted. A crackling energy surged around him, thick and suffocating. It burned his soul like fire, and his hair stood on end as if the very atmosphere had become alive. The green light flared up, bright and blinding, illuminating the endless darkness. He gasped in shock, the power of the being pressing down on him like a weight. And then, he saw it.

The entity's full form emerged from the shadows. It towered before him, a twisted figure cloaked in mist. Its eyes gleamed like distant stars, burning with ancient malice. Its form shifted, neither fully there nor not, alive yet decaying. He froze, every fiber of his being screaming to run, but he couldn't move. He could only stare, an overwhelming sense of dread consuming him as he realized—whatever this being was, it was far more powerful than he could comprehend.

Yeah, it was a shadow, clothed in swirling mist. Its eyes burned like embers in the void, and its form shifted between reality and illusion. It was ancient and decaying yet terrifyingly alive.

"You dare defy me, you spiteful soul? Never return here again," it hissed, its voice dripping with malice.