The dim glow of Jason's computer screen was the only light in his cramped apartment, casting shadows on the cluttered room around him. The faint hum from the machine was almost soothing, like a soft lullaby to his empty existence. It had been weeks since he'd spoken to anyone, and even longer since he'd felt anything close to excitement. He was stuck in this routine—wake up, go to work, come home, repeat. There was nothing else. The world continued moving around him.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes bloodshot from staring at the screen for hours. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to scroll to the next meaningless article, or click on the latest chapter of his favorite webtoon. Every day was the same, and Jason was growing sick of it. His eyes flickered over the screen, reading random snippets about people's lives, new discoveries, and political disasters.
He scrolled past headlines about the rise and fall of nations, the empty promises of leaders, and the endless updates on world events.
"Shit, the same crap every time... these people just need to wake up," Jason muttered, sticking a cigarette in the ashtray. The news was just noise, and Jason had learned long ago how to ignore it. But sometimes, he enjoyed staying up to date, just in case anyone ever asked.
Online of course
His phone buzzed on the table beside him, breaking the silence. He glanced at it and saw the familiar name: Mom. A long string of unread texts. The usual stuff: "How are you?", "We miss you," and, of course, the familiar plea: "Please come visit us." He had stopped responding to these long ago. Every time he read them, it felt like a reminder of his failure—failure to meet his parents' expectations, failure to live up to anything meaningful.
He used to love replying to his mom before the guilt caught up to him. After being kicked out by his dad, he went into a depressive state and didn't do anything for months. He had only started attending family events again recently, seeing his siblings in person but avoiding real contact. With a sigh, he swiped the notifications away, uninterested. What could they possibly want from him? He was fine here, alone, away from the world they expected him to be a part of. They probably didn't even want him anymore. Jason felt the distance between them growing, a result of him ghosting them.
His apartment was small, but it was his. The cracked walls, peeling paint, and broken furniture—everything felt like it matched his internal state: tired, worn-out, and fading.
He glanced over at his bed, which was barely more than a mattress on the floor, cluttered with clothes, books, and takeout containers that hadn't been thrown away. The stench of old food was masked by the stale air in the apartment, but it didn't bother him anymore.
Once you live with something long enough, you get used to it, and your brain starts to block it out. Jason no longer had the will to care. He had no friends, no purpose. He had given up on trying to change anything. Trash was everywhere, pests scurried through the corners of the room, and contaminated things were stored in a separate area of the apartment. He knew he couldn't save himself, and no one else would want to save him either.
His gaze drifted back to his computer screen. Another webtoon. Another story of adventure, power, and ambition. People who fought for something greater than themselves. But as he read the synopsis, a bitter laugh escaped his lips.
"Fuck, this shit is funny, bro!" Jason chuckled to himself. It was a habit he'd gotten into, talking to himself in a way only loners did.
It was always the same overpowered characters with grand dreams, destinies, and goals. But Jason had no interest in that. He wasn't like them. He wasn't going to change the world. He wasn't even going to change his own life. His world was small, confined to this apartment and his mind.
"Enough of this," Jason muttered, pushing the computer aside. He'd read a few chapters, but they had lost their meaning. It wasn't at all what he had imagined. Instead, he reached for the half-drunk coffee cup beside him and took a sip.
His fingers drummed on the desk in thought. A strange sensation washed over him. It was like a quiet whisper deep in his mind—a voice that wasn't his own. It wasn't a voice that spoke out loud, but rather a thought, an idea that seemed to form itself without his permission.
What if I could create something?
Jason blinked, momentarily frozen. He wasn't sure where the thought had come from, but it lingered there. He stared at his cluttered desk, the broken computer, the pile of unopened mail, and the empty space around him. "Create something?" He chuckled bitterly. What a ridiculous idea. What could he possibly create? He was barely able to maintain his own life, let alone build something new.
For the first time in ages, a strange sense of longing stirred inside him. He didn't want to be stuck in this miserable loop forever. He wanted more. More than just existing. More than just fading away. He needed something to grab onto—something that would break him out of this cage. Like the characters in the stories he always read, who faced tough situations but still managed to overcome them.
Jason's eyes scanned the room again, but this time it wasn't just an ordinary glance. He was looking at the empty space as if imagining something that wasn't there. He could picture it—an island. A vast stretch of land, untouched by civilization, where he could start fresh. He could do whatever he wanted, build whatever he wanted.
Jason's heart pounded now, and he could feel the blood rushing in his ears. "What if I could actually do it?" Jason said aloud, getting hyped. "Shit, bro, I'm going 'loose' it just thinking about it." He quieted himself. "Stay in check, Jason. How would this even happen? It's impossible."
He stood up suddenly, the chair creaking beneath him as he shoved it aside. He walked to the window, staring out at the rainy city beyond. The streets were empty, the sky dark with the coming storm. It was the middle of the night, and there wasn't a soul in sight.
He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the island again. It felt real—so real that it almost hurt. He could see it in his mind's eye: green forests, high mountains, a vast beach stretching as far as the eye could see. The island was there, waiting for him. And somehow, in that moment, Jason could almost hear it calling to him.
Jason stumbled back, his heart racing. His fingers fumbled at his phone as it buzzed again, snapping him out of his trance. He looked at the screen, but it wasn't a text from his mom this time. It was a news alert:
"BREAKING NEWS: Uncharted Island Appears in the Pacific. Authorities Investigating."
The island he had just imagined... Jason stared at the screen, his mind in a trance. Something was calling him to it. "It's out there in the world…" Jason muttered.
He glanced back at the computer, his mind racing. Was this the moment? Had he done this? Had he actually summoned the island into existence?
The phone buzzed again, this time with another message from a news outlet: "BREAKING: Authorities confirm the sudden appearance of an uncharted landmass. Governments around the world are preparing responses."