"Keys, phone, wallet… take yourself, Markiengen, and don't forget to withdraw that cash!" His mother's voice, laced with the familiar blend of affection and slight exasperation, followed him out the front door. She stood framed in the doorway, the morning sun catching the silver threads in her dark hair.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack, the weight of his textbooks settling comfortably. His white shirt, still crisp from the laundry, felt a little tight across his shoulders. The worn denim of his blue jeans was familiar, a comforting texture against his skin. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the concrete step. Fifteen felt both too old and too young for school trips, but the one to the historical museum was something he'd actually been looking forward to.
"Bye, Mom. Won't forget. Don't worry." His reply was the practiced nonchalance of a teenager eager to escape the parental orbit, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
He set off down the pavement, the squeak of his sneakers a rhythmic counterpoint to the chirping of sparrows in the hedges. Markiengen had a school trip today, and the weight of the un-withdrawn money felt like a literal burden. His mom had been insistent: cash from the bank, no relying on digital wallets for this one.
"First stop, the bank," he murmured to himself, his breath puffing out in a small cloud in the cool morning air. "Then Jany's, gotta pick up the history notes, and finally school." He pictured Jany's messy handwriting already, a chaotic scrawl he somehow managed to decipher.
He turned the corner onto Elm Street, the familiar facade of the bank coming into view. The automatic doors hissed open as a woman with a stroller exited. He was almost there.
Then, the pavement beneath his feet seemed to ripple, like disturbed water. A dark, circular patch materialized directly under him, an unnatural void against the grey concrete. A sudden, inexplicable chill prickled his skin, raising goosebumps on his arms despite the mild temperature. He stumbled, a gasp escaping his lips.
Before he could even register the impossible sight, the blackness seemed to pull him downwards. It wasn't like falling; it was like being absorbed, swallowed whole by the shadows. The air around him thickened, growing heavy and strangely silent, muffling the distant sounds of traffic. He instinctively reached out, his fingers scrabbling against nothingness. The world tilted, spun, and the familiar street vanished above him, replaced by an oppressive, all-consuming dark. His stomach lurched, a feeling of sickening freefall. He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering against his ribs, the last image in his mind the ordinary brick of the bank building, now impossibly far away.