The ceiling fan groaned as it spun, slicing through the heavy silence. The stench of antiseptic clung to the air, masking something darker—something rotting. The dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the cracked walls.
Vikram, 28, sat motionless on the edge of his cot, his gaze locked on the rusted iron door before him. His fingers traced invisible patterns on his knee. The white hospital gown draped over his frail frame, but inside, his mind was anything but weak. It was a storm, a whirlwind of voices, memories, and screams.
This place.
This prison disguised as a hospital.
They thought they could fix him.
Fools.
The iron door creaked open. A doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand, his glasses catching the flickering light.
"Vikram," he called, his voice cautious. "How are you feeling today?"
A slow smile crept onto Vikram's lips. But his eyes—his eyes remained cold.
"I feel… reborn."
The doctor hesitated before scribbling on his notepad. "You've been making progress, Vikram. If this continues, you might rejoin society soon."
Society.
Vikram chuckled softly. Rejoin the same world that had cast him aside? That had caged him like an animal?
He exhaled, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I am a shadow, a nameless ghost,
Buried beneath their whispered fears.
Cursed by fate, lost and torn,
Drowning in a sea of years."
A knock at the door interrupted them. The doctor turned, and a young man stepped in. He was neatly dressed—crisp shirt, jeans. His face held both confidence and concern.
Vijay,
Vikram's breath hitched. His twin brother. His reflection. The golden child. The one who had lived the life Vikram had been denied.
"Vikram…" Vijay's voice was careful. "How are you?"
Vikram tilted his head. "Better than ever, Vijay."
Vijay took a hesitant step forward. "The doctors say you might be released soon. I wanted to see you before that."
Vikram's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Vijay exhaled. "Because you're my brother."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
Then, slowly, Vikram stood up. The chains around his wrists clinked softly.
"You remember our childhood, Vijay?" His voice was almost a whisper. "You were always the good one. The golden boy. The one they loved."
Vijay swallowed hard. "Vikram, that's not—"
Vikram took a step closer. "And what was I, Vijay?" His voice sharpened. "The mistake? The problem?"
Vijay shook his head. "No, you were just… different."
A hollow laugh escaped Vikram's lips.
"A bird with clipped wings,
Told to fly but chained to the ground.
A storm waiting to rise,
Yet buried without a sound."
Vijay took a cautious step back. The doctor reached under the table, fingers hovering over the emergency button.
Vikram leaned in, his voice soft, dangerous. "But don't worry, Vijay. I've finally found clarity. I know who I am."
Vijay's heart pounded. "And who is that?"
Vikram smiled.
"The one who will set things right."
In one swift motion, Vikram grabbed the doctor's pen from the table—
And plunged it deep into his throat.
Blood sprayed across the white walls as the doctor gurgled, choking on his final breath.
Vijay froze, his body turning to ice as Vikram turned toward him—smiling.
"Welcome back, My dear brother."
End of Chapter 1