I stumbled out of the park, my mind a whirlpool of confusion and fear. The man's words echoed in my ears like a haunting melody I couldn't escape—*"The Third Eye… the Veil… prepare for war."* It was too much. Too surreal. Too insane. I wanted to scream, to rip the thoughts from my head as if they were weeds choking me. But instead, I walked. Mechanically. Aimlessly.
By the time I reached my apartment, I ran out of breath. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the keys, and when I finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and old books did little to calm me. I locked the door behind me, leaned against it, and slid down until I sat on the floor, knees pulled tight to my chest.
"No," I whispered to myself, shaking my head violently. "This isn't real. None of this is real."
I repeated the words like a mantra, trying to drown out the whispers that still lingered at the edges of my consciousness. The voices in my head weren't as loud now, but their presence was enough—a constant reminder that something was wrong. That *I* was wrong.
The voices were up to no good. They kept saying, random things to me, that made absolutely no sense to me.
For hours, I sat there, staring blankly at the wall, refusing to move. Refusing to think. When exhaustion finally claimed me, I dragged myself to bed, collapsing onto the mattress without even bothering to change clothes. Sleep came quickly, but it wasn't restful. Dreams plagued me—vivid, fragmented visions of threads unraveling, blue eyes watching me from the shadows, and voices whispering secrets I didn't want to hear.
When morning arrived, I woke up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding as though I'd been running for miles. For a moment, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to believe it had all been a nightmare. But deep down, I knew better. The scar on my forehead throbbed faintly, a dull ache that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the whispers in my mind.
Determined to prove the man wrong—to prove that none of this madness could possibly be true—I grabbed my laptop and opened it on the kitchen table. If the Third Eye was real, surely someone else would have written about it online. There would be evidence. Proof. Something tangible.
But as I typed "Third Eye awakening" into the search bar, what I found only deepened my unease. Endless articles about chakras, spiritual enlightenment, and pseudoscientific nonsense filled the screen. Videos claiming to teach viewers how to "awaken" their own Third Eye promised heightened intuition and psychic abilities—but nothing concrete. Nothing credible. Nothing that matched the terrifying reality I was living.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered under my breath, slamming the laptop shut. "It's just some New Age garbage. None of it's real."
Many things were occurring at the same time, the scar on my forehead burned hotter than ever, as if mocking my denial and the lethargic feeling wasn't wearing off.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something was following me. Watching me. Is the man from the park keeping an eye on me?
Am I in a Lucid Dream?
Random thoughts kept rushing in.