My eyes were tired, but no matter what I did, I couldn't sleep.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock—the sound of the wall clock hanging above the TV echoed through the empty house. I kept thinking, How did I end up here? Could I have made better choices and taken a different path? These thoughts went on and on until morning, until the sun rose. Last night was the same. Just like every night for the past few weeks.
I took a shower, hoping it would help with the exhaustion. After drying off, I threw on some clothes, grabbed my keys, and stepped out for a walk. As I was heading down the hallway, I heard something—a voice. A soft whisper, gentle, almost comforting, right in my ear:
"Don't be sad. I'm here with you."
I spun around. No one was there. Maybe a neighbor? But that was impossible. It was 5 a.m.—no one would be wandering the apartment building at this hour. I shook my head. I must be imagining things. Probably just sleep deprivation messing with my mind.
I took a deep breath of the crisp morning air.
So… now what? Maybe I should go to the park? But that place doesn't calm me like it used to—it just makes me feel worse.
I walked to the park anyway. That park. The one that—never mind. Forget it.
Something in my pocket was bothering me. I reached in and pulled it out. Oh… right. It was the small notebook Mrs. Miller had given me as a gift. A tiny notebook with a panda on the cover. She always said, "Writing helps clear your mind." But I swear, she probably just read that somewhere online and decided to repeat it to me like it was some kind of magic cure.
Whatever. I had nothing better to do. Might as well write something.
I pulled out the blue pen She gave me, stared at it for a moment, and sighed before opening the notebook.
"What do you want to write?"
I don't know.
"Then just write that."
What?
"Write: I don't know what to write."
So I did. I wrote: I don't know what I want to write.
"Okay. Now what?"
I lifted my head to hear their response—
And my entire body went cold.
Who… was I talking to?
There was no one. Not within 150 meters of me. The only person in sight was the old park gardener, watering his roses.
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath.
Then, I started writing again.
"I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write because… because… because I'm suffering. Because I'm trapped in hell."
I went back home.
On the way, I saw a little girl sitting alone by the sidewalk. I walked toward her.
As soon as I got close, she grabbed my pant leg and whispered:
"It was all your fault."
I blinked.
She was gone.
God… am I losing my mind?
I hurried back home. As I climbed the stairs, I noticed an envelope on the ground. I knelt to pick it up when a warm, familiar voice interrupted me.
It was my neighbor, Matilda. She was always polite, always cheerful.
She greeted me with a smile. We exchanged the usual meaningless pleasantries before she asked, "Got a letter?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."
She laughed. "Maybe?"
"Yeah. Maybe."
I left her behind and climbed up to the fourth floor, heading toward my apartment door.
Then I froze.
The door… the door was open.
I stepped inside.
There was a little girl standing in my house.
She turned to me, her voice soft—
"Hi…"
Then, her eyes filled with something I couldn't name.
"Dad!"
…Dad?