Abyss' Omen
I was never afraid of death. But I was afraid of dying butt naked.
I’ve long accepted that everyone meets the same end, no matter the cause—cancer, a tragic accident, or even something absurd like slipping on a banana peel and cracking their skull open. Some choose to take their own lives, yet I wonder… in their final moments, did they whisper, I want to live?
My mother did. Before she tried to take me with her.
My father, consumed by guilt, went insane. A month later, he decided to follow her, holding my hand as he drove us off a cliff with a broken brake. In that instant, only one thought filled my mind: I want to live.
The heavens heard me. I survived—but lived in hell.
After years of struggling, I finally bought a house, determined to start over. I wanted to kiss many women, make myself rich, and retire like a lazy bum. A perfect life. I almost had it.
Until the water stopped running in the shower.
When I checked the sink, my reflection didn’t follow my movements. It just… stared. Then, its head twisted at an unnatural angle, a devilish grin splitting its face. A chill crawled down my spine.
Black, viscous liquid seeped from the walls, flooding the floor. It wasn’t water. It was thick. Heavy. Suffocating.
And then, my reflection stepped out of the mirror.
Its cold hands closed around my throat, its grip unrelenting. I gasped, clawing at it, but the dark liquid filled my lungs, drowning me. My body convulsed as the thing laughed—a sound that echoed through the abyss consuming me.
As darkness swallowed me whole, one final thought crossed my mind: I want to live.
A voice answered.
"Wake up, Abyss."
And when I opened my eyes, I was no longer me.
I was Dravino Alderidge, son of the war hero. A character in a novel I had read before my death.
