The voice wasn't clear.
it trembled, fractured…
yet it was enough to drag me into an endless labyrinth of inner conflict and contradiction.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Its echo still lingered in my ears…
as if it hadn't come from outside at all.
but from within me, punishing me.
"Simon…"
"Simon…"
I sat up, my breath uneven, my heart pounding so violently I could feel it in my fingertips—
as though it wanted to break free.
I looked around—right, then left.
The room… was the same.
Darkness filled every corner,
and the curtain swayed gently with the night air slipping through the window I had left open all night.
But…
something wasn't right.
Something was missing.
Or… something extra.
I ran a cold hand over my face, then glanced toward the table.
The glass…
wasn't where I left it.
My senses froze.
Was I losing my mind?
I… hadn't touched it.
My feet slowly met the floor, its coldness creeping into my body.
One step… then another… until I reached the table.
a distance that felt impossibly far.
I reached out toward the glass.
Paused.
Inside… a faint trace.
as if it had just been used.
I pulled back instantly.
"This is impossible…"
I whispered, as though speaking to someone inside me—
someone I couldn't see.
But my voice… wasn't convincing enough.
I took a deep breath and looked around again.
Silence.
But the kind of silence…
that comes before something terrible.
Suddenly.
a faint sound.
Like something brushing against the floor.
I turned slowly toward the door.
Closed.
But beneath it.
a shadow.
Moving.
My breath stopped.
One step… then another.
I moved closer, every part of me screaming to stop—
but I didn't.
I bent slightly and looked.
The shadow… vanished.
I threw the door open.
No one.
The hallway—empty.
But I felt it.
Not something seen…
but sensed.
As if someone had passed through just moments ago.
Or was still watching… from the threshold.
I closed the door slowly.
Locked it. Twice.
This time… I wouldn't leave it open.
Sleep was no longer an option.
I sat in the chair, staring into nothingness.
Those words…
the ones I kept chasing.
"Start from the stage… but not from the door."
What did that even mean?
I hadn't been to the theater in years.
Except…
recently.
In my dreams.
Since…
that night.
I stopped.
A sharp pain pierced my head.
That night?
Which night?
I tried to remember—
but there was nothing.
A void.
A missing piece.
A severed memory.
I held my head.
"What did I forget?"
This wasn't simple forgetfulness.
It was… suppression.
Something inside me was blocking the path—
chaining my memory away.
Then..
a ringing sound.
At this hour?
I turned quickly.
An old telephone.
I hadn't used it in years.
Its wires were disconnected.
It sat in the corner.
But…
it was ringing.
I approached slowly.
Each step heavier than the last.
I reached out—hesitated—
then finally picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then…
breathing.
Slow. Close.
Too close.
"Who is this?!"
No answer.
But the sound shifted.
into a low whisper.
"You were late to answer… I didn't know what to do."
My eyes widened.
The same words.
The same tone.
But..
it wasn't Sarah.
"Sarah?!"
"Who are you?!"
The line died.
Silently.
I stood there holding the receiver far too long—
as if I'd forgotten how to let go.
Then I placed it back.
But my hand… wouldn't stop trembling.
What is this…?
What do I do…?
Am I dreaming?
---
I didn't wait for morning.
I couldn't.
I threw on my coat.
Cold filled the lower half of my body,
while heat burned through the upper.
Then I left.
The streets were nearly empty.
The cold bit into my face.
but I didn't feel it.
For a moment…
I felt nothing at all.
Something was pulling me.
Not a decision.
an impulse.
Toward where?
I didn't know.
---
I stopped in front of the old café.
The sign… wasn't as I remembered.
The name had faded.
as if time had tried to erase it.
Or perhaps… succeeded.
I pushed the door open, hesitant.
Entered.
Silence.
But this place… wasn't abandoned.
It felt…
waiting.
I walked toward the table.
The same one.
I sat.
Placed my hand on it.
Cold.
But…
I felt something.
As if the memory hadn't died.
As if it were… trapped here.
Then..
the chair across from me moved.
A creak—like an old door.
I lifted my head.
No one.
But the chair…
was no longer where it had been.
"This isn't normal…"
I muttered.
But something inside me replied:
Nothing is normal anymore.
---
I scanned the room.
Then I noticed it.
On the table.
A scratch.
No..
a symbol.
Carved with precision.
It hadn't been there before.
I looked closer.
Unclear.
Yet…
familiar.
I ran my finger across it.
It felt recent.
Then..
a sensation.
An image.
A flash.
A scream.
A woman.
Sarah.
"Simon… no..!"
I yanked my hand away.
Fell from the chair.
Breath collapsing in my chest.
"What… was that…?"
I looked at my hand.
Trembling.
Frozen.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part…
was that I remembered.
Just a fragment.
but enough to terrify me.
Sarah…
wasn't alone that night.
---
I stood slowly.
"What happened…?"
I looked at the symbol again.
Then—
a voice behind me:
"You found it… at last."
I turned sharply.
A man.
Standing at the door.
I hadn't seen him enter.
Hadn't heard him.
But he was there.
Watching me.
With a faint, unsettling smile.
"Who are you?"
He stepped closer.
"I'm… someone who was late. Like you."
I froze.
"What do you want?"
"To be sure…"
He paused.
"Are you starting to remember, Simon…
or do you still prefer forgetting?"
"I don't know you."
He smiled with quiet disdain.
"That's normal."
Then he pointed to the symbol.
"But this… knows you."
I looked at it.
Then back at him.
"What is it?"
He stepped closer.
"This…"
A pause.
"is the beginning of the end."
Then, softer:
"Or the end of the beginning."
Another step.
"The stage…"
He stopped.
"…won't be as you remember."
"Why…?"
His smile turned cold.
"Because…"
A pause.
"You were there."
Silence.
Then he added:
"Before… time stopped."
"Before what?"
But..
he was gone.
As if he had never been there.
--
I stood alone.
Shattered.
Displaced.
As if I no longer belonged to my own time.
Was there truly a piece of my life missing?
Did I spend five years… in a void I don't remember?
Or am I trapped in a memory… punishing me?
I searched within myself.
and found nothing.
---
This time…
I didn't feel like I was searching for the truth.
Because the truth…
had started searching for me.
I want to know what the coming days are hiding.
Will I ever sleep again?
Sarah…
Was she killed?
By someone… or many?
Or is it something bigger.
organized.
something that refuses to be seen?
A hidden force?
A manipulated fate?
I want to know.
But perhaps…
as the man said.
"This is… the beginning of the end."
Or…
" the end of the beginning."