A sudden gust whisked me from the jet-black abyss of my dream, hurling me into a boundless, pure white expanse.
The room stretched infinitely—its vastness disorienting, almost dreamlike. "Pure white as far as eyes can see," a description that teetered between fascination and apprehension.
In that previous dream, I paraded in the nude, reveling in absolute freedom. Now, however, I found myself confined in the dreary garb of my brown work suit—a stark reminder of my mundane existence.
"Tch." were sounded out of disgust.
Opting for the classic reality check of pinching my cheek, I yearned for a rude awakening. But alas,
It was INEFFECTIVE I mean, who could've guessed that.
Free from the clutches of that malevolent chair, I ventured forth to explore this cryptic space.
The floor, an odd juxtaposition of firmness and softness, defied any logical explanation, lacking the tactile familiarity of concrete or wood.
While I scoured for any semblance of structure or walls, a whimsical thought fluttered into my mind—why would someone bother to abduct an utterly unexceptional individual like me?... But amidst this whimsy, a disconcerting realization struck.
"Someone like... me?"
The query loomed, casting a shadow over my equilibrium.
"Who even... Am I?" The words slipped from my lips, a whisper lost in the vast emptiness.
Breath hitching, eyes flitting, I clutched my head, besieged by a merciless headache. An identity crisis unfolded, erasing memories as if tearing a book a page at a time.
Pant, Pant, Pant (heavily breathing)
Struggling to maintain a facade of composure amid the disarray, I plunged deeper into the abyss of the unknown.
The once-torturous chair dissolved into specks of light, replaced by a guiding arrow. Curious, yet cautious, I followed. The arrow led me to a brown wooden desk materializing from thin air—a stark transition from torment to bewilderment.
"Ah, a desk! From torment to perplexity, what an upgrade," I mused, a sardonic note blending with the weight of uncertainty.
"Open It," a resonating voice echoed within my brain, insistent and unyielding.
"Open It... Open It." The relentless command echoed incessantly, a troublesome imposition that refused to relent.
With a slight headache, I cautiously obeyed, fingers trembling as I peeled open the first envelope, a foreboding black letter written in white ink nestled within.
As I read, memories rushed back, unveiling a haunting truth—an existence extinguished, a life unknown.
"I'm... dead," the words escaped, laden with a weight I hadn't known before.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Just A Wolf, Right?
FantasíaMy name's Kisaragi Touma, just your average 30-something salaryman, YES!! the epitome of middle-aged normalcy. Life was routine but satisfying, yet regrets weighed heavy on my mind. Then, one fateful night, my ordinary life took a sharp turn, or rat...
