Lucid

CHAPTER 4 - THE GIRL WITH NO NAME

I've been grappling with the same question: Why would his parents leave him alone like this? He's just come out of the hospital after a two-month coma, and they think it's a good idea to let him roam the town by himself?

I didn't expect everything to unfold this quickly. I never thought the day would come so soon. But here it is.

This dreadful day...

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I woke up in a cold, dark room. I wasn't tired, but I still felt as if I were sleeping. The bright spark of life that had filled me was now replaced by an unsettling void, one that lingered from the night before. No joy, no happiness, no wonder or excitement. My mind was quiet, and so was the house.

Very quiet.

I thought my mind would be racing, replaying the flashback as I tried to fall asleep last night, but it wasn't. It felt accepted, like an uninvited guest that had made itself comfortable in the corners of my consciousness—a memory I couldn't recall yet that somehow shaped who I was.

Who I was.

I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. After what felt like an eternity, I finally pushed myself out of bed. Pulling on a pair of socks and a t-shirt, I silently slipped out of my room, glancing back at my parents' door.

Nothing.

I crept down the stairs, taking each step carefully. The house was nearly pitch black, the only light filtering through the windows, hinting that it was still night outside. My throat felt dry, so I made my way to the kitchen for a glass of milk.

As I entered, I took a moment to absorb my surroundings.

The dining room featured a long birch wood table, spacious enough for ten people, with a chandelier crafted entirely from antlers that lent a rustic charm. The kitchen, on the other hand, was a blend of luxury and technology. It boasted a dishwasher, stove, oven, microwave, and even a coffee machine—all shiny and state-of-the-art.

Privilege.

I opened the fridge, greeted by a massive jug of milk—better yet, chocolate milk. I took a few gulps straight from the jug before placing it back and tiptoeing out of the kitchen.

That's when something stopped me.

The calm blue light of the swimming pool beckoned me. Its glow danced on the walls, inviting me like a moth drawn to a flame. I had to go to it.

Navigating through the living room, I noticed the massive curved TV surrounded by plush couches covered in soft fleece. Bean bags lined the fireplace, promising comfort on chilly nights.

I reached the tinted glass doors, clipped the lock, and slowly pulled them open. A rush of fresh air enveloped me, filling the room behind me. The backyard mirrored the front, complete with a neatly cut lawn, tall wooden fencing, a fire pit with log chairs, a BBQ stand, and—there it was—the pool, shimmering under the stars.

I shed my shirt and socks as I approached the water, ignoring the chilly night air. I just wanted to immerse myself—to float, to drift away.

I stepped in slowly, the cold water stinging at first, but it quickly faded into a soothing embrace. I dived beneath the surface, the water rushing past me before I surfaced, turning onto my back and stretching my arms and legs out. Gazing up at the stars and the pale moon, I felt a wave of calm wash over me.

Everything was so peaceful. No cars, no music, no chatter, no birds. Just the gentle lapping of water. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the tranquillity, feeling like I could slip back into sleep.