In the heart of darkness, Lavish grapples with terrifying visions, his limbs numb and broken. As shadows close in, he feels the cold grip of death, yet his agony morphs into surreal nightmares. Awakening to a luxurious room, he encounters a strange...
It's night again. While everyone else sleeps, I have to go to work, and it's such a burden to bear.
Well, if you don't know me, I'm Lavish, a 26-year-old man struggling to manage his finances because of all the loans my family has taken out from various lenders and banks. I'm single because no girl wants to stay with a guy who has no future plans, though I was good at music, and it gave me the freedom to express what I feel more often.
The area where I live is currently buzzing with rumors that a group of individuals rings doorbells and stands with their heads tilted back, calling for people to come out. This rumor is spreading like wildfire. But they might just be a bunch of bandits trying to instill fear. In this world, truth doesn't matter when a lie sounds more convincing than facts.
These streets and roads are so desolate at night that it makes me wonder sometimes why we can't keep the same life at night as we do during the day.
Surely, somewhere in the world, people are awake; only the curtain of night hasn't fallen there yet.
You know what? I missed my cab again, so now I have to walk 2 km. These streets are so narrow that people can barely walk through. While I was walking, I checked my bank balance, and it was practically zero—hope you get the reference.
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The family I belong to has abandoned me for the past two months because my salary seems insignificant to them. How much more do they want me to do?
Last night, I had a debate with my neighbor about this group. He claimed they were real, but I know ghosts aren't stupid enough to knock on your door before entering.
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If they really exist and we can't see them, then they must have the power to go anywhere.
I had to educate him on the concept of foolishness, and he took it personally. Again, not my fault if the truth hurts.
The apartment I live in has two floors. The ground floor is lovely, but the second floor, where I stay, is like me—all alone, just me and my neighbor. He's a drug-addicted psychopath who keeps asking me for money, claiming his mother needs surgery. But this same guy told me his mother died of blood cancer, and he was raised by a single parent.
