UNNAMED [Chapter 3 — Hazy]

UNNAMED

Chapter 3 — Hazy

“In the fog where truth and madness intertwine, I am lost — no longer sure of what is real, but certain of what haunts me.”

The weather kept getting colder. My body felt frozen, yet I didn’t shiver. The shadow of the woman kept appearing in my mind — over and over again, like an imprint burned into my thoughts. No matter how much I tried to push it away, she lingered, just at the edge of my vision.

I forced myself to listen to the professor, hoping his words would anchor me back to reality. Irreversible time, Alfvén waves, relativistic mass… or was it rest mass? The words blurred together, tangled in concepts I couldn’t grasp.

“Time only moves forward,” the professor said.

I frowned. That wasn’t true. Or maybe it was, but not for me.

Time was supposed to be irreversible — an unbroken line stretching infinitely ahead. But I felt like an exception. A glitch in the system. A lost echo trapped in a loop, circling the same moments over and over again. Maybe everyone else was moving forward while I was stuck, repeating the same forgotten promises, the same mistakes, the same feelings that I could never quite understand.

“You forgot your promise.”

The words echoed in my mind, louder this time.

What promise?

I kept asking myself. Again and again. The answer was just out of reach, slipping through my fingers every time I got close.

I stared at the desk in front of me. The equations on the board meant nothing. The professor’s voice faded. I was staring into the void of nothingness, drifting between chaos and stillness — fro and back, again and again.

That was how all the lectures went. I couldn’t focus on anything.

By the time class ended, I was already outside. I didn’t remember gathering my things or walking through the hallway. Just a blur. One second inside, the next standing in the cold, my breath curling in the air. My feet moved on their own, or maybe it was muscle memory.

At some point, I stopped in front of the small shop. The smell of tobacco clung to the air. It was familiar. My body felt like it was on autopilot — my hands moved before I could think, buying a pack of cigarettes, slipping it into my pocket.

Ahead, the tree with violet paper flowers stood still, untouched by the wind. I had always liked this place — no people, no noise, only silence.

Perfectly calm.

I lit a cigarette, the flame flickering against the wind before it caught. The first drag burned my throat. It always did.

My thoughts began to unravel.

Was this the promise I broke?

That I would never smoke, no matter what happened?

Or was it something worse?

A whispered vow in a dark room.

A voice — mine or someone else’s — muttering, “I won’t. I swear I won’t.”

But what had I sworn?

Self-harm?

When did I start?

What was the first time?

What was the reason?

I remember being clean for two years. And then it started again. But what triggered it? Four years ago? Six? When did I first press the blade against my skin?

No. It wasn’t a blade at first.

A stapler pin. Bent between my fingers, pressed into my skin. A small sting, nothing more. Then deeper. Until red seeped through.

At first, just one line. Then another. Horizontal at first. Then vertical. Then slanted. Then broken.

I remember staring at my skin, but I wasn’t really looking at it. My vision blurred, and everything became a mess — lines crossing over each other, forming shapes that meant nothing.

Like a toddler’s scribbled notebook.

Where he’s trying to draw a straight line.

Or maybe just trying to see what color the pencil leaves behind.

“It was red,” the voice said.

“Yeah. Deep red,” I replied.

“Deep red fading into lavender purple, sinking into earthy brown, and finally, the pale white of a dying rose,” I murmured, staring at the sky.

“Have those whites ever given you peace?” the voice asked.

“Peace…” I repeated, absently pulling down my sleeves, my fingers brushing over the scars on my arms. “I don’t know. I can’t clearly remember anything. Everything has started turning hazy lately.”

“Again with your nonsense. Didn’t you once say you were an exception?”

“Possibly. Not an exception as a hero, but as a lost human being. I suppose… a human being.”

“An anti-hero?”

“They have a sense of purpose, don’t they?”

“That’s right. And you don’t even have that, do you, little girl? Or should I say… a Deathmoth?” the voice taunted.

A laugh bubbled up, raw and unhinged. “You’re right. Ha ha ha.”

The cigarette slipped from my fingers, its ember flickering against the pavement. It kept burning.

For a moment, I thought I saw something beside the tree. A figure? A shadow? My gaze flickered toward it, but then drifted back to the cigarette at my feet.

The air smelled of burnt tobacco and something else — something metallic, thick, suffocating. A stench of blood, curling into the smoke. Was it from my scars? Or something else?

“Even a cigarette has the will to keep going,” I muttered, watching the embers smolder. “Unlike me.”

“You say that like you have no will to live,” the voice remarked slyly.

“Ha ha ha, you’re funny today. What’s gotten into you?” I clutched my stomach, the laughter twisting into something painful.

“Looks like you’ll end up in an asylum earlier than I thought,” the voice said, almost pleased.

“You sound almost happy about that. Well, well… never mind. Tell me about the Deathmoth.”

“It’s you. A Deathmoth. You cling to life just enough to make it miserable for yourself and everyone else. Either break or rebuild. This limbo of yours is exhausting.”

“For everyone else? Yo — “

My head swam. A chill crept down my spine, tightening around me like unseen chains. The wind sharpened into icy needles against my skin.

From the corner of my eye, a shadow shifted.

The air thickened, heavy with copper and smoke. The stench sharpened. It was real. It had to be.

The figure stepped forward.

A woman.

A knife in her hand, its tip dripping red.

She looked familiar — too familiar. Like a face I should remember but couldn’t. My chest tightened.

Her voice, like shattered glass, cut through the air.

“Why did you do it?”

“What?” My breath hitched.

“What did I do? What do you mean? And — who are you?”

“You forgot me?” Her voice trembled with rage. “How could you? How low have you fallen, girl?”

A sharp pain coiled in my chest, thorns tightening around my heart, squeezing, suffocating. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My legs buckled.

I fell.

Hands — cold, unseen — clawed at my throat. I gasped, clawing at my own skin, desperate to tear them away.

A car passed by.

And suddenly — she was gone.

I hadn’t blinked. It wasn’t a dream. She had been there.

The pressure in my chest tightened.

“Where did you go? Come out — “

The ground rose up to meet me. The world tilted.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t remember.

Darkness swallowed the stars.

And then —

Another blackout.

— to be continued…

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Genres: Psychological Horror, Psychological Thriller, Dark Fiction, Surrealism, Gothic Fiction, Magical Realism