I gaze melancholically at my snow-white shoes. My ocean-like blue eyes drift down to my phone, my shoulders sinking as if weighed down by an invisible force. Without realizing it, my leg swings up and down in a quarter-time rhythm. My headphones are slightly too loud—loud enough that anyone nearby might hear the muffled melody leaking out. But I sit here alone, lost in the silence of the night.
The bus is modern, its seats unusually comfortable for public transport, even equipped with seat warmers. My white shirt drapes loosely over my torso, while my fingers move slowly, tapping against my knee as if wielding drumsticks. My eyes are reddened, shimmering under the soft rose-tinted glow of the bus's interior lighting. Yet, despite the heaviness in my chest, a faint smile curls on my dry lips as the song reverberates in my ears.
If the world was ending, I wanna beee— Silence.
A soft beep from my headphones. Then, my phone screen goes black. I stare at it. Just stare. My shimmering eyes threaten to spill over, but I swallow the lump in my throat. My nose runs. A deep sigh escapes my lips. I lift my gaze from the dark screen to the ceiling of the bus, waiting for a few seconds before turning my head toward the window. The city outside seems so calm. Houses, trees, streets—all blurred together, slipping past as I flee through the night in this bus.
Everything fades eventually. Nothing is eternal. Not houses, not streets, not this city. Not friends. Not possessions. Not family. Not even me.
I keep staring out of the window, the image of the city distorting in my vision. I hate myself.
I hate how powerless I am.
I hate that all I can do is swallow the thorns instead of spitting them out.
I am alone. The burden placed upon me is mine alone to bear. I don't know why. I don't know by whom. But it is mine.
My breath shudders as I exhale, long and slow. My sharp nose drips pitifully, and I wipe it with the back of my hand. Still, I stare into the endless night—the brilliant stars, the pale half-moon, its craters as clear as the pores on my skin. I clench my right fist, then loosen it.
I am an ordinary person. Twenty-one years old.
The only thing that sets me apart from others is my ability to see visions.
For a moment, I pause, letting the vibrations of the bus wheels against the asphalt shake my body. For five years, I have seen and felt things from the perspective of others. However, it is as useless as a non-waterproof tent in the middle of a rainy night. I see things—a child breaking his bone, a student being bullied at school—but they all happen too far away. Other cities. Other countries. I can witness countless things, yet if they happen outside my immediate reach, I cannot help anyone.
The vibrations tingle against my fingertips as I rest my hand on my rough, wide-cut dark blue jeans. I press my fingers against my temple, rolling my neck from side to side to ease the tension.
And then, there are the other visions.
For days now, I've been seeing something different. Blurry. Indistinct. A feeling more than an image. I see them. I understand them in a way, yet I don't. It's like trying to decipher an ancient script with no reference. Blood. Fire. Ash. Destruction. Complete and utter ruin.
Like staring death in the eye. A black hole, pulling me into its abyss.
But it's the words that are breaking me.
"The earth will perish. Humanity will go extinct. The gods will prevail."
I whisper the words to myself, my breath shaky. The world is ending. Humanity's fate is sealed.
I prayed. Desperately. Kneeling, I prayed to every god, every deity of every religion. Please. But no answer ever came. I was desperate. I am desperate.
The world will end. That much is certain.
A sudden nuclear war?
I don't know the how.
I stare at the inside of my closed eyelids. My shoulders sag as I exhale slowly, deeply.
A sharp pain stabs at my throat as if invisible hands are choking me. Maybe it's me. My inner self, suffocating under the weight of my own doubt and fear. Maybe it's the burden of knowing the end, yet being unable to warn anyone.
I want to scream. I want to shatter.
But nothing comes out.
I only stare into the abyss behind my eyelids. The night turns them nearly pitch black, yet the soft rose-red light flickers every few seconds, casting faint, fleeting glows across my vision.
I let my eyes remain closed. I swallow the thorns in my throat. The guilt. The weight pressing down on me.
Minutes pass. My body trembles slightly, but my heartbeat slows.
My fingers, resting against my jeans, relax.
Like waves drifting away with the tide, my hands fall, surrendering to gravity.
The warmth of the bus's interior lighting fades as my senses dull.
And finally, I let myself sleep.