The Void

• Philosophy
• Short story
• Horror

								
Echoes Of The Void

"Wake up! Come on, Milan, wake up now!"

I could hear someone calling me, the voice blurred. Why couldn't I open my eyes?

"I'm here! I'm right here!"

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Slowly, I opened my eyes. Everything was blurry. White walls surrounded me. Was someone there?

"Oh, is that you, Mom?" I asked quietly, confused by the surroundings.

"Oh, sweetheart, you woke up! I missed you, darling," she said, wrapping her arms around me tightly. I missed this feeling.

"I missed you too, Mom," I murmured, snuggling into her warmth.

But something felt off.

"Mom?" I asked, uneasy.

"Yes, Milan?" she replied, gently patting my hair.

"What happened to me, Mom? Why am I here?" I asked.

"Nothing, darling, just a bad dream," she said, kissing my forehead.

I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. It felt like years since I felt this.

"Just a bad dream?" I questioned, opening my eyes again.

Huh?

She wasn't there. I frantically looked around, searching for her.

The room was empty. The white walls closed in on me, and the steady beeping of the monitor was the only sound breaking the silence.

Then, a gentle voice broke through. "Milan, you're awake!"

A nurse stood by the door, her face kind but tinged with sadness.

"You've been in a coma for a while," she said softly. "Your mother passed away a few months ago."

My heart sank. "No, I just saw her. She was right here."

The nurse shook her head slowly. "Sometimes, in between life and death, we see the ones we love most. It's a way of guiding us."

I felt a cold chill. "What do you mean?"

The nurse's face flickered like a glitch. Her expression twisted into something darker. "It's time to let go, Milan."

The beeping of the monitor grew louder, more erratic. The room warped, the walls pulsating with a sinister energy. Whispers grew louder, more insistent.

"Join us, Milan."

"She's waiting for you."

"There's no escape."

I clutched my head, trying to drown out the voices. "No, this can't be happening!"

The nurse—or whatever she was—loomed over me, her eyes dark voids. "You've been dead all along, Milan. Accept it."

I closed my eyes tightly, trying to wake up from this nightmare. But when I opened them again, I was in a dark, endless void, the voices echoing around me, a cacophony of madness.

And there, in the distance, was my mother, her face serene yet distant. "Come to me, Milan," she whispered.

As I took a hesitant step towards her, the voices grew louder. "You can't escape, Milan. You belong to us now."

I reached out for my mother, but just as our fingers touched, she vanished, leaving me alone in the void.

Suddenly, the void began to change. Twisted trees with eyes, rivers of ink, and floating fragments of my memories drifted by, each fragment whispering my sins.

I saw myself yelling at my wife, causing pain and suffering. My mother's protection was gone. The voices grew louder, condemning me.

"You can't hide from what you've done, Milan."

"Your mother can't save you now."

"This is your punishment."

Then, in the midst of the chaos, a faint memory surfaced—a drawing from my childhood. I saw young Milan, barely five years old, sitting in a corner, drawing a picture of him and his mother holding hands. He wrote, "I love Mom" with colorful, innocent strokes.

But behind the innocence, there were screams—his mother's screams. His father's angry voice echoed in the background. The drawing captured a moment of fragile happiness amidst the turmoil.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized the weight of my actions and my mother's enduring love and protection.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered into the void, hoping somehow she could hear me.

The darkness engulfed me once more, but this time, there was a faint glimmer of acceptance and a silent plea for forgiveness.
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