[Mark lay stiffly on his bed, the cold weight of his gun clenched tightly in his trembling hands. His breath came out uneven, rattling through the silence of the dim room. His wide, anxious eyes darted to the door every few seconds, as if expecting something—someone—to burst through at any moment.]

[The ceiling above him felt like it was pressing down, suffocating him with the weight of fear and isolation. He didn’t know who he was pleading to anymore. God? Himself? Anyone who would listen? No one ever answered.]

[He slowly rolled onto his side, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. His eyes landed on the worn Holy Bible sitting on his nightstand. With a shaky hand, he reached for it, pulling it close to his chest like a lifeline. The leather cover pressed against him as he shut his eyes tight, whispering under his breath.]

“Please help me, Lord.”

[His voice cracked, barely audible. The room remained still. No angels came. No light broke through the shadows. Only the quiet sound of his own heartbeat… and the lingering dread that maybe, this time, he was truly alone.]