It's pitch dark. So dark, so inconceivably dim. Opening my eyes, I'm greeted by the exact same sight as when my eyes were closed. The emptiness envelops me like a thick fog, each breath feeling heavier than the last. There’s no light to chase away the shadows, no sound to break the oppressive silence. I sit up slowly, my fingers brushing against something cool and smooth beneath me—cold, unyielding ground. Invisible ground, but it's ground. A shiver runs through me, though I'm neither cold nor warm. The stillness is deafening. I strain my ears, searching for something. Anything. But there's nothing. Just the sound of my own heartbeat, thudding insistently in the silence, as though it's teasing me. With a tentative movement, I reach out, hoping to grasp something—anything—that might anchor me. My fingers find the edge of something smooth, like steel. I pull myself up, the coldness of the surface seeping into my palms. As I rise to my feet, the darkness feels thicker, as if it’s alive, wrapping around me. I take a step forward, hesitantly, and my foot lands on something soft. I can't discern its texture—all I can tell is that it's soft and solid. I stand up. It's so dark I can't even see my shirt, if I even have one. All of a sudden, I feel a presence behind me. Someone—or something—is behind me, observing me. I can't tell if it's good or bad. It's simply there, looking at me, as though it were a doctor examining its patient. Its presence was neither good nor bad. I take a breath, trying to steady myself, and step forward again. Each movement takes a large amount of effort, as if I’m wading through a thick liquid. The presence behind me remains still, but its weight is palpable, pressing against my back like an unseen hand. I make something out in the distance. A convenience store? The outline of the building shimmers in the dark, almost like a mirage. A sign's attached to the top of the entrance, though I can't make it out from here. Is this it? My escape? Feeling suddenly invigorated, I step forward.