Through the Distant Universe

I awaken slowly, as if through a viscous haze, emerging from beneath a thick layer of icy, murky water. Fragments of memories flash: a blinding glow, unfamiliar voices, and then—a jolt, not a sound, but a pure, body-shuddering wave. I inhale sharply, and a sharp, tearing pain surges through my chest and throat. A cough—dry, ragged, as if my insides have been turned inside out, my throat scraped raw with coarse sandpaper. The taste in my mouth is acrid, chemical, like swallowing concentrated acid mixed with blood. I try to breathe deeper, and it feels as though thousands of glass needles pierce my throat; the cough erupts, and I barely manage to bite my lip to stifle a scream.

With effort, I pry my eyes open. My face presses against something rusted, sharp, and cold, like a blade protruding from the ground. My cheek burns, and I hiss through clenched teeth, feeling jagged edges dig into my skin. My trembling fingers grope the surface: metal, rough, saturated with dampness and some sticky, repulsive grime that churns my stomach. The air assaults my nostrils—caustic, steeped in the stench of decay, bitterness, and rotting flesh. It's not just a smell; it's a concentrated poison that gnaws at my lungs, scorching them, leaving a taste of pus and metal on my tongue. I press my sleeve to my face, but the fabric is powerless against this suffocating toxin—it only absorbs the foul odor, pulling it closer.

Around me is a haze, a rusted, warped surface illuminated by a dim, sickly light from above. No familiar ceiling, no normal lamps—just fractured outlines. My head spins, a ringing in my temples swelling as if my skull might split.

Awkwardly, I roll onto my side, careful not to injure myself further. The surface beneath my palm is cold, brittle, like twisted metal coated in prickly shavings. Summoning courage, I survey my surroundings: an endless junkyard of mangled iron, torn pipes, and grotesque fragments of machinery. The ground is littered with jagged edges, masses of metal debris jutting out with threatening, ragged rims. Above it all looms a murky sky, the color of pus and smoke, devoid of sun or moon. A wave of icy dread hits me: the smell. I consciously inhale it, and it nearly turns my stomach. A vile, heavy stench of rancid meat mixed with old chemical fumes, as if someone dumped mountains of long-rotted corpses here and stirred them with spilled industrial acid, letting it simmer and steam, poisoning the air to its core. With each breath, my lungs feel as though I'm inhaling ground-up waste, slowly rusting from the inside.

And here I am, lying on a pile of mottled metal scraps, twisted sheets of iron, rusted frameworks. Similar heaps of debris stretch endlessly, vanishing into the haze. Panic flickers deep in my mind: *This isn't a yard, a garden, or a room… nothing is right.* My insides clench. I run my hand along the ground—my fingers catch on sharp fragments. My hand jerks back, blood seeping from a puncture, staining the rust with fresh, vivid red. 

*Was I at home? No… I was at the mansion…* My brain thrashes, desperately seeking a rational explanation. But what could explain this hellish landscape?

I take a brief pause, listening to my own breathing: it's strange, ragged, as if the air stings my throat from within, burning through. A shiver runs through me as I attempt a deeper breath. It goes poorly: my lungs resist, my throat constricts, and a cough tears out with a painful rasp. This cough… it's as if my body rebels against the very air, laced with something toxic and decomposing. It feels like each breath draws in a cloud of filth, and glass needles sprout in my throat, piercing the mucosa. 

"Damn…" I whisper hoarsely, my voice sounding alien, weak, barely audible.

Groping for support, my fingers find only rough metal and brittle rust flakes. Each attempt to shift away from this place stirs a rustle and clatter of debris. I'm terrified that the noise might attract someone—or something. A gnawing thought pulses within: *Where is everyone? Am I alone in this hell?*

I try to recall the last moment at Felicia's: friends, teachers, a flash. *Are they all here?* A lump forms in my throat.

My final memories are of the party, meant to be a step toward our future. Teachers spoke proudly of our college acceptances, of how we'd all go our separate ways. I remember smiles, joy, and then that white explosion of light… I remember hysterical screams… And now, it's as if the Earth itself swallowed me and spat me out in this alien, dead place. No one is nearby, not a single familiar face. No hum of familiar civilization. Only deafening silence and a stench that seeps into every pore of my skin.

I try to stand. My legs buckle, but nothing snaps. *At least I'm intact…* But then the mess in my lungs makes itself known: a new, ragged cough doubles me over, nearly stealing my breath. I hack up a suffocating clot of mucus, realizing with horror: this air will kill me if I linger here too long.

"What… is this… place…" I force out, knowing no answer will come.

My heart races again, frantic. I realize that if I don't pull myself together, I'll collapse in panic and suffocate. With difficulty, I swallow the accumulated saliva. Its taste is bitter, metallic; my throat burns, the cough clawing its way out, tearing at it. Warm moisture wells in my eyes—tears of fear and physical pain. *Breathing is impossible. How can anyone survive here?*

I take a few shaky steps, clinging to protruding metal slabs, each movement an effort. Then, the silence shatters with a strange screech—like a blade dragged across metal, scraping against bone. It's followed by staccato thuds, hesitant but ominous, heavy. My body freezes, petrified with terror.

The sound draws closer.

I cautiously peer from behind a pile of scrap—and see it.

A creature. Tall. A head taller than me. Its skeleton is mechanical, elongated, as if someone stretched a human form and replaced its parts with components from different factories. Its skin hangs in tatters, absent in places, exposing bare iron. The flesh is shriveled, and between its vertebrae, eerie cybernetic implants glimmer in the dim light. Its ribcage is rusted, partially open, revealing structural ribs and something resembling wires and internal mechanisms. Its left arm is a metallic claw with long, curved talons, black and gleaming, as if freshly sharpened, ready to rend flesh. Its right arm is a massive pincer, scarred with dents and burns, as if repeatedly dipped in molten metal. 

Its face… or what remains of it, resembles a shattered skull with protruding lenses and flickering optics.

I step back—and my foot catches a hidden pipe. A clang. Sharp, deafening, impossible to miss.

It freezes.

Then it turns—swiftly, mercilessly, instantly.

A hiss. The crack of joints, louder than before. And it lunges.

I leap back, my heart plummeting, threatening to burst from my chest. Behind me, I hear a metallic crunch—its claws scrape the debris, pursuing me, moving too fast for its decayed, grotesque form. It's as if death itself, clad in iron and rot, has decided I'm its sole target.

I stumble back, turning, and frantically weave through the labyrinth of scrap, tripping over every piece. Each second is precious, as I hear the creature scrambling after me, its blade scraping metal, emitting a gut-wrenching screech. I imagine there might be more of them; I hear echoes of howling voices, converging, drawing nearer. I want to scream, *Help!*, but my brain yells, *You'll attract more of them, shut up, you fool!*

Breathing becomes unbearably harder: a cough erupts, and I choke on this vile mixture called air here. Gulps of it lash my lungs like acid, searing them. Adrenaline propels me, and I vault over another pile of metal, seeking salvation in any crevice, any shadow. I catch myself thinking I'll die of suffocation before the monster gets me, but fear drives me forward with animalistic force. Behind me, the creature leaps over metal, the clank of its blade against iron, its sinister hiss. Other voices echo, confirming there are indeed more… I barrel through the debris, breaking nails on rusty flakes, tearing my palms bloody, but I can't stop, can't slow down.

The creature's shrieks grow closer, turning into a piercing wail, as if calling for backup. The nightmare party continues, and I'm its main attraction.

"No… no…" I mutter through clenched teeth, zigzagging chaotically between rusted structures. My heart threatens to burst my ribcage, pounding like a hammer in a forge. I feel I'll collapse from exhaustion if I don't find a place to hide, to vanish from their sight.

I keep bumping into sharp debris, miraculously avoiding impaling my foot, only tearing my pant leg. I know I can't keep this pace much longer; my lungs burn. *Help, someone…* my mind screams, but I dare not voice it, lest I draw more monsters, signing my own death warrant.

Clattering, I stumble onto a slightly flatter surface. A metal ledge ahead can be bypassed or jumped. Desperation drives me to leap. But I make a fatal mistake: I lose balance on the slick, wet metal and jump blindly, hoping to clear the gap.

The leap is a disaster: my foot slips, and I plummet. My ankle twists with a sickening crunch, a dry, revolting sound, and a ragged groan escapes my chest. I land chest-first on a jutting, sharpened beam. Miraculously, I don't impale myself, but the impact sends searing pain through my ribs, like a red-hot knife plunged into them.

"A-ahh…" A half-scream, filled with unbearable pain and horror. But fear of the creatures forces me to bite my hand until it bleeds, just to avoid crying out. Pain crashes in waves, pulling me toward oblivion: it feels like I've cracked or broken a rib, maybe ribs. My ankle, judging by the sharp jolt, is sprained, possibly worse. My vision darkens, my head buzzes, my heart pounds, and another dry, torturous cough claws at my throat. *Get up, or you'll die here!* instinct screams, urging me to move.

I try to stand—my leg buckles, a sharp flash in my ankle forcing a near-scream, teetering on the edge of breaking. Tears stream, scalding my face. *No, not this…* Panic surges, unbearable. Now I limp, each breath stabbing my ribs with a needle of pain, my lungs convulsing in agony. The monster is close—its vicious hiss, its stomping, the metallic scrape. I drag myself across the ground, scraping my hands on sharp edges, leaving streaks of blood on rusted metal.

Then—a gap in the wall, like a door in the pile of debris. It's dark as a grave, but better than staying exposed, an easy target. Groaning, I crawl inside, fumbling for a jagged piece of metal to block the entrance with trembling hands. My hands shake so violently I nearly lose my grip; a cough overwhelms me, and I almost pass out from the burning pain in my ribs, from the acrid stench filling my lungs.

Inside, I scan the dimness: a low, narrow space, reeking of mold and rot, like a crypt. Rust creeps along the walls, sticky slime dripping in places. A hole in the ceiling reveals the same pus-yellow sky, casting a sickly light. The air here feels heavier, like a stale, unventilated chamber, but I'm out of the monsters' sight… for now, a fleeting respite.

"Ah…" I can't hold back a groan as I try to sit, leaning against the wall. My ankle throbs unbearably, and each breath slices my ribs. I gingerly touch my side—the pain is so intense it throws me into a cold sweat, and I want to scream. Outside, I hear shuffling; the creature might be lurking, sniffing me out like a beast stalking prey. Hiss and footsteps, as if these dead things are probing the entrance, their stench seeping through the cracks. I clamp my lips shut, striving not to betray myself with a sound, a cough, a groan. *Please, don't let them find a way in… Please…*

Rustling outside signals they're close, their breath palpable through the rust. I fall silent, trying not to scream, not to move. I breathe in short, convulsive gasps—a full breath triggers excruciating pain in my ribs, my lungs writhing in agony. My head swims with pain and stench; it feels like I'm losing touch with reality, my consciousness slipping. But primal fear for my life keeps me tethered, refusing to let me fade.

My heart pounds frantically, as if trying to break my chest; I'm terrified to even breathe, each inhale a torture. My eyes sting from caustic fumes, my throat scratches from the stench, triggering gags. I sit, attempting shallow breaths to avoid passing out. If I lose consciousness, I'll be easy prey when the monster breaks in—or I'll simply suffocate in this toxic dump. I've never felt such all-consuming, cloying fear, seeping into my bones.

Minutes pass; the harsh sounds outside seem to fade, but I don't relax for a second. How can I? My ribs are broken (or cracked), my ankle screams with pain, swelling to the size of a ball. And that's on top of the cough threatening to rip my throat apart, to expel my lungs. No medicine, no water, no food. No people, no warm hearth. Just eerie dimness, the metallic scent of death, and my ragged, pitiful gasps barely keeping me conscious.

I listen again: silence outside, punctuated by occasional *drip-drip*—some liquid falling—and a faint, guttural *krrr…*, as if something heavy is being dragged. More monsters might be prowling, so I can't emerge, can't risk it. I raise trembling fingers to my face, wiping sweat and grime. My body shakes, fever rising. If so, then what—die of infection, starvation, or a monster's claws? Honestly, I don't know which death is kinder. I press against the wall, glimpsing the repulsive, pus-like light flickering through gaps in the beams. Is it "night" already, or are there no nights here? Eternal twilight, perhaps? I don't know. I just shiver, my legs cramped with pain, my head heavy, consciousness flickering in and out, teetering on the edge.

"Please…" I croak, staring into the void. My voice is hopeless, devoid of hope. It doesn't matter if I'm pleading to God, my parents, my friends—it's futile. No response, nothing breaks the indifference of this strange, dead world except the relentless *drip… drip… drip…* and my choking cough. 

Despair pulses within, eroding the last scraps of hope. How many hours do I have? A day? Less? I'm exhausted, ready to slip into oblivion, to surrender, but the fear of not waking is stronger than the pain.

At some point, I close my eyes, press my forehead to my knees, and sob quietly, almost inaudibly, stifling the screams clawing to escape. My lungs burn, producing tears is painful, every movement sparks sharp pain in my ribs, but I cry, seeing no other outlet, no hope. No hope, no kind face to offer a hand and say, "It'll be okay, Adam…"

Minutes or hours flow—what's the point of counting? I drift, recalling joyful dreams of college, research, a brighter future. It's all become a priceless fairy tale, unattainable, as if I died and awoke in someone's perverse hell. What now? Resist. But I can barely move, my body shackled by pain. The stench of decay grows, filling my lungs. 

Each breath draws in more rot and poison. My lungs prickle, and only fear, mingled with pain, keeps me conscious, refusing to let me fade. No one will come, no one will save me. Even if my friends are here and survived, how would we find each other in this horrific maze of death?

My tears dry, but pain becomes a constant companion, drilling into my brain. I crack my eyes open, peering at the warped door blocked by debris, hoping no "monster hand" reaches through, finds me. *It's not time to give up… but there's no way out…* My thoughts oscillate between "Stay here" and "Try to crawl out." Both options seem lethal, leading to inevitable death. Yet my heart still beats, the cough tears at my breath again, and I bite my palm to avoid betraying myself. I try to steady my breathing, stifling sobs, avoiding attention. If I'm doomed to die, I'll at least fight to hold on a little longer, to claw for every breath.

And so, curled up, leaning on cold, slick metal, I linger in uncertainty—alone against this toxic chaos, this living death. No one will say whether dawn will come or if mornings never arrive here. It reeks of death, madness reigns, and I cling to a fragile, barely flickering belief that I can still fight, that there's some chance. My fogged mind conjures images of parents, friends, teachers… but reality shrinks to a dark, filthy corner and the sound of monsters' steps beyond the wall. 

I press against the metal, trembling with ache, cold, and all-consuming terror. Outside, an inhuman world devours all life; inside, hellish pain and choking cough. Thus ends my introduction to this horrific place—a hopeless, toxic wasteland where every breath is a feat, and any sound could be the last. My eyes droop, fear and pain wrestle with sleep, but I don't surrender, clinging to consciousness, to my life.

"Please… someone…" My whisper escapes, dissolving in the stench.

No answer, no salvation: only the faint moan of the wind and the creak of metal, reflecting the indifference of this terrifying world where that cursed flash cast me.