"God, I cannot wait to be blessed by your presence—so I’ve decided to kill myself."

  What was the first thing that came to mind when thinking of the Abyss? A black void? A place absent of light? Those answers were right, but one truth stood above all.

  The Abyss was a place that forced you to question the unanswerable.

  Cole had reached that conclusion somewhere between his sixth and seventh existential crisis. He had turned to religion at times—it gave him something to hold onto, a framework to explain the incomprehensible.

  Because the truth was, the Abyss was mind-numbingly boring.

  So he did what anyone would do in his position. He made it divine. A test. A punishment. Something beyond human understanding. Maybe if he framed it that way, he could pretend his suffering had meaning.

  "Once again, God, I cannot wait to be blessed by your presence—so I’ve decided to kill myself."

  He had whispered those words more times than he could count. Maybe if he said them enough, they would feel real. Maybe if he twisted his despair into devotion, he wouldn’t have to face what it really was.

  But the thought still came. It was always there. No matter how many justifications he found, no matter how fast he ran from it, it pressed against the back of his skull, waiting for a moment of weakness to slip through.

  "I want to kill myself."

  No poetry. No divine purpose. Just the truth.

  And the worst part? It wasn’t even shocking anymore.

  'Perhaps it's day four?'

  "No, that's not right," Cole whispered to himself before restarting.

  'Day... something. I’ve given up trying to keep track. The Abyss remains as inscrutable as ever. The others are still here, though we barely speak anymore. Silence feels safer. Safer, but heavier.’

  Cole paused, tapping the pen against the edge of the diary. He glanced at the others falling alongside him—probably also experiencing the empty feeling in their stomachs due to constantly falling. It was just three figures, each caught in their own battle with the Abyss. None of them were asleep, though they feigned it well. Perhaps they thought dreams might offer an escape. If only.

  "When will this end?" Jake muttered. The boy fell with an unsettling energy, the weight of his thoughts threatening to crush him.

  His short, jet-black hair jutted out, as if he'd run his fingers through it a thousand times. He had an average height but athletic lean build, his tense posture suggested a coiled spring ready to snap. What drew Cole’s attention most were his deep brown, stormy eyes, glistening with chaotic light—on the edge of madness.

  "When will this end?" he said again, his voice slightly rising as he tensed his trembling fist, knowing his answer would not come.

  The other three stared at him, waiting to see if an outburst was imminent. However, silence followed again. Whether he was too defeated to continue or chose to hold back, everyone was thankful that morale didn't further decrease. Their experience was akin to a rollercoaster with no turns or changes, their destiny predetermined to fall and fall.

  "Cheer up, Jake! It's not like we have a whole eternity before us to go crazy. So shut up and enjoy the scenery a bit longer, yeah?" Hunter condescendingly said while laughing at Jake.

  The boy exuded effortless charm, his soft brown hair neatly styled to complement his fair, unblemished skin. Caramel eyes, flecked with gold, glimmered with playful malice, their warmth masking the sting of his words. The golden tones in his gaze mirrored the sunlit highlights in his hair. Slightly taller than Jake, he fell with an easy assurance.

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  Bea shook her head. The intention to instigate Jake for his own entertainment was painfully clear to everyone but him.

  Jake’s gaze snapped to Hunter, his fists trembling. “Come here,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

  “Calm down, Jake,” Bea interjected, her tone weary but firm.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulder-length dark blonde hair falling into her face as she sighed. Her black eyes, evidently tired, showed her exhaustion. They held a detached, almost aloof quality, as though she had long since grown accustomed to the relentless emptiness of the Abyss. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

  "Calm down?”

  A soft, disbelieving snicker broke the silence, barely a whisper at first. It was as though the person couldn’t quite grasp the absurdity of the situation. But then, the sound shifted—deeper, heavier—as if they were struggling to catch their breath. The laughter slowly started to build, not a chuckle, but something more uncontrolled, more manic. It reverberated through the empty abyss, growing louder and more chaotic, until it was the only sound that remained.

  At first, they didn’t even realize it was them laughing. The absurdity of the moment, of everything that had just unfolded, seemed too much to bear, too impossible to process. But then, it hit them.

  They froze mid-laugh, the realization that they were the one laughing washing over them in a cold, sudden wave.

  Running a hand through his hair, Jake exhaled sharply, trying—and failing—to calm himself.

  ‘He’s about to lose it,’ Cole thought.

  Hunter broke the silence, his tone as purposefully mocking as ever. “Got anger issues, or what?”

  Cole instinctively raised his hands, ready to shield his ears.

  “SHUT UP!” Jake roared, lunging at Hunter. But the Abyss thwarted his movement, reducing his attack to a clumsy, falling motion. Hunter laughed outright, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face as they flew off, becoming lost in the vast void.

  Cole sighed, closing his diary and tucking it away. He had long since stopped trying to mediate their conflicts. The Abyss had a way of stripping people down to their rawest selves, and there was little point in trying to fight it. Instead, he watched silently, an observer to the chaos.

  The trial of the Abyss had finally come, yet in this dull, colourless world of black, the only thing that offered him any form of escape was the memories of the past.

  The rambling of Jake and Hunter faded into the background as he sought solace in the past—something he had always tried to escape.

  ***

  The rhythmic tapping of a pen echoed through the nearly empty room, its beat steady and deliberate against the polished surface of the wooden table.

  “Cole,” the man began, his voice laced with exhaustion as he looked up, his tired eyes framed by deep lines of weariness. The light overhead reflected sharply off his bald head, giving him a slightly comedic appearance. “Over the years you’ve attended this institution, your attendance has been an astonishing 5%.”

  He paused, letting the number linger in the air like a judgment. Then, with a resigned sigh, he added, “Yet, I would feel bad if you did not attend the last festival for your coming of age. So, please, endeavour to at least show up for that.”

  Cole met his gaze with an almost detached calm and gave a slight nod. “Yes, sir.”

  The teacher waved a hand lazily. “You’re dismissed.”

  Without another word, Cole turned and left the classroom. School had never been more than an occasional distraction for him, a brief foray into an unknown world. But today, he had chosen to immerse himself in the environment once more, if only to remind himself why he stayed away.

  Outside, the air felt lighter, but his thoughts weighed heavy. The tradition loomed in the back of his mind—the festival that marked the coming of age, the celebrations, the sense of unity and joy that pervaded the community. Yet none of that interested Cole.

  Every year on the same day, those who are eighteen were sent to the Abyss, a harrowing trial that determined their worthiness to access the alternative world. It was a grand occasion, surrounded by jubilant festivities. But for Cole, the Abyss wasn’t a milestone to celebrate—it was a stage to overcome. His eyes were fixed solely on the Abyss, the place where his goal awaited.

  In the Abyss, he would gain the strength he craved. Power, purpose, and perhaps even vindication—all lay within reach, assuming he could survive the trial. The thought stirred something deep within him, a simmering determination buried beneath his calm exterior.

  The school day had not yet ended, but Cole was already heading toward the exit to go home. He felt no need to linger. Whatever faint interest had drawn him here was already spent. As he walked through the corridors, he thought to himself that he had received his yearly dosage of poison. That had to have been enough.