Born in the harsh winter of Germany, I was a child that defied the expected from the very beginning. A premature birth with little chance of surviving, yet I made it through the weeks of living in the sterile neonatal intensive care. Growing up, it was like I had been born perfectly healthy; no complications arose as far as I was told or know of.

By the time I was ready to go into schooling around eight years old, I was placed in the most prestigious private institute there was to offer. My parents - my mother and father both highly renowned researchers in the nanobiotic field- spared no expense to allow me to fully explore the world around me. With this opportunity, I soon came to be recognized as the prodigy that was fit to be my parents' son. My instructors, having the ability to become more personally involved in my education, were always looking forward to the work I would present. However, my peers shared the opposite opinion of my teachers. Like being watched over by a mother hawk with her newborn chicks, I was now scrutinized by my peers, who were mostly all strangers, for my every move.

"Did you hear about Zacharias's score on the test? I hear it was perfect."

"Again? I bet the teachers are going to fawn over him in class the whole time…"

"Maybe his parents pay for his scores. He never talks in class so how do we know he's even that smart?"

"Yeah, he never gets called on or volunteers to answer. I think something is going on with him."

Becoming the talk of the somewhat small and exclusive school was not the best for developing any meaningful relationships. Constantly, I was going out of my way to ensure there was as little peer-to-peer interaction within my daily routine. However, this only spurred more scrutiny and jabs at my intelligence and moral credibility. I soon was pulled from the institute, only having spent a short few months there, after several meetings between my teachers and parents for what they described as "what was best for me as a child of my degree."

I grew up for the rest of my adolescence within the confines of my home. Interactions were rare, besides among servants and in-house instructors; my parents were rarely home due to their professions. My time was often spent learning far more than what was taught traditionally as core subjects: war, pandemics and their effects on society, the evolution of weaponry and artificial intelligence, things that most individuals shouldn't be reading about to pass the time. My parents never seemed worried about my fascinations with subjects like these, and it almost felt like at times they were pushing me towards them.

However, despite all the good I had at my fingertips, a recurring nightmare plagued me once I was roughly 10. Distinctly, and without fail, once a week I would have this dream where I was alone in the pitch black dark. I could not move or feel anything, I simply existed there within the emptiness. As time passed, or so I would believe, eventually there would be this tight, gripping feeling around what I presumed were my ankles and wrists. Panic would surge throughout my body and it would suddenly become damp and slightly brighter, but not enough to make anything out in a short distance. I would remain this way until two silhouettes appeared at the edge of clarity and they would say the same thing before I awoke in a sweat.

"A failure like all the others... Kill it."

My parents, worried about my health, had a psychologist see me for several months before declaring that there were no inner demons that could be slain to alleviate the nightmare. I was prescribed medication, which did not stop the nightmare from happening but numbed the sensations of the dream. I never was able to find out any useful information on the drug, and I never saw the psychologist again. I lived with the diluted dream for several years.

Even though I was prone to that nightmare, my life was a secluded and lush life. Despite all the lengths my parents went to isolate me from the outside world, there was no fully hiding what others my age were doing with their lives. Some were out partying and going places far from home, some beginning to truly understand the broad range of emotions we as humans have, while I was a self-proclaimed prisoner of my own household.

And so, I became rebellious to the pristine life of the prodigy I was proclaimed to be. Nothing utterly drastic like running away or sneaking out for long periods of time, but I went against walking the house at night. I had never really understood the rule, nothing happened at night as far as I knew, but my parents and their aides always insisted I stay in my room during the night. But, as I was no longer liking the way I was living in a constant loop, I snuck out of my room the day I would have the dreaded dream to explore my home in a new light or lack thereof.

I decided if I was going to see something worth the risk of defying my parents for the first time, I would see how the moon's light leaked through the library's grand windows. As I tiptoed my way down the stairs, I could hear what sounded like two of the servants talking in an adjacent hallway. Cautious of being caught, I inched my way forward to try and catch part of their conversation.

"Young master should be asleep by now, no? Should we make our rounds to gather him soon?"

"Ahh, what's it matter if he's a little bit late? I've overheard he hasn't shown any improvement for the past year now."

"I don't think that excuses us from doing our duties if the mister and missus can't accomplish what they planned to do with him soon. I do fret they might end up discarding him like the other subjects, though… I rather liked this one."

"Goddammit, shut up and let's go. I'd rather wrestle the kid than listen to you talk about this sentimental shit any longer."

Hearing one of the servants speak of wrestling me, I stumbled against the wall by mistake, causing a thud to resound throughout the otherwise silent halls. As taken aback as I was to the subject I mischievously wandered into, the two servants rounding the corner were audibly so.

"Young master! You're awake and roaming the halls... Y-you know you shouldn't be doing that your parents are very adamant about staying in your room at night!"

"I'll grab him and you inject him."

With a tackle, the servant latched onto me while the other scrambled to my side, syringe now suddenly in hand. Aiming towards my neck, the other servant began to push the needle forward into my skin, but I resisted and squirmed against the two. I could feel liquid drip down from where the puncture had started and onto my shoulder, a curse muttered under breath before my head was forcibly pushed to the floor. Head against cold marble, I felt the needle jam into my neck and soon after I lost my consciousness.

When I awoke, everything was dark and my head was spinning. As my head began to clear ever so slightly, I came to realize where I was. This was the setting of my nightmare, yet, the constraints and dampness were already present. And as if on cue to this realization, the two silhouettes appeared before me, speaking their one line as they had for years on end.

"A failure like all the others… Kill it."

In a moment, myself and the world I knew was swallowed by a pitch black, starless night. My body was no more, or so I could tell, and as far as I could sense there was nothing out there in the vast darkness, besides myself. But… am I even here? There is nothing to quantify that I have a physical form in this new realm; no limbs to move or head to turn and no way to justify this lone, gnawing feeling of being the only thing here. All I know is how it felt as reality was devoured whole, taking everything that had ever been and turning it all into nothingness. I was consumed too, then, yes?

Is this what death is? Drifting aimlessly, as I would describe this deprivation of all senses, in a metaphorical sea of nothing. The chance that there would be any rescue, any sliver of land or refugee, from this hell was presumably zero to me. No light at the end of the dark hallway, no faint calling of someone to follow them. Nothing, nothing but what could be conceived as my own thoughts. I was… I am…

I am alone here.

A realization as deep as this abyss I was consumed by, a feeling that resided a short step away from my focus, ready to take its part in this tragedy of mine at its cue. No one, possibly not even myself, was a part of this play. Barely the beginning number unfolded before the curtain fell, and everyone and everything was shown the exit. Is this really the end? It can't be…

It can't be.

Without warning, I heard it. The beat of what might be a drum. Again, louder, but shorter than before. What is it, what is making that sound? A new sound, no more than one. Distinctly resounding one after another. Three new pitches, five, no even more. They are overlapping. Why am I hearing all this? A more powerful sound. A sharp crack. And another, and another, and another. Shattering. Dull thuds. The drum is picking up speed. I wish it were silent again.

So many voices with muffled words yet clear intents. Cries of pain. Shrieks of fear. Howls of rage. All these raw emotions being conveyed by sound alone. I exist here, enduring it all. The sole listener to this demonic orchestra set to a beat too loud and fast.

And as if on cue, a sudden flare within myself. A sting here, then more like a jab there. I feel as though I am a ragdoll wildly tossed to and fro. Something is trying to hold me now. The smell of cologne and fabric. Prolonged flashes of red and white, some other colors too but just shortly. I am no longer held. So much red. The feeling of being coated with liquid. Wet, clinging to me everywhere. The stench of meat, fresh. Now rotting? I am engulfed by a tidal wave of senses, yet the beat is still resounding. It is all real, is it not? I can't be imagining all this, can I? All to feel something other than the void?

Then it was all over.

It was simply over; the drum no longer beating, and I was deprived of my senses again. But I had felt it all - the sounds, the pain, the smells and textures, the rhythmic drumming that paved the way- and I remembered it all… everything was real after all, no? This is not the beginning of an end, but a true beginning. I am alive then, and now this sea I drift in doesn't seem as hopeless. Although it may not be the blindly light and deafening fanfare of a heavenly afterlife, I at least know that there is hope out there. It may be in the immaterial form of screams and pain, but it is out there alongside me.

I am not alone here.

Author's Note: Um hi again. I'm back and I said I'd be back in December and coincidentally I ended up with this ready on Christmas Day so... Merry Christmas I guess lol?