Build

I won't lie and say that I remember everything that happened in those two days. I remember about how long we were there, in that old, too clean house. Around thirty-six hours. That was all, and yet what happened in that time . . . I remember most of that, too. Mostly the tormenting, haunting stuff that taunts and picks at your mind, even in your dreams. But it seems like I never get to sleep anymore.

Everyone tells me that I should be happy with my life. I should rejoice having been able to leave, and having been able to take another breath of fresh air. But every time I feel the sun warm my skin, or feel even a tiny shred of happiness for any reason, I remember the faces of the people I left behind. And I feel guilt in the pit of my gut. Horrible, crushing, agonizing guilt that makes it hard to keep myself going. I didn't know what I could do to honor their memories, so I'm writing this. Their story. Our story. With the help of the other people that made it out with me. Our last testament to the world, describing the horror that comes with surviving a tragedy.

It all really started around a year before the actual event. I was around seventeen at the time, and I was bored. I played a computer game to pass the time. 'Heta'-something. I don't really remember the title. Either way, I played it, alleviated my boredom for a short time, and was done with it. But that day, I came home from school late. I was pretty beat-up looking from a run-in with one of the more bellicose kids at my school. My parents were far from pleased.

My mother screamed at me, telling me that I was useless, and that I could never take care of myself. My father watched, disappointment directed towards me in his eyes, as my mother screamed and hit. It was almost forty-five minutes later when I was allowed to go to my room. I was supposed to go without dinner again, so I was going to be up here for a while. I grabbed my laptop and plopped onto my bed, moving the mouse to check my email.

There was a message from somebody whose name I didn't recognize. I don't usually- actually, I don't ever- get talked to by people I don't know, so I assumed it was a new address from one of my old friends. Either way, the message was short. "Come with us" or "Join us" or something like that. I didn't understand it, but there was a file attached. I opened it up, and found a link 'copy-and-pasted' into a word document. Thoroughly irritated, I clicked the link and followed it. It opened up a website with download links for the game I'd played over a year before.

A new update had been posted, so I inwardly shrugged and downloaded it. Had I known beforehand what torment would arise by my downloading this, I swear to God, I would have left it alone. But how was I to know that a simple game would cause such a ruckus in this petty, boring existence? Before then, I had always believed that any change, any event out of the ordinary at all, would be infinitely better than what I had now. And that always made sense, having been born into a world that hates me; that pulls me down and relishes the feeling of me failing. But this change . . . The entire world would have been so much better off without this place ever existing.

Everything was normal at first. I downloaded the game, played it in complete and utter silence, and made sure to pretend I was sleeping fitfully when my mother checked in on me. But after about an hour of playing, my computer crashed. I have no idea why; if it was a technical failure, or something planned beforehand, but it shocked me to say the least. So I did the only thing I could do; I sat there and stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep.

At first, when I cracked open my eyes and felt the cool air blanketed around me, I thought I was dreaming. In fact, I was certain that this was a dream. I sat up slowly, noticing right away that I was still in pain from the earlier day. It wasn't until I heard a groan of pain echo through the hallway that I noticed I wasn't alone. I looked around wildly, trying to find the source of such a pained voice. I couldn't see anyone, and the sound had stopped, so I had to give up the short search.

Sighing heavily, I started to walk around the room. It looked similar to my own, actually. No windows, but small, with a desk, a shelf, and a bed. The only difference was the striking cleanliness. I mean, sure my room was clean, but this place was literally spotless. Little did I know that these four grey walls would soon become a battlefield. I sat down lightly on the bed, my head in my hands. I really just wanted to wake up. These dreams were always torture to walk through.

I shot back up the instant I heard a loud crash and swearing, muffled and off to one side. That's when I noticed a closet tucked neatly into the corner. I quietly made my way towards the door, making sure to stay dead silent. I don't quite describe what I was feeling at that moment, but I couldn't have been hope that was crushing my gut like a vice.

Unsure of how to approach the situation- as there had definitely been someone inside the rickety old closet- I raised my hand. I was just about to rap gently against the door when the sound of footsteps from the hallway startled me, causing me to let out a childish squeak. The door to the hallway opened, and a young-looking Asian man, about my height, stopped in his tracks.

"Oh." He recoiled a bit into the hallway, clearly embarrassed, as I was likely not who he had expected to find in here. "I'm terribly sorry, I did not mean to-."

"Who are you?" I asked, cutting him off. Rude, I know, but I was confused. "What is this place? Where am I?"

The man tilted his head in the tiniest gesture of confusion. "You don't know where you are?" He walked inside the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. "That certainly is odd. Um, my name is Japan." He extended his hand, presumably expecting me to shake it.

"Japan? Sir, you must be mistaken." I shook his hand anyway. "My name is Lana. Pleased to meet you."

The man nodded, withdrawing his hand uncomfortably. "Hello, Miss Lana. I can assure you that, yes, I am indeed Japan. The personified form of the country, I suppose."

I scoffed; a sort of snorting laugh, signifying that I didn't believe him. I applied pressure to the bridge of my nose gently with my forefinger and thumb, developing a bit of a headache. "Alright," I muttered "Suppose this is just a new version of dream."

The man looked like he was going to say more, but decided against it. "Well, Miss, I was just trying to find my companions so that we can leave, but if you'd like to come along with me . . ."

He didn't need to finish his sentence. I may never have been very trusting, but I could find no fault or reason not to trust this man. "Of course!" I answered with vigor. "Much better than dying alone, don't you think?"

And as the two of us began to talk more about the house we found ourselves held prisoner in, I swear I could feel the dread beginning to build in my stomach, which would always inevitably end in a climax of mass suffering for all those involved, and even some who weren't.