Emilio Pinzón - Class of 2025 Schwarzschild

It was the third night in a row. Once again, Rian had stayed up working until he felt he could collapse. Life hadn’t been especially kind to him lately. His wife and his only child had been gravely injured in an automobile accident just two weeks prior. The medical bills kept piling up. He’s never felt emptier in his life, working overtime to barely support his family The sound of the ticking clock could be heard reverberating around the empty, dark room he now considered his prison. The air conditioner had been powered off to save energy causing an uncomfortably hot environment. Sweat was beading on his forehead. Glancing up from his computer, he looked at the time, looking at the time. 3:46 AM. Rian wanted more than anything to go back to how it was before, so much so that he felt as if he couldn’t bear it. And then the thoughts came back. It’s not enough, he thought It’s never enough That’s when he saw it

Perhaps Rian was just seeing things, but that wasn’t exactly reassuring. He could’ve sworn that he had just felt a movement, but he dismissed it and attempted to go back to work, shifting his view towards his now computer screen. It wasn’t worth the effort to get worried. However, when he did look up, he saw something reflected back at him. It was erased a second later when the screen filled with color once again, but he didn’t brush it aside this time Rian did what he previously thought unthinkable and stood up from his desk to head to the bathroom. Not a second was meant to be wasted, but strange occurrences like these required a second to compose oneself. He washed his face with cool water, feeling the same temporary calm he knew was soon to be followed by the dreaded apathy and mediocrity of his current life. The calm was cut short, however, for when in the mirror there was something but not somebody.

It was gone after a blink. Taking a step back, Rian became increasingly worried about what he continued seeing. The silence was somehow more terrifying than any semblance of sound. Hit with a dizzying wave of nausea, he struggled to walk. He opened the washroom door and peered into the dark room. The presence of something could be felt. Something dark and ominous. However, it was still not a good enough excuse to stop working. Returning to his stiff chair, he opened his assignment with a shaky hand. It was to be done by next morning, and he wasn’t anywhere close to being done. The stress had finally overwhelmed him, and with a final sickening wave of nausea, he emptied his stomach into a nearby trash can. Just then, the faintest noise could be heard. Rian’s heart stopped, no longer able to ignore the happenings any further. Shaking all over, he stood up and walked towards the window, where he as if all the heat from his body had left him. With his heart pounding in his ears like distressingly loud bass drums, he identified the true nature of the sound.

It was a strange, distorted growl, almost like the sound of a technological error. The strange, shapeless black mass slowly creeped its way towards his house, like a predator catching its prey in a trap. Reality shifted around Rian, with the room slowly becoming covered in a pitch black, ink-like, corrosive substance that burned to the touch. Rushing to the other side of the room was to no avail, with the substance quickly overtaking the whole room, leaving him in searing pain. The pounding in his ears was becoming louder, eventually sounding like sirens. Hearing what sounded like a chemical reaction of some sort burning from the other side of the room, he moved his gaze over to the door and saw that the wall had been seemingly melted off into the darkness. The growling grew to a deafening roar. It’s here… he thought. It’s here and it’s going to kill me. He could hear the voices of his wife and child crying to him, but nothing could save them now. Not even him.

The ticking of the clock rang deep into his ears as Rian opened his eyes. The room seemed relatively normal. No hellish destruction or corrosive substances were present. With a sense of deep confusion, he stood up and looked at the clock. 5:23 AM. The roaring he had heard had been replaced by a deafening silence, except for the ticking. He sat back down at his desk and reread the assignment. There was no point in trying. It was impossible for him to finish it now. Overcome with stress, he buried his face in his hands and wept, with the horrible understanding that the current events had brought him past the frigid edges of his sanity to the point of no return. His internal horrors had manifested that night, locking him in his own personal, psychological prison. And it will happen like clockwork.