I once heard an old saying: “The more things change, the more they stay the same” I can’t quite remember where I first came across those words, nor who originally spoke them. All I know is this: that saying couldn’t be further from the truth.
Somewhere along the way—almost without me noticing—the gears began to grind, certainties unraveled, and everything around me simply started to fall apart.
One moment, I was just a college student, buried under exams, overdue assignments, and the constant anxiety of an uncertain future; the next, I was hurled straight into a waking nightmare.
Suddenly, every step I took was a struggle against the unknown, every shadow hid a threat, and reality boiled down to one rule as simple as it was cruel: hunt... or be hunted.
But in the end, even I couldn’t escape the fate of becoming prey. Not when a colossal snake emerged from the shadows—so massive its sinuous, scaly body could easily have been mistaken for the twisted trunk of some ancient tree.
Its movements were silent, almost hypnotic, and the air around me seemed to grow heavier, as if the forest itself was holding its breath before that monstrous creature.
Its amber eyes burned with a cold, merciless hunger, glowing like embers trapped in ancient darkness. Each scrape of its scales against the earth sounded like a harsh whisper, an inevitable omen of the death drawing near.
The air thickened, heavy and suffocating, as though even the woods had fallen into reverent silence, bearing witness to the inevitable clash between predator and prey.
The last image my eyes managed to catch was of strangers rushing toward me, their faces etched with worry and urgency. And yet, behind them, something even more disturbing caught my attention: I was there... staring at myself.
But it wasn’t the “me” I knew. It was a female version of me. Before I could make sense of what that meant, everything was swallowed by complete darkness.
***
The first thing I did after waking up was lift one hand to my face, desperately trying to block the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the blinds — which, in theory, were supposed to cover the window completely. My eyes were still heavy with sleep, stubbornly trying to close again, but reality hit me hard and without mercy: it was Monday.
"That was one of the strangest... and most vivid dreams I've ever had" I mumbled to myself, making a serious effort to get out of bed.
I could barely remember the dream, which, to be honest, wasn’t anything new. But it wasn’t a total blank either — fragments still lingered, pieces of images floating in the back of my mind. The clearest one was the sensation of being on a train.
Not just a vague memory, but something so sharp it actually felt like I was still there, swaying gently with the rhythm of the tracks and hearing the distant echo of the wheels grinding against the rails.
"After that… something happened..." I muttered, touching my forehead like that might help lift the fog clouding my memory.
In the end, everything was a blur, just like any dream usually is. All that’s left are vague impressions, scattered fragments that fade over time. Thɪs chapter is updated by novel★fire.net
Still, one scene refused to disappear — probably because it was the scene of my own death. The stabbing pain in my chest had been so intense, so real, that even now, awake, I could still feel it like a shadow clinging to the back of my mind.
And I wasn’t alone — there was a girl beside me, strikingly beautiful. But what really stuck with me was the final image before I woke up. It was weird — almost surreal. Somehow, I wasn’t just seeing my reflection in her eyes... I was seeing myself through them, like for a brief moment, I was her.
"They say dreams have meanings… So what kind of meaning would mine have?" I murmured as I finally pulled myself out of bed.
In the end, I chose to let it go. There was no point in clinging to a dream, like that would somehow change anything in my life. Five minutes after waking up, already knee-deep in my usual routine — brushing my teeth, eating breakfast — I found myself standing at the door.
I looked back one last time at the inside of my apartment. The place was dark and cold. Well, I had turned the lights off, so the darkness made sense.
“I’m heading out” I said loud enough that someone could’ve heard — but the only answer was silence, like my words had just vanished into the air.
As I walked along the sidewalk toward the subway station that would take me to campus, I glanced up at the sky. As usual, the heat was unbearable. Honestly, the last few days had felt like a furnace. Temperatures had been so extreme that even the experts were starting to sound surprised.
Still, none of that really had anything to do with me. I was just your average college student, living with a decent amount of stability thanks to the money I’d gotten from my adoptive parents.
That was their way of showing they cared when I told them I’d be moving out for college. Truth is, neither of them had ever been particularly great at showing affection.
They already had a biological daughter when they adopted me. Later, I found out they had lost a son the year before I came into their lives. Chances are, they adopted me trying to fill that void — maybe hoping I’d take the place of the one they lost.
Still, I don’t hold it against them. In their own awkward way, they tried to love me — and whether I liked it or not, during the time we lived together, all three of them showed me affection in the ways they knew how.
Anyway, I’m far from popular at my college. Honestly, I think most people just see me as a weirdo — and I don’t really try to change that. The truth is, some parts of childhood just stick with you into adulthood.
In my case, it’s being introverted and naturally distant. I prefer silence over meaningless chatter and my own thoughts over a noisy group.
So it’s not surprising people see me as solitary, reserved — maybe even strange. But truth be told, I’ve never really cared what people think. Living my life my own way has always felt more honest than trying to please a bunch of strangers.
My train of thought was interrupted when I reached the underground entrance to the subway. I started heading down the stairs, my eyes scanning the area, half-hidden behind my annoyingly long bangs.
As usual, the subway was packed. I’ve never been great with crowds. It’s not like I feel anxious or panicky around them — I just don’t like them. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to being alone most of the time.
While I was waiting on the platform, some nearby voices caught my attention. A group of guys and girls, probably my age, were chatting energetically.
Usually, the people riding the subway at that time are college students, and since my college is the closest stop along this line, I figure they were headed there too.
Their conversation, full of laughter and jokes, matched the fast-paced, energetic rhythm of student life. Of course, I had no idea who they were. I’m not exactly the social type — in fact, I kind of take pride in saying I don’t have any friends.
That doesn’t mean I don’t know people — but if you ask me, we just hang out sometimes. I don’t know if “friends” is the right word.
A few minutes later, the train finally arrived, and everyone got on. I, of course, headed straight to the back, where it was less crowded, which helped me avoid unnecessary interaction.
Again, it’s not that I’m asocial — I just prefer being alone. Trying to form deep connections feels exhausting and pointless most of the time.
I didn’t have anything to do until I got to school, so I just sat there, watching the people around me. Not that there were many — just a few students, probably from my college... probably.
To be honest, I’m not great at remembering things that don’t directly impact my life. As usual, I tuned everything out and focused on my phone’s news feed while waiting for the train to reach campus.