I sit at the corner of my bed, engrossed in my TikTok feed, murmuring to myself, “Just one more swipe,” repeating the phrase over and over. But then, a convenient excuse arises: “Oh no, I need to use the restroom.” It’s a stall tactic, delaying the inevitable, for it’s during these late-night hours that I find solace. With trousers lowered, I relieve myself while my fingers aimlessly navigate TikTok’s endless scroll. It’s in this moment, amidst the mindless swiping, that I realize the looming specter of impending tests. “I’ll tackle that later,” I reassure myself, my scroll uninterrupted. Eventually, I conclude my business, wash my hands, and casually dismiss the toothbrush and toothpaste – “Tomorrow, perhaps.”
The following day, I face a choice between a punctual morning routine and an extra 25 minutes of slumber. The allure of more sleep prevails. Upon returning from school, my mother inquires, “How was school, ######?” My response, however, is less than enthusiastic. “I’d rather not discuss it,” I reply, prompting my mother to express her concerns about my grades, punctuality, and the absence of my father. Frustrated, I push her away with a curt “Leave me alone; it’s almost November.”
Five hours later, darkness has fallen, and I’ve squandered the day in an endless TikTok trance. Sleep remains elusive. “Perhaps TikTok can provide solace,” I think, but a sudden knock on my balcony door disrupts my thoughts. I investigate, only to find nothing. I glance at the mirror opposite my bed – still nothing. Minutes pass, and the knocking returns, this time with two forceful knocks. Peering outside, I spot a tall, emaciated figure, not quite human, more like a shadowy silhouette. Its head tilts to an unnatural angle, revealing white eyes and sharp teeth. The figure addresses me, “######, you’ve been struggling with sadness, insomnia, and deteriorating hygiene, along with bullying, am I right?”
I stutter in response, “Y-y-yes.”
The figure grins, showcasing its eerie teeth, “######, I won’t harm you. You don’t need to be afraid. Or do you?”
I remain silent.
“Listen, ######, I can grant you a wish, but there must be something in exchange. You can choose to be wealthy, but someone else will be made poor to balance it out. Alternatively, you can bring back a loved one, but they’ll have to be balanced as well. Or, there’s a safer option where no one you care about will be affected. What’s your choice, ######?”
As I observe the figure’s eerie gestures with its long, spiky fingers, I ponder my response. “######… time’s ticking…”
In the midst of my contemplation, I stammered, “Uh, I want—wait, but why have you chosen me?” An understandable quiver resonated in my voice, a manifestation of my unease and curiosity.
The figure, with its unearthly demeanor, responded in a voice that transitioned from eerie to menacing, “Because, ######, you exist in a state of profound isolation. I perceive a latent potential within you that remains untapped. It seems you’ve engaged in a futile cycle of self-indulgence and have become a pawn in the intricate chess game of adolescent relationships. Girls at school, it appears, exploit your naivety, while the boys subject you to their relentless taunts, and yet, paradoxically, you persist in their company, perpetuating your role as a ‘meat rider,’ as you so aptly put it.”
I hesitated, wrestling with my inner skepticism, and finally, I posed the question that had been festering, “Alright, but how can I be certain this isn’t some nefarious trap? Could this involve the forfeiture of my soul, a cursed existence, or a one-way ticket to the depths of damnation?”
The figure, whose patience seemed to wear thin, retorted with palpable irritation, “######, you jest about matters most grave! I hold the power to orchestrate any fate I choose. I have selected you, out of the myriad possibilities that traverse the ether, and you question my intent?”
Startled and overwhelmed by the intensity of the encounter, I involuntarily recoiled, fearing imminent peril. “Please, I beg you, do not end my existence,” I exclaimed, physically flinching and losing my balance.
The figure, ever cryptic, reminded me with eerie precision of the passage of time. “Listen, ######, the clock is ticking,” it intoned, eerily mimicking the rhythm of a ticking clock, emphasizing the urgency of the moment.
A spark of irritation welled within me, as I retorted, “Clocks ticking? The time on the clock has read 3:33 am for what feels like an eternity.”
Nevertheless, the figure pressed onward, undeterred by my skepticism, seeking my decisive response. “Tell me your wish, ######?”
With a deep breath and a resolve to engage in this enigmatic exchange, I finally uttered, “Okay, what I desire is…”