First Night

The night had fully set in, blanketing the world outside in darkness. Inside his small, blocky house, Ethan sat beside the furnace, the only source of light and warmth. He tossed the raw chicken into it, watching as it sizzled and cooked, the smell of food filling the air. His stomach grumbled again, a sharp reminder of how long it had been since he last ate.

Finally, the chicken was ready. He grabbed it from the furnace and sat down on the wooden floor, eating it slowly. The hunger in his belly eased with each bite, though it wasn't enough to completely fill him up. "Better than nothing," he muttered, finishing the meal.

With the hunger dealt with, Ethan stood and walked to the window, peering outside. The world beyond his little shelter had transformed into something far more sinister. Shadows moved through the forest, and the unmistakable figure of a zombie lumbered into view, its arms outstretched, eyes glowing a dull green in the moonlight.

Ethan stepped back, his pulse quickening. He had faced these creatures countless times in the game, but seeing them here, so lifelike, was different. They groaned and dragged their feet, but they couldn't get in. His house was secure, at least for now. But the sight of them gnawing at the grass outside made his skin crawl.

Turning away from the window, he paced the small room, his mind spinning. "Why am I here?" he whispered to himself. "How did I end up in *Minecraft*?" He had no answers. The last thing he remembered before waking up in this strange world was playing the game. But now, he was living it. The confusion gnawed at him, but no matter how hard he tried, there were no clues, no flashes of memory to explain his situation.

"Doesn't matter right now," he said, forcing himself to focus. Survival came first.

He walked over to his chest and opened it, taking stock of his supplies. His heart sank. He barely had enough materials to last. A few wooden planks, some sticks, a bit of stone. His iron pickaxe was his most valuable tool, but beyond that, his resources were dwindling.

Ethan sighed. He couldn't stay like this for long. He'd need more food soon, more supplies, and especially more resources. "I'll have to go mining," he thought aloud, his eyes narrowing. "And I'll need to find more food. I can't survive on just one chicken." He glanced outside again. The night seemed endless, and with no bed, there was no way to speed it up.

With nothing left to do, Ethan stretched out on the wooden floor, folding his arms behind his head. His house, though basic, was secure, and as long as the doors and windows were shut tight, no mobs would get in. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing mind.

The weight of everything started to sink in as he stared up at the wooden ceiling. The isolation. The danger lurking just outside. The fact that he didn't know if he would ever wake up from this—or if this was now his reality.

The groans of zombies outside were a distant hum in the background, but they didn't scare him as much as they had before. He was safe here, at least for tonight. He had food in his belly, a roof over his head, and a plan for tomorrow.

But sleep didn't come easily. His mind raced with thoughts of what he'd need to do next. Mining would be his priority—he'd need coal for torches, iron for stronger tools, and maybe even some precious materials if he got lucky. And he couldn't forget food. Without animals or crops, he wouldn't last long.

"Tomorrow," Ethan whispered to himself, closing his eyes. "I'll start tomorrow."

The night dragged on, but eventually, exhaustion took over. His breathing slowed, and despite the hard floor beneath him and the muffled groans of the undead, Ethan drifted off into an uneasy sleep.