Origins of the Abyss

For the last several weeks, Lance had the same recurring dream. Every time without fail, he would wake up in the middle of the night soaked in sweat. This had begun to prove problematic, as he often found himself falling asleep during the middle of the day. In his dream, he was always underwater, unable to breathe, and would wake up from his nightmare the moment before he was fated to die. Unable to fall back asleep, Lance found himself roaming the empty streets and would eventually make his way toward the city's main aqueduct.

Lance was a third year at the Ke Shue Institute a prestigious private school, but felt isolated from his peers. Unlike most of the other students, he was attending on a full scholarship, a product of his near-perfect score on the entrance exam. Since he had entered the school much later than most, he couldn't easily join any social circles. Lance was revered among the other students for his academic prowess despite having transferred from a public school. Such admiration resulted in many keeping their distance from him. While this offered him a sense of calm, he couldn't help but feel lonely.

He lived alone for most of his life, receiving monthly funds from an aid program for emancipated minors, and seldom used money from his inheritance. Lance never knew his parents; his memories were hazy at best, and his previous caretakers only reminisced that they were kind people. He didn't understand what circumstances caused them to abandon him, but he had come to accept the fact of his independence after many years.

One summer night during his regularly scheduled strolls along the aqueduct, Lance spotted a convenience store, its neon signage blinding him from the dark. He squinted and made his way toward the storefront. Upon approaching the automated sliding doors, a blast of cold air hit him squarely in the face. He noticed a girl around his age managing the counter, visibly bored and fixated on her cellphone. He walked through the aisles, grabbed a drink from the refrigerated section, and set it down in on the counter. Without looking up, the girl mumbled, "That's gonna be—" her voice trailed off as she held her phone in one hand and scanned the drink with the other. Lance fished out a bill from his shorts and hurried out of the store.

"You forgot your change!" the girl called out from behind him. He looked back with a half-hearted smile, waving his hand dismissively, "That's fine, keep it."

Once Lance had left the store and was seemingly out of earshot, the girl looked back down at the money he had left behind. Shaking her head, she let out an exasperated sigh.

"Keep it? You paid for the drink ten times over!"

Lance would unknowingly come to regret this decision several days later when he discovered his wallet was empty save for some assorted coins.

I'll have to withdraw some money from my account soon, I'm almost out of food at my apartment, Lance thought to himself one sweltering afternoon. When evening came, he began his routine of being thrust awake at midnight and wandering about the city before reaching the usual convenience store.

During one of their wordless exchanges, a man stumbled into the store and immediately steered toward the refrigerated aisle with the alcoholic refreshments. He yanked the glass door open and fumbled around for a bottle of beer before slamming it shut. He was clearly drunk and as he approached, Lance could smell the booze emanating from his breath. Despite his condition, the man appeared well-dressed. He was wearing a suit and sporting a tacky gold watch. Lance was sure that it was a counterfeit.

Before he could continue his evaluation. The man shoved past him and slammed the bottle down. The noise was enough to draw the girl's full attention.

"Can I help you?" she hesitated. The man's speech was slurred.

"How much for this bottle ma'am?" he swayed in place, nearly tripping over himself.

Lance was annoyed by the interruption and against his better judgement, spoke up, "Hey, I was here first, at least let me pay for my drink!"

"What does he think he's doing riling up a drunk guy?" This decision perplexed the cashier girl as she turned towards him in disappointment.

The man's demeanor suddenly changed, and he slowly turned his head toward him. His gaze was uncharacteristically frightening, and it appeared as if he was completely sober. He approached Lance.

"Do you know who I am?" the man uttered, almost growling.

Uncertain how to respond, Lance cautiously stepped back, fearing an altercation.

"No, should I?" Lance grew increasingly worried.

"Good," the man's face contorted into a massive grin as his hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. He swung wildly towards Lance and pushed him down one of the aisles, eventually knocking him to the ground. At that point, Lance was panicking. He could no longer make out the man's face, it had become a growing hole in his vision.

"Who do you think you are, getting in my way?" a monotone voice reverberated inside Lance's head, splitting it open. He collapsed on to the dirty tiles, blood pouring from his head, the man's voice still booming as his vision grew blurry.

"I said, can I help you?" the man asked, growing visibly frustrated.

Lance found himself back near the counter beside the drunkard. The girl still looking towards him expectantly.

"Sorry, I forgot what I wanted to say."

"Tsk, this idiot, wasting my time," the man turned back to the girl and threw down some coins before leaving, already taking swigs from the bottle.

Lance felt unwell, his head spinning.

"Are you alright?" the cashier girl asked. Lance was disoriented, believing that he was merely dehydrated.

"I'll be fine, I'm just going to get something to drink."