Helpless
It's dark—an endless, swallowing void. The darkness isn't just around me; it's alive, coiling and writhing, slithering over my skin and pulling me deeper, dragging me down into its suffocating depths. It's like sinking into thick, inky water, every inch of movement slower than the last, my limbs growing heavier, my strength ebbing with each attempt to pull myself free. The darkness seems to feed off my desperation, tightening its grip, whispering threats in my ear, promises of oblivion.
Ahead, there's a single point of light—a distant star flickering faintly, barely piercing through the pitch-black surrounding me. My heart seizes, and an ache flares in my chest. That light, so small and fragile, is the only thing holding back the vast emptiness that stretches around me. I reach for it, clawing and scrabbling through the darkness, my fingers stretching desperately toward the one thing that keeps me from giving in to the abyss. I have to reach it. I have to touch it.