the Grey - Chapter IV - Darkness pt.1
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The lights framing the mirror lit his face evenly, without casting any shadow. His fingers drummed on the marble edge, the only outward sign of the jitter skittering under his skin. He uncapped the after‑shave, dabbed a small pool onto his fingertips, and worked it across his cheeks in slow circles.
A half‑formed dread hovered behind his eyes. He tried to ignore it. Yet when he chased the feeling, memory bloomed. The bedroom a few minutes earlier, details suddenly vast, hyper‑solid, as if the world had slipped into a higher‑resolution mode built only for him. The expansion. the body disappearing and yet still there, being felt. Everything glowing in the silence. The texture of all surfaces scraping against the eyes, even those hidden from sight.
He exhaled through pursed lips.
A trifle. No doubt. An impression. A mere hallucination. And yet, it felt real. Deeply true. Rising out out to hover above. Observing from outside. All being part of an ensamble connected layer after layer, in a coherent form that felt as one, even if split in multitude of shapes and colors. Still and moving at the same time. A dream. Except he knew he wasn’t dreaming.
It happens. Small impressions that mean nothing. After all, He’d just woken up. Even the garden had seemed so beautiful earlier, alive, so rich with meaning, until He’d looked away, and it was just a garden again. The same happened in the room. Just grogginess. His mental circuits hadn’t yet purged the remnants of REM dreams. A little clog in the gears of wakefulness. These things don’t really exist. They can’t exist.
And the voice.
He strained to remember the direction it had come from. Had he truly heard it? Was it from outside? He recalled the clear sensation of not being alone. Had someone been in the room? Had he heard the voice with his ears, or his mind? Perhaps it was him. Perhaps he’d created it. Again, a suggestion. An unintentional excitation of his auditory circuits. Yes, certainly.
But then, why did he still feel as though it had meaning? A significance he couldn’t grasp but that existed, nonetheless. Breathing alive with him.
He bent closer to the mirror.
“Enough.” He returned to his room and slipped on the shirt he’d chosen for the evening.
Do such glitches happen often? Or is it a symptom? A symptom of being on the verge of losing his mind?
He shook his head.
“Fucking nonsense. How does that even cross your mind?”
He looked around the dark room, his heart quickening. The fear of discovering something unknown in the shadows. An anxious heart. To fill itself again. Feel the threshold break. Open up again the flood, Exhalted, exhilarating. He forced himself to look in the dark. The details lost in the dim light, searching for any trace of that sensation, if it could be accessed again. Just one last time.
It wasn’t there. Just a simple, two-dimensional black screen.
It’s a trick, he thought. Just a mistake. Nothing more.
He headed out, turning off the lights behind him. He descended the stairs and walked through the kitchen.
“Mom, I’m heading out.” He said without stopping.
“Where are you going?” she called, surprised.
“Out.” He replied, already in the garden.
“The keys?”
“Got them!”
“Be back soon!”
Her voice faded as he reached the gate. The evening air met him with the damp breath of August. On the square the benches were packed, mopeds weaving lazy figure‑eights between clusters of friends. He drifted toward his group, merging into the cheerful chatter about where to spend the evening. Bonfire on the beach, north district, the bar. He laughed and joked but kept himself at the margin in the discussion, he had a sense any adventurous plan would be abandoned in favor of a trip to the bar. Makeshift disco was on tonight, which was always a convenient draw compared to more ambitious schemes.
He moved away slowly. His eyes lifted, drawn as if by magic.
She, stepping out of her house. A white miniskirt. Golden legs. An electric pink shirt, navel exposed. The soft curves of her chest gently outlined. A small white purse in her hand. He rose and went to meet her.
“You look stunning tonight.” He said, stopping a step away.
She smiled, a playful pout forming on her lips, and leaned forward, resting against his chest as she stretched up for a quick kiss on his lips. The scent of roses and oranges filled his lungs. He opened his eyes and saw her close, radiating joy.
“How are you?”
“I’m good. Really good.” She said, nodding.
Luca gestured toward the group still engaged in lively debate.
“They’re still arguing, but they’ll end up deciding to go to the bar as usual.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll tag along.” Luca said with a resigned stare. He pulled Chiara closer. “Unless you’d rather walk the boardwalk first?”
“Yes! Let’s”
Luca beamed.
“Then it’s settled, princess”
Taking her hand, he led her toward the beach. They passed the mopeds and the crowded benches. Chiara turned, raising her hand in a wave.
“Bye, everyone! Luca and I are heading to the bar. See you there!”
Without waiting for a response, she turned back, hearing the chatter behind her shift, goodbyes mingled with renewed conversation. She squeezed Luca’s hand as they walked.
They strolled slowly, veering onto the narrow road that curved gently behind a whitewashed wall. The low villas spread sparsely around them. Warm patio lights mixed with the cold glow of streetlamps lining the road. The distant hum of televisions echoed faintly.
The beach appeared before them. The dune broke open for about two hundred meters, allowing access to the shore. The road paralleled the sea, with a low white wall on the right supporting the sand. The back entrances of villas on the left were dark, and the sparse streetlamps cast circles of light on the asphalt and sand, deserted and unused at night.
They continued hand in hand, in silence. In the darker stretches, Luca gazed at the sea, trying to make out shadows and contours. His thoughts drifted back to his room, and the weight returned to his chest.
A tug on his arm broke his reverie. He turned to find Chiara’s intense gaze fixed on him.
“Well? What’s wrong?”
“Uh?”
“What’s wrong? What’s going on? You’re quieter than usual.”
Luca murmured vaguely, biting his lip. Uncertain.
“Well?” she pressed, lively
“I don’t know. A bit restless.”
“Why?”
He knew why. He didn’t want to admit it. Fear held him back. Fear of revealing himself to her.
“Come on. If we talk about it, it’ll get better.” She tightened her hold on his arm.
Her warmth close to him felt familiar, safe. The weight pressing on his heart threatened to spill out, and he struggled to hold it back.
“I’m listening.” She urged gently.
Luca sighed and relented.
“Something strange happened this morning.” Shame pricking at his throat. “I had a weird experience in my room while I was getting ready for the beach.”
“What happened?”
“I was in my room, and suddenly it felt… different. Like it was alive. Every detail became defined, so sharp it could cut. It felt like I could understand everything about it, all at once. And at the same time, I could perceive every individual detail separately.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. But it was scary. Because it all came rushing in at once. Like a waterfall of information. For a moment, it felt like too much, like I’d explode. Like I couldn’t handle it.” He paused. “Like I’d go mad.”
“How long had you been awake?”
Luca looked at her.
“Not long.”
“Maybe you were still dreaming.”
“Yeah, I thought of that too.” Luca sighed. “Though I don’t know if I believe it. I mean, I’d already had breakfast. I’d run up the stairs two at a time. My blood was pumping. You know?” He lowered his head. “But yeah, I guess I can’t rule it out.”
They walked in silence for a while.
“I can’t stop thinking about it, though.” He said “Sure, maybe it was just a random sensation. Maybe I dreamed for briefly after waking. But I can’t shake the thought that I might be going crazy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” She tugged his arm “Based on what? A split-second impression after waking up? Is that all it takes to doubt yourself? To me, you seem pretty rational, no? And anyway, if you’re worried about being crazy, that’s already a sign you’re not. Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. They’re told they’re crazy.”
Luca murmured.
“To a crazy person, the world seems normal.” She continued “They don’t question it, which is why they’re so hard to deal with. So if you can see it and wonder about it, you’re fine.”
“Well…”
“And besides, what you described, the ability to perceive the world so intensely, to see the big picture and the details at the same time, that sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it? Was it beautiful or ugly?” She asked enthusiastically.
Luca stared at her, surprised.
“It was beautiful, but it felt like too much.” He shook his head “Too much for my mind.”
“Come on, nothing’s too much for your mind. Maybe your brain was just testing you to see if you were ready for the next level of perception, huh?” She squinted at him playfully.
“Eh, I don’t think that’s how it works. The brain doesn’t test you. You are the brain.”
“Meh, who knows? Nobody really understands how this thing works.” Chiara pointed to her head, pulling a face. “And besides, I think you’re making progress every day, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your art. You dedicated a song to me today, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I did.” Luca smiled. “You said you liked it”
“I loved it. You were amazing, and it was so cool. Everyone heard it.”
Luca laughed, embarrassed.
“It was just for you. But I wanted everyone else to hear it too. To hear how important you are. How you’re the center of the world. Of my world.”
Chiara stopped, leaning up to kiss him deeply in the dark.
He felt full, reassured, for a moment. He wanted it to last as long as possible.
Pulled apart, her sweet smile washed over him. He returned it, serene. The clouds in his heart scattered. Walking again, silent for a while. It felt good to talk to her, to be honest, to not fear judgment. Was that the meaning of happiness? To talk about anything. To show himself as he was. And to find a safe harbor in the storm. Was this what it means to love?
On the tip of his tongue, another thought lingered. He wanted to tell her about the voice. About that strange voice. He searched for the moment but held back, basking in the warmth of the present. Ready to open again later.
The noise grew louder. The buzz of chatter, the bass vibrating in his chest and ears. The bar was close. He felt a twinge of regret but knew the moment to speak had passed. Maybe next time. Maybe after. Or maybe never. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the moment. Being with her. Feeling safe. Walking together.
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Oh, I'm hooked in.