"Sigh… nothing good to watch today either, huh? Why does the good stuff take forever, while the awful stuff explodes onto the screen like lightning?"
The words spilled from a young man's lips with a heavy, almost theatrical sigh.
He had short black hair, a few rebellious bangs falling over his forehead. His dark blue eyes were listless, like empty skies, as he flopped backward onto his bed. The phone in his hand slipped and tumbled to the side, forgotten.
Even like this, even with the weight of boredom pressing down on him, there was no denying his presence. Strong, athletic, but more than just muscle—his room betrayed his mind's discipline. Shelves overflowed with books of every kind: comics, encyclopedias, novels, works of leisure and study, chaotic yet organized.
A laptop sat open by the desk, next to a game console. In a corner, a neat stack of barbells and some bandages hinted at physical rigor, while a lone pair of running shoes waited quietly. Everything in this room spoke of balance: body and mind.
Yet none of it mattered. His eyes carried the dull weight of utter boredom.
He stared at the ceiling, mind wandering, until fatigue began to tug at him like a gentle undertow. Lately, he'd been sleepy more often than normal. He was young, healthy, disciplined—but his energy seemed… off. Perhaps it had something to do with love.
Or the lack of it.
His tenth girlfriend had left him. "Too intense," they'd said. "Too caring." "A little… scary." All he had ever done was make sure they were safe. Yet somehow, watching from the shadows, ensuring no harm came to them, had made him terrifying in their eyes.
He wasn't angry. He understood. Humans were strange creatures.
His body succumbed to boredom-induced drowsiness. It always did this when he had nothing to do. He had joked before that he was like a dragon in hibernation—or a robot in standby mode.
"Alright… a short nap, then a run. Two hours, tops," he muttered, grabbing his phone. The screen lit up:
15:40
Satisfied, he pressed the phone away and let his body sink into the bed. No covers, no changing clothes—just him and the silence. His mind refused to shut down at first, thoughts whirling like sparks in the dark. But eventually, dream logic took over, and he drifted.
Time melted. Minutes in reality stretched like hours in the deep, restful state he always craved. Then, as his internal clock ticked precisely, he awoke. Not instantly, though. He lingered, savoring the calm reboot of his mind.
Something felt… different.
The usual evening chill was gone. The window was open, yet the air didn't bite. He furrowed his brow. Impossible. His clock was perfect. He had tested it countless times.
And then—something soft brushed his arm.
Eyes snapping open, he froze.
The sky above was unlike anything he had ever seen. Bright—but not bright like the sun. Twilight colors stretched across it in impossible harmony: pinks, purples, blues, oranges, and reds, glowing with an intensity that rivaled noon. And yet… no sun.
He blinked. "What a… beautiful sky."
Then he noticed the ground. Something soft pressed against his fingers, like velvet under his touch. Grass? No… more like fur. Golden-brown, short, and swaying gently in a wind that did not exist.
"Not only the sky… even the ground is unreal. Feels like fur, not grass," he murmured, running his fingers through it.
He stood, brushing his bare feet across the soft strands. Hands in pockets, he let his gaze wander over the surreal landscape, letting it seep into him.
"So… death finally found me, huh?" he said quietly, almost amused.
He looked down at himself. White shirt, black pants, barefoot. Perfectly normal, perfectly himself—just placed into a place that was not normal at all.
"Mmm… not bad," he hummed. "Might as well take a walk."
And so he did. Hands in pockets, casual steps over the golden fur-field, calm as a cat but alert as a hawk. His calm wasn't detachment—it was survival. Panicking didn't help, and this was already done.
No one left to mourn him. No one alive to tether him. Life had been lived, love had been given—and lost, all intensity, all fire.
He smiled faintly at the thought of her. Her eyes… Death itself, Marvel or DC. What I wouldn't give to see them now.
Shaking it off, he focused on the surreal world around him. An hour passed in slow contemplation. He sat again, observing the sky. Its colors moved—imperceptibly slow, but they did move, like the brushstrokes of some cosmic artist.
A grin spread across his face. A spark of mischief danced in his eyes.
"What would happen… if I ran?" he whispered to himself.