Tuesday, 30th December 2025.
8:35 AM.
The alarm clock has been ringing for the past 30 minutes. It's getting to the point that if he doesn't mute it his ears will start bleeding. But he doesn't care, not anymore.
8:36 AM.
He was meant to get up and ready for school when that annoying thing had started screaming, but it looked as if he was going to miss another day. Again. It's fine though , who was going to stop him from staying here. This is the only place he felt he belonged.
They say 10th grade is the most important year of your teenage life. Kids wake up early on the first few days , excited for a fresh start and a new beginning to their short but ongoing lives. Parents stay by their sides , making sure they start on the right foot. I mean , that's what they're there for right?
What a load of crap.
I mean why would he ever believe that. He's never had a parental figure to begin with. A fresh start? Yeah right, he wishes his miserable life would just end. No need for a start he doesn't want.
8:37 AM.
He lifts up his arm, pale and lifeless, to finally put a stop to the pain his ears were going through. Ah , peace. Why can't life always be like this. Just silent. Funny enough it actually is like this for him, having no friends and all. It saves him from wasting too much energy on inconvenient things. He could save that energy for... who knows. He doesn't really have any interests. Never tried playing any sports , drawing , listening to music because I mean, who would willingly want to listen to a person speak for 3 minutes straight. Not even speak more like screeching, truly abnormal behaviour.
8:52 AM.
If he wasn't going to school, he should really be getting up and buying some food again. The ones he scavenged for 2 months ago had been drained. Life in this 4 by 4 apartment isn't easy you know. Especially alone.
8:59 AM.
Right. He puts his final slipper on and closes the worn out door behind him. There's post on the floor. Nobody usually delivers him mail. Unless it's for rent, which he has absolutely no money for right now. Oh yeah , money. How was he ever going to buy food without money. Oh well I guess he will have to use his invisibility to sneak some into his pockets again.
Did I not mention before? Our tragic hero here has a superpower. He's a ghost. Not in a literal sense but he is a ghost. No friends, no family , no one even seems to notice our boy here. Poor Callum Gray. 16 years old, living alone in a petty apartment with absolutely nothing. You've got to feel for him sometimes. I mean I feel for myself, having to narrate the life of a guy like him. Should have been narrating the life of a prince with rich blonde hair draping down to his shoulders, riding on a horse to god knows where. Instead , I'm stuck with an anti social peasant with dark overgrown hair that falls onto his eyes in uneven strands. The kind that looks like it hasn't seen scissors in months, heck years even. Perfectly matched with a face narrow and pale , making sure that his hair never sits quite right on his head. His dark , swollen eyebags are the real beauty in this masterpiece though, making him look years older than he actually is.
9:30 AM.
The hallway smells like damp concrete and someone else's cooking. Not his. Never his. Callum walks with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, head low. Not out of fear. Habit. When you grow up unseen, you learn not to take up space.
The stairwell is empty. Of course it is. He could scream down here and no one would hear him. He tested that once. Not screaming, exactly. More like speaking a little louder than usual. Nothing happened. He stopped after that. Didn't want to risk being disappointed again.
9:41 AM.
The convenience store is three blocks away. He's done this walk enough times to count the cracks in the pavement. Third crack near the bus stop is shaped like a lightning bolt. The fifth smells faintly of piss. The seventh is new. Someone tripped and fell there last week. He remembers because he helped them up.
They didn't remember him.
9:45 AM.
The automatic doors slide open. The bell rings. The cashier doesn't look up. Callum drifts through the aisles like smoke, fingers brushing packets of noodles, cheap bread, off brand snacks. He hates doing this. He really does. But hunger has a way of making morals flexible.
He slips two things into his jacket. Then three. Then hesitates, staring at a chocolate bar.
He puts it back.
Don't be greedy.
9:49 AM.
The cashier still hasn't looked at him. Callum pauses at the exit. For half a second, something childish stirs in his chest.
What if I said thank you?
He opens his mouth. No sound comes out. Or maybe it does. He isn't sure anymore.
The bell rings again as he leaves.
9:58 AM.
Outside, the sky is that dull winter grey that never commits to snow. The street is busy now. People passing. Talking. Laughing. Living. Callum weaves through them, untouched, unnoticed. A woman nearly walks straight through him. She mutters an apology to the air and keeps going.
He stops.
Looks down at his hands.
They're still there.
10:01 AM.
For the first time that morning, something feels off.
It isn't dramatic. No flashing lights. No voice from the heavens. Just a strange pressure behind his eyes, like the world is holding its breath. The noise around him dulls. Footsteps slow. Conversations blur into a low hum.
Someone laughs.
The sound cuts off halfway.
10:02 AM.
Callum turns in a slow circle. People are frozen mid step. A bird hangs in the air above him, wings outstretched. Snow finally begins to fall, but the flakes stop inches from his face.
He blinks.
Once.
Twice.
His heart starts to race.
"Hello?" he says.
This time, he hears his own voice.
10:03 AM.
The ground beneath his feet ripples. Not cracks. Ripples. Like water disturbed by a dropped stone. The sky fractures next, thin lines spreading across the clouds like broken glass.
Callum stumbles back.
For the first time in his life, the world is looking at him.
10:04 AM.
Something pulls.
Not his body. Not yet. Something deeper. Something that has always been loose, unanchored. The air folds inward, light bending around him. His stolen groceries hit the pavement and scatter.
No one notices.
Of course they don't.
10:05 AM.
As the street collapses into white, Callum has one final thought, quiet and almost amused.
Figures.
And then Callum Gray disappears.
10:05 AM.
And then—
Cold.
That's the first thing he feels. Not the biting winter chill he's used to, but something sharper. Cleaner. Like the air itself has weight. Callum gasps, lungs burning as if he's been underwater too long, and stumbles forward.
He hits the ground hard.
Stone. Rough. Real.
10:?? AM.
Time doesn't make sense anymore.
He coughs, palms scraping against something uneven. When he pushes himself up, his hands come away dusty, coated in pale grit that isn't concrete. The smell is wrong too. No exhaust. No damp trash. No city rot. Instead there's iron, smoke, and something earthy, ancient.
Callum lifts his head.
The sky is not grey.
It stretches wide and fractured, streaked with colors he doesn't have names for. Floating structures hang in the distance like broken memories of buildings, massive stone remnants suspended as if the world itself shattered and forgot to fall apart. Far off, something massive moves, silhouettes shifting beyond ruined arches and jagged horizons.
He turns slowly, heart pounding.
No roads. No cars. No people frozen mid step.
Just ruins. Towers half buried in the land. Banners torn by a wind that hums instead of howls. Symbols carved into stone that feel old enough to remember things he never lived.
Callum swallows.
"Okay," he whispers, voice trembling, echoing far too much in the open air. "Okay… this isn't normal."
He tries to laugh.
It comes out broken.
Then he notices the feeling.
The pressure is gone.
The suffocating sense of being overlooked, of slipping through cracks, is quieter here. Not absent. Just… waiting. Like the world hasn't decided what to do with him yet.
Somewhere nearby, voices speak.
Not English.
Not anything he understands.
Callum's breath catches.
For the first time in his life, he is truly, undeniably somewhere else.
And for the first time…
Something out there might actually see him.