Chapter 15:
died living.
page one is blank
page two is bleeding ink
page three says “I’m sorry”
page four doesn’t exist
He woke up inside a sentence that never finished.
The room was there.
But wrong.
Chair. Desk. Wall.
None of it connected.
None of it mattered.
There were voices again.
But not outside.
Not inside, either.
Just floating.
“…—ki said it was your fault—”
“…he pushed her—”
“…he lied about everything—”
“…what was his name again?”
He reached for something.
A pen? A word? A door?
His hand passed through it.
Nothing was solid anymore.
DATE: [blank]
WEATHER: white
NAME: [ ]
FEELING: [ ]
He tried to write.
The pen scratched the paper.
But no marks appeared.
He kept going.
Outlines of letters.
Faint muscle memory.
But when he looked again — the page was still empty.
He saw her again.
Or he thought he did.
Her back.
The shape of her standing at the end of a hallway that had no walls.
“A—”
No sound.
She turned.
No face.
He reached out.
She faded.
Just like before.
Always just like before.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Do you remember who you were?”
“Do you remember her name?”
“…Do you remember if you ever existed?”
The school was gone now.
Replaced by corridors with no ends.
Windows looking into static.
Class bells ringing at random.
Sometimes the walls whispered.
Sometimes he whispered back.
But he didn’t know why.
Didn’t know what words were anymore.
One day — maybe — he found a notebook.
Old.
Torn.
Inside, a drawing.
Two stick figures.
Holding hands.
One labeled “ME.”
The other — scratched out.
Torn through so deeply the paper ripped.
He stared at it for hours.
Days?
No difference.
Time didn’t tick anymore.
Just hung.
You were kind.
You didn’t deserve it.
But that doesn’t mean they’ll remember you.
That doesn’t mean you get to come back.
He tried to scream once.
Not because he thought someone would hear.
But because silence was too loud.
But the scream never came.
Not from his throat.
Not from his mind.
It stayed buried.
Like everything else.
He found a mirror again.
No reflection.
But words etched in the corner:
“This is what forgetting looks like.”
He lay down on the floor.
Or maybe it was the sky.
He let go of the last word he remembered.
And it didn’t echo.
And no one caught it.
And nothing changed.
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