Agony and a Grave Mistake

Issac is sitting on his red-and-black gaming chair, facing away from his custom PC that doubles as a space heater. He’s looking at a beautifully drawn art piece that depicts a small, white, fluffy dog with a red blanket at its feet. Issac’s eyes hold both comfort and sorrow as he quietly reminisces about his childhood dog, Sparky.

Issac quietly says, “I wish you were still here. This would be so much easier if I still had you.” Then he softly sighs and pushes himself up by pressing his hands against his knees. In a somewhat exasperated tone, he whispers, “Welp, time to go.”

Issac’s face wears a blank stare as he walks down the stairs to his front door. His expression doesn’t change as he gets into his car and begins driving to his church for a young adults Bible study. He never turns on the radio, and the silence grows heavier. His eyes begin to blur and his ears start to ring. The pressure builds until he finally reaches the church entrance. Issac takes a deep breath and whispers to himself, “Just a little longer.”  Then his face hardens into a stoic look as he straightens his back and enters. In moments like these, Issac likes to imagine himself as a knight or nobleman. He walks into the Bible study room with a smile.

About fifteen people are laughing and talking when Issac enters. Several turn to greet him with smiles. They exchange hugs and warm greetings. Issac says to each, “It’s good to see you,” and though his smile is false, his words are sincere. After hugging a tall, lanky man with a curled blond mustache and round glasses, Issac asks warmly, “How have you been, Daniel?”

Daniel sighs. “I’ve been better—it’s just been a stressful week. How have you been, good sir?”

Issac answers evasively: “Ugh, you know, the migraine and whatnot. But all things considered, I could be worse.”

He says this while surrounded by some of his favorite people—Chris, a thin man with brown hair and a noble air; Rogelio, a large man with a natural afro and a presence that lights up a room; Ellie, a woman with orange hair and a motherly smile; and of course, Daniel.

Daniel responds, “I’m glad you’re doing better than you could be.”

Then Chris asks, “How did your game go?”

Issac chuckles. “Well, we lost again, but I’m happy with how I played. I didn’t make many mistakes—though I did get blocked into next week.”

Ellie looks concerned. “Did the guy at least get called for it?”

Issac replies sarcastically, “Well no, the refs didn’t see it, even though it happened right next to the ball.”

Rogelio interjects, “Well, that’s contact flag football for you.”

Chris says in a high-pitched tone of disbelief, “It seems so.”

The conversation continues, but for Issac, the laughter, smiles, and love all fade into the background. His head pounds, his vision blurs, and his ears ring. Before he knows it, he’s saying goodbye to his closest friends—for the last time. They exchange “Goodbye, I love you.” Issac whispers to himself, “Just a little longer.”

The weeks turn to days and the months to hours, yet somehow each moment feels like an eternity. Everything is too loud. The voices of his family cause pain. His head spins and throbs, pulsing with agony. There is no rest, no reprieve—only unending pain.

Then he finds himself at the hospital. The doctor explains that he has a condition called Chronic Migraine and that the best they can do is try to reduce the symptoms. For a moment, Issac disassociates—it feels as though his body has slipped through the cracks of the world. He stares blankly while his parents take notes. In a quiet, desperate prayer he says, “Please make it stop. Please just end me here. I can’t do this anymore… but nonetheless, let Your will be done.”

The doctor continues: “There are a lot of treatment options, but unfortunately, each takes about six months before we’ll know if it works.”

The words offer fleeting hope, but in practice they feel like a death sentence. He can’t go on like this. Food makes him sick. People talking makes his head twitch in pain. He drowns in the agony of merely being alive, yet his body keeps moving. His mouth keeps talking. He laughs, he jokes—but he isn’t there. Slowly, he is being drowned by the pain.

He starts losing weight. Some days, even going downstairs to force food down his throat is too much. One day, as he tries to make his way to the kitchen, his vision goes black and he begins to fall. Just before hitting the ground, he fully blacks out.

When he awakens, he is lying on the floor of a cold, dark, metal room with a single fluorescent light glowing faint green at its center.

The shock of the unfamiliar place jars Issac out of his trance. He thinks to himself as he paces, “Was I kidnapped? Am I dreaming? Maybe I went into a coma?”

Looking around, he sees a vat along one wall and, across from it, a metal door with a small frosted window. He wonders if he had been inside the vat. Steeling himself, he turns to the door. “There’s no point in wondering about it right now,” he mutters. With adrenaline coursing through him, he opens it.

He finds himself in a high-tech, though seemingly old, laboratory. Strange glowing vats light the room in green and pink. Dusty lab coats sit on chairs or slump against the walls—bones still inside them.

Two doors stand before him: one across from where he entered, and another to the right. The far door looks identical to the one he just came through, but the door on the right has no window or handle. At the room’s center stands a table with a glowing green button.

Without hesitation, Issac says in a high-pitched voice, “Ooo, I like buttons.” He walks toward it but pauses. “What is this place?” he wonders.

Checking the opposite door, he peers through the glass and sees a person suspended inside a vat at the back of a dimly lit room. He tries the handle-less door next, but it won’t budge. Searching the lab coats, he finds nothing.

He hesitates. “I’d rather not find out who that person is, and this button is definitely, ominous… but I feel like I need to do something.”

Nervously, he says “Boink!” as he presses the button.

The room begins to shake. The vats crack and spill the glowing liquid, which mixes into a sluggish brown swirl at his feet. The door with the person in the vat folds away like paper, and a glistening white light floods in. A man with glowing white eyes emerges. He wears pristine white robes with gilded golden highlights. The handle-less door slides open slowly

Issac feels as though he’s staring into two blinding flashlights. Nervously, he blurts, “Hello?”

The man glides a few centimeters above the floor until he is a meter away. In a deep, lifeless voice he says, “So, one of Leviathan’s children finally stumbles into my prison and frees me.”

With a slight smirk, he adds, “I appreciate your help. Good luck.”

And then, in an instant, he vanishes.

Issac stands frozen—fearful, curious, and in awe. After several minutes, he turns toward the exit and steps outside.