The Origin Of Void: Cold Thing
Night in the thick trees along the edge of Clock City’s Central Park.
Old trees stood close together, their branches interlocking to form a dark canopy. No path. Only damp earth, fallen leaves, and the sound of wind slipping between the trunks. From far off, the faint toll of the city clock drifted through—reminding us that the noise of the streets lay only a few meters away.
Clara stood with Naura, holding a copy of _man-eating monster_ and a ballpoint pen.
Clara, voice low, nearly a whisper:
“Naura… I want to ask. What have I done to deserve this?”
Naura’s smile was thin. Her voice was flat.
“Done? There’s nothing wrong with what I’ve done, Clara.”
Clara’s grip tightened; her nails bit into her palm.
The corner of _man-eating monster_ in her hands began to darken with her sweat.
“Then… what is this for? What’s the point? Why did you leave me alone in that abandoned building yesterday afternoon?”
Naura paused. The wind dragged through the leaves above them, sounding like a whisper.
“Clara. When you were small… you believed, didn’t you?
That something was hiding under your bed.”
Clara went still.
A brief flash: age seven, the blanket pulled to her nose, heart pounding every time the wind slid under the door.
She gave a small nod. Her voice caught.
“…Yes.”
Naura continued,
“And when you grew up, you laughed.
You said it was only an illusion. Just a child’s fear.”
Clara frowned, confused.
“Then what does that have to do with now?”
Naura lowered her head slightly. Her voice was almost lost to the wind:
“Now I’m only turning the light off again.
So you’ll remember that feeling.”
Clara took half a step back. Her voice cracked, rising:
“That makes no sense! You’re not sane, Naura!”
Naura was calm. No anger. Her eyes did not blink.
“Perhaps.”
“But there is a fundamental difference.
Before, you were sure the thing vanished… because you had grown.”
A beat. The crickets stopped. Naura’s gaze locked on Clara’s.
“Now you know…
Whether the light stays on or goes out, it’s within my control.”
The trees murmured. Leaves shifted softly. Cold. Silence.
Moonlight was shut out by the canopy, leaving only gray shadows on the rainwater pooled below. Drops fell from leaf to water. _Tock…_ slow. From a distance the city clock still tolled once—another reminder that the center of town lay just beyond the trees.
Clara retreated another step. Her voice trembled, breaking:
“No… that can’t be…”
“There must be something wrong.
I must have mistaken—”
Naura stood straight. Her voice remained as still as dead water. The smell of rain and wet earth filled the air.
“You understand now that your life is false, Clara.
Reality is only an illusion. Like the monster in your mind.
All of this will vanish when you stop seeing it.”
Clara said nothing.
Her breath hitched. Her fingers crumpled the pages of _man-eating monster_.
The water at her feet reflected her face. But the water moved.
Her reflection broke apart. Not whole. Like herself.
One thought slipped in and would not leave:
If all of this is meaningless in death… then what is living for?
Naura bowed her head slightly.
“Does it make sense now?”
She turned. Her steps pressed slowly into the wet leaves. _Crunch. Crunch._
Then the wind swallowed her.
Clara remained standing.
The water before her stilled again.
The broken face smoothed back together.
But it was not hers.
When people came looking…
Clara was gone.
All that remained were the wet prints of her shoes, the water settling smooth, and the city clock’s toll—stopped.
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