I got up at the awful hour of six in the morning to a world steeped in obscurity. Only my labored breathing and the steady ticking of the clock on my wall could be heard over the silence. I had the impression that I was enmeshed in a never-ending nightmare. It was as though all the colors had been taken out of my life as I gazed around my room. My life was like a blank canvas with no chance of ever coming to life. My father's death had destroyed me, creating a gap that would never be filled. My mother, a talented surgeon, found it difficult to comprehend the scope of my sorrow. We were a shining example of a wonderful family before my father passed away.

But all changed when a vehicle accident claimed my father from us.The horror of that day would follow me for the rest of my life, even though I was fortunate to escape the accident with only a few scrapes. The recollections threatened to suffocate me like a big weight on my chest. Everything seemed so clear to me: my father being impaled by a limb of a tree, blood oozing from his wound, and the last time he looked at me, his eyes were filled with anguish and despair.Even after five years, the wounds weren't completely healed. I felt frail and lacking, like a vase that had been smashed and then patched together. My existence had turned into a pitch-black, empty tunnel.

The grating sound of the alarm jolted me awake, dragging me away from the nightmare images that had been haunting my sleep. I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, where I saw my reflection. Bags hung heavy under my eyes, a testament to the sleepless nights I'd had. Sleep had become a valuable commodity, as elusive as a rare desert gem.

I exited the restroom and made my way down the squeaky stairs to the kitchen, fighting off the hopelessness that threatened to swallow me. It felt as though the space had been left to the elements after being formerly bustling with the warmth and laughter of family gatherings. The need to cry threatened to overtake me as I grabbed breakfast items. To concentrate on the job at hand, I had to push those thoughts away from me. I carefully cracked the eggs into the skillet and watched as they sizzled and popped, releasing the familiar aroma of home in the process. A modest but priceless treat in a world that had lost its sparkle, I added spices and a slice of bacon.

I finally observed the empty kitchen while holding my plate. Like a faded flower, it was a weak replica of the vibrant hub of activity it had once been. But I resisted giving in to hopelessness. There was optimism as long as tomorrow still held the possibility of a fresh start.

I finish my breakfast and sit down at the empty kitchen table, eating it in silence. Yet it's not like I'm ever actually hungry anymore, my appetite lessens over time. My plate and pan are in the sink getting cleaned when I hear the front door opening. Finally, my mother has arrived. She casts a resentful and disgusted gaze my direction as if I were the one who had done her wrong. I’ve been seeing her stare at me in that way for the past two years, and it hurts. But she never allows me to assist her or discuss it with her. She sees me only as a burden.

I go back to my room and look out at the pitch-black, empty city. As automobiles hurry by on their way to their destinations, the city's dazzling lights illuminate the dark streets. Even though I usually feel relieved in these early hours, the feeling has long since subsided. I no longer feel joyful; instead, I feel exhausted and despairing. I’m no longer complete, and the pain in my heart is pervasive.

The flashing digits on the small digital clock on the nightstand told me it was 7:30 in the morning as I cast a quick peek over at it.

I entered the restroom and flipped open the mirrored cabinet. I grabbed for the Vicodin and snorted one crushed tablet without giving it a second thought despite the fact that there were several pill bottles inside. I felt a warm rush of euphoria sweep through my body, and I knew that without it, I wouldn't be able to get through the rest of the day. I grabbed my bag and started down the rickety stairs wearing my beaten-up but dependable pair of air force sneakers. Even though they were broken and damaged, they still retained some strength.

I left my house and stepped out onto the pavement. The world around me was bustling with people going about their daily lives.

Some seemed unmotivated, while others were stressed.I strolled toward my school while maintaining a low glance. The towering trees I could see as I got nearer the school were more noticeable. As a result of the winter's chill, they had become bare and without leaves. These trees, beautiful oaks given to the institution as a reward for its excellence in student instruction, according to the school administration, who boasted about it. The sound of the bell in the distance announced that class would soon begin. I was going to be late, and I was fine with that. Long ago, I stopped caring about such things since they were no longer important.

I was standing outside the school's entrance, staring at the enormous building in front of me. The structure was worn, resembling a ship that had withstood many calamities but had managed to stand firm. The hallways were empty as I walked in, and there weren't many students moving about. My history teacher could be seen through an open door as I passed by on the second floor after ascending the grand staircase. I was overcome with fear at the sight of him, like if a dark cloud were looming over me. I approached the classroom with hesitation as I could feel the weight of the other students' eyes on me. The instructor slammed his book shut, sending a thunderous crash of sound through the classroom. He shouted in a voice like crashing waves, "Late again, Mr. Thompson.

I chose to sit towards the rear of the room by the window instead of bothering to reply. “You’ll be staying after class," he growled, his voice like the distant rumble of thunder. I ignored him and continued to look out at the courtyard below, listening to the wind's rustling of the trees as it sounded like the cries of the lost.

Because I was too engrossed in my own changed world, I didn't care about the lecture about tardiness that followed the class's eventual conclusion. My eyes kept wandering to the window as I sat through my other classes. That is when I first noticed her: a lovely black gown-clad woman with silver-white hair. She was eerily gorgeous and impossible to ignore, like a ghostly apparition. But as swiftly as she had appeared, she disappeared, leaving me with an irrational want to know more. I caught glimpses of her for the rest of the day, becoming more mesmerized by her enigmatic presence with each one. Her eyes drew me in before vanishing like a mischievous taunt.

After the school bell rang, I moved toward the gate and out onto the busy pavement. Students walking home filled the streets with their joy and talk. A silver-haired woman weaved through the crowds of people like a ghost in the midst of the chaos. She bounced about with a joyful grin on her face, occasionally coming close to me and saying lovely nothings that were heard by no one. Unease gnawed at me as I made my way to my house. My mother sat in the living room with a scowl etched over her face. I was unable to discern what I had done incorrectly. As I withdrew to my room, the weight of my feelings, an unending assault of self-doubt and guilt, became intolerable. I struggled to cope and took additional Vicodin to ease the discomfort. Soon I was laying in bed, tears running down my cheeks. My emotions wouldn't let me go despite my efforts to do so; they followed me about like a relentless ghost eternally. I dozed off into a deep slumber as I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

I awoke in the middle of the night to the silver-haired woman inviting me to follow her with enigmatic hand motions. I followed her because I felt rash, and before long I was inside the school, which was open despite the late hour. She led me up to the roof where I was perched atop a colossal building that appeared to scrape the sky. The shimmering city lights below, which resembled a precarious cliff, were visible to me from there. The tower tarot card, which denotes impending turmoil and significant change, came to mind at that moment. I didn't give it much thought before I took a step towards the edge and fell into the shadows below as the woman murmured in my ear. Yet at that precise time, I knew I would find my old acquaintance again.