Prologue: In Which Avin Gets Absolutely No Rest
Whatever Avin might’ve done, the end was always the same.
In his second-floor apartment, the bustling traffic never stopped. Arguments from passing pedestrians and the barking from his neighbor’s dog that never seems to shut up.
He hates three things: barking, clowns, and birthdays.
The only complete silence Avin has ever been graced with was in his sleep, where he could sit in absolute bliss, free from the noise of the city, and sit in the calmness of his mind, in peace.
Which is unfortunate, because lately his sleep started barking.
The only saving point is that they’re few and far between.
Cue Avin’s no-good, very bad week. Possibly last week if this keeps up.
Let’s start from where it all began: the night, or just one of the nights; there wasn’t much difference to differentiate it from any other night, when Avin came back from work.
Work was annoying; his socks had been embarrassingly mismatched since the morning, and all he wanted was for the dogs to stop barking and to pass out once his head reached the pillow. No more talking, barking, or arguing, just counting sheep until sleep arrives like a knight in shining armor and saves him from this waking nightmare.
Sleep wasn’t as blissful as he’d hoped. Avin has the feeling he just picked one nightmare over another.
It was dark where he was. And strangely cold.
He couldn’t move; he couldn’t speak. He was paralyzed.
He could hear crying. He could hear barking.
He couldn’t move.
Something bit him. A voice called his name.
Freaking MOVE-
Avin woke up. The neighbor’s dog is still barking, and the crying is still ringing in his ears.
Pumpkin—the little kitten his friend had adored ever since it appeared behind the flower shop that June—had died.
She was the one who’d made the little pumpkin hat for the kitten to wear and gotten food and water for the cat every time she passed by to buy flowers from the shop, but now, it didn’t seem recognizable after the crash.
She cried the cat’s name, tears in her eyes. She was shaking.
Avin held her hand, at a loss for what else to do.
After she calmed down, he treated her to some strawberry ice cream.
She appreciated the effort, at least.
That was only two months before her birthday.
Whatever he would’ve done, the end was always the same.
The clock read one in the morning, but Avin didn’t think he could sleep after that.
With nothing else to do, Avin got ready for work.
It took Avin only two hours to realize that there was a suspiciously new bite mark on his arm.
Even more suspiciously similar to the one in his dream.
What the freak is my life anyway-
