I can feel the cold of winter slipping into my lungs, crisp and sharp, brushing against my skin like an unspoken whisper. It cuts through the sterile whiteness surrounding me, filling the emptiness with something almost tangible.

It’s strange.

Comforting, even.

Then I realize—I’ve been like this for so long.

I’m in a coma.

And yet, I feel everything.

There are voices—muffled sobs, fragmented conversations, the constant hum of a television.

The TV.

Always playing that one show.

"Baby Shark."

I hate that song.

I think I’ve been trapped here for five years. The reason? Smoke inhalation.

A fire broke out in my apartment building. My home was on the 15th floor. The flames started somewhere below—maybe the third floor, I don’t know. All I remember is how fast it spread, how quickly the building transformed into a burning beacon against the night sky.

I lost consciousness in the fire.

And when I woke up—

I couldn’t move.

No one knew I was awake.

No one turned off the damn TV.

No news. No updates.

Just Baby Shark, looping endlessly.

Day and night.

Two months in, I started losing my mind.

"Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo..."

It was everywhere.

A whisper at first—soft, almost ignorable. Like wind slipping through a cracked window. Like a leaky faucet dripping into a half-full sink.

But then, it grew.

Louder.

And louder.

Until it dug into my ears like nails on glass, screeching, scraping, gnawing its way into my skull.

I wanted to cover my ears, but I couldn’t move.

"Baby Shark" slithered through my veins, seeping into my bones, crawling beneath my skin like a parasite.

No one else could hear it.

No one else could feel it.

"BABY SHARK!"

It laughed at me.

So I laughed back.

It screamed.

So I screamed.

"BABY SHARK!"

I wanted to claw my ears off, rip my brain open—anything to make it stop.

But it never stopped.

It never ended.

Year five.

The pain no longer felt like needles—it was hammers.

No—battering rams.

No—an earthquake, a tsunami, a hurricane tearing through my skull, howling—

"BABY SHARK!"

I curled into myself, but it found me.

It slithered over my skin like a thousand writhing serpents.

It burrowed into my flesh like fire ants sinking their teeth deep into me.

It roared through my bones, coiled around my lungs, wrapped around my heart.

It controlled my pulse.

My breath.

My mind.

I was drowning in it.

Drowning in madness.

And then, something inside me screamed.

A raw, primal, soul-rending scream—so powerful that even my own shadow recoiled.

But that scream—

It didn’t break free.

It became part of Baby Shark.

That’s when I opened my eyes.

And I saw the way out.

The balcony.

I could end this.

I could silence it.

I laughed—wild, unhinged, victorious.

I reached for the balcony railing.

And I jumped.

For one perfect moment—

It was silent.

THUD.

Blood pooled beneath me, dark and warm. My vision blurred. My heartbeat slowed.

I thought, finally… finally, I can rest.

But then—

"Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo..."

I still hear it.

I still hear it.

"Now I understand why my soul, Sandoc, is stronger than most."

"This life has stripped me down to nothing, dissolving my spirit into the void where forgotten screams weave themselves into eternity. This memory is warped, twisted—filled with wounds that never had the chance to heal. Wounds that will never become scars. They remain open, festering, bleeding endlessly."