My Reality

By: Neko-chan

A/N: Yet another Creative Writing Club writing assignment. The topic? 'A mysterious black box is found.' I wanted to make mine a tad...different...and I hoped I achieved that. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Everything is mine...except for the topic. But the plot and the character(s) are mine.

What is reality? A while ago, this question would have been impossible to answer. Now? Now, it's all too easy. Reality is what you see around you--it's what you taste, touch, smell, and interpret. A reality is a very personal experience.

My reality? My reality is hell.

* * *

The tall black walls rose above me. I couldn't even see the ceiling, let alone touch it. The other walls closed in around me. I was trapped. There was no way out. No entrances, no exits...soon I would suffocate and die. Alone.

No one knew where I was. After all, why should they? No one could possible believe where this...this...PLACE was. Even I had a hard time believing it, and I WAS here.

"Oh, God!! Please, someone please hear me! Someone please get me out of here! PLEASE!" I scream at the top of my lungs. It was useless, and I knew it. But I still needed...had to...wanted to...oh, please, God, someone please get me out of here!

If only I hadn't had picked it up. If only I hadn't been tempted by the shopkeeper's melodious voice. If only I hadn't...

~ * ~

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I didn't bother to turn around. I knew it was the shopkeeper. He was exotic, different, alluring...but the object that I held in my hands was even more so. "It's gorgeous," I manage to breathe out, not stopping my examination of the object in my hands.

Old...so very old. How old? I didn't know. But old enough to make me feel its age. My father and mother are archaeologists. I've been around old stuff all of my life. It now takes something really old to make me feel its age. I felt the age of King Tut's coffin when I gazed at it for the very first time. I knew that its mummy would feel exactly the same way.

The same feeling of oldness surrounded the box. But, yet...it still felt older. Yet how?

It was made of a dark stone--probably obsidian--that somehow managed to suck all of the light surrounding it into its dark surface. But the actual box itself didn't intrigue me. It was beautiful, yes; but I've touched many beautiful things in my lifetime. It was the designs on the box that interested me the most.

Celtic, Japanese, and Chinese dragons covered the box on all of its sides and bottom. But the top... Oh, yes. The top was purely Arabic. A golden lamp was on the cover and out of that lamp, a dark, sulfurous cloud seemed to come up out of it, spreading its black tendrils to all corners of the box. It seemed to radiate darkness and suffering.

I recognized it, of course.

It was a djinn. To you Westerners, it's a genie. But one that I've never seen before... Most djinn are light because that's what they ARE. They're spirits of light and air--and sometimes water. That's why they live in lamps and bottles. The lamps represent their light and airy quality, while the bottles represent their watery side. My father's doctorate paper was on the djinn and their origins.

I've never told anyone this, but...they scare me.

Promise you won't tell? Ever since I was little, I've had nightmares about the djinn. Most people know about djinn from Aladdin and the Magic Lamp. They seem to forget about the darker tales of the djinn. The evil djinn. The djinn of darkness, of trickery. The ones who hide in the shadows. Over the centuries, people have forgotten about _them._

"It is gorgeous, isn't it?" the shopkeeper continued, interrupting my thoughts. "But, beauty is sometimes very deceiving, don't you think? Great evil can hide in great beauty."

"Yes..." I muttered absently. "The ancient tales. This djinn looks like one of the Dark Djinn. Most people have forgotten about the old tales. But you haven't. What...what was the purpose of this...box?"

"You don't know?" the shopkeeper asked, feigning surprise.

I knew he was lying. I didn't know how I knew, but I did. "Most shopkeepers know about the history of the items that they sell. It seems unusual that you do not. Surely you must know _something_ about the box. Don't you?"

The shopkeeper seemed to think for a moment, his black-lynx eyes staring at me unblinking. "Yes...yes, maybe I _do_ have some information on that box that you hold in your hands. But...that information is _inside_ the box."

And, like a fool, I fell into his trap and opened the box to my own personal hell.

~ * ~

"Oh, God!!! PLEASE, SOMEONE LET ME OUT!!!" I scream again. Once again, I also know that no one will hear me. And, if someone DOES hear me, why would they come? They would probably figure that they were hearing things.

After all, why would a voice be coming from _inside_ a beautiful black box?

Why, because someone is trapped _inside_ that beautiful black box. And that someone would happen to be me. I wanted to get out. I needed to get out. The walls seemed to press closer and closer upon me. It was getting harder and harder to breathe and all I wanted to do was just GET OUT!!!

"Please...someone..." I sobbed out as I fell to the floor. My fists beat against the black walls. But, once again, I knew that there was no point in doing so. I was stuck. For how long? I didn't know.

All I knew was that I had to get out.

"Weeeeeeeeeelcome to myyyyyyyyyyyyy wooooooooooorld, little ooooooooone," a harsh voice hissed out from the shadows. My eyes widened at this. I knew this voice. It had haunted my dreams since I had first begun to dream. All of my life. All day and all night. No reprieve. No sanity, no breaks, no mercy. Just darkness...

"Oh, no..." I manage to whisper. My eyes slowly close and I slump to the floor. 'Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh...noooooo...' the mental litany ran over and over in my head. Never ending. Circling. Coming closer and closer until it finally decided to swallow me whole.

And the world went dark.