The day starts out quiet, almost empty. The room is dark, a few people in and talking. People laugh and yet you feel alone. They're not your friends (probably won't ever be your friends) and you chuckle at their jokes, pretending you get it but you really don't. You don't share more personal stories—why should you when you know it's going to reach the smallest crevices of the institution? So you offer them morsels of your life; something they'd probably see on your social media pages. That would give them something to talk about, you think.

The day starts officially when the boss comes in. You sit there, typing away, staring at a white screen, words coming out and yet none of it making sense. Not to you, at least. You're interested but not too much. You can't sit still—you've never learned how to sit still. Or maybe you're thirsty for more? Whichever case, you can't sit still at all.

So you take your mug and pull out a tea bag, hoping to calm yourself and keep your zen. But as fate would have it, as soon as you have your calm, someone barges in and disturbs it. Ah, yes. It's the one person who always seems to test your patience. All arrogance without levelling. The superiority complex personified.

It was the one person who essentially ran you down and it pissed you off to no end.

So you choose to ignore him, pretend he was invisible. He was of no importance to you or your life. He wasn't your friend and he certainly won't be anything else to you than just a co-worker. He leaves after he talks to your co-workers, not even bothered that he didn't greet you either. The morning passes on until lunch time comes.

You take your lunch bag and leave, not even bothering to say anything to anyone.

And then you stand in front of the elevator, choosing to get lunch with the few friends you had in the office that wasn't in the one where you were assigned. Chaos was going on inside your head, hidden beneath bright smiles and loud laughter. You were good at that—hiding your feelings. You always thought vulnerability was something you shouldn't show to anyone.

You get off on the third floor—you've never really talked to anyone in the fourth floor. Lunch was a nice affair; a little teasing, a little eating, a few laughs here and there. But the loneliness was still there—hidden away by smiles and laughter. You've been lonely and sad for a while now but you didn't want anyone to know.

So you laugh and smile, continuing to pretend you're okay.

Lunch break ends and you go back down to your office. You sit down, type away again, pretending to be interested when you're really not. This was getting routine and you hated routine. But it's what you had so you were going to go and live with it—at least until you were confident enough to leave. Your phone buzzes and it signalled the end of your day.

And just like routine, you shut off your computer, you fix your bag, and you say goodbye.

It was time to go and you walk out, not even feeling the slightest bit guilty. Check out, the bundy clock reads. A press of a finger, a small beep, and you're officially off. You say your goodbyes to everyone you come across, leaving the building behind and walk off. You're starting to hate the days as it is.

Calm down and keep on, you think to yourself.

You're about to leave soon.

She was just so tired.

She wants to end the suffering they were feeling, but it seems as if everything she did, something always goes wrong. Too nice, someone suffers because they're not as nice. Too mean, someone suffers from how mean she is. She didn't want this; she wanted a normal life. She wanted life with no stress. She didn't want to think about anything but moving on and moving forward.

She just wants to shut down and rest.

And it was why she found herself in a nondescript bar four blocks away from her apartment. It was filled with smoke and it wasn't something she appreciated; but who was she to complain? They were all here for something. Or maybe nothing. Maybe we all just want to fade away into nothing, she thought. And then the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

She looked behind her, breath catching when she caught sight of the damn black cat with the different-coloured eyes again. She turned back hastily, trying to slow down her heart rate, pretending she didn't notice the cat at all. She just wanted to get away for a while because she was tired.

Why can't they understand that?

Taking another swig of her drink, the lights dimmed further and she was close to having a mental breakdown. In public. The sound of heavy boots could be heard, and she just knew who came with the cat.

Please leave me alone, please leave me alone, please leave me alone, she continued to chant in her head, keeping it down and trying to hide from the world.

The cat stopped at her table and she couldn't help the curse that came out of her mouth. She had no escape and there was no way she was getting out of this at this moment in time.

Nothing escapes them, after all.

You're tired.

You've reached that point of not seeing the reason for being anymore. There wasn't a point to everything you're doing and you're just so so so tired. Every movement you make is all just muscle memory, not finding the drive you once had. You're not looking forward to the day, and when you do start it, you can't wait for it to end.

You wait for that plot twist to come to your life, constantly striving and doing everything you can for it. Yet it never seems enough. It never seems to pick up. You have reached that point where you don't want to wake up the next morning. But life continues on because the world is like that. After all, the world doesn't stop for one person.

But whenever you think of quitting, life again is at the back of your mind, constantly blaring the fact that you can't quit. There's so much to live for, so many people relying on you to live for, that you feel guilty even thinking about quitting. The pressure to stay in top shape and not letting them know just what exactly it is that you're going through never goes away.

So you just grit your teeth and carry on.

There will be brighter days, you think to yourself. There will come a day when everything you're suffering now will go away and you'll find yourself happy again. That this is just a temporary thing and no one needs to know about it.

But you're just not sure if you're still here for those brighter days.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

You were so excited in the beginning, thinking of all the things you want to do and can do. One week in, you start questioning whether you were really excited for it or just excited at the notion of it.

You wonder if you're actually depressed.

You were manically happy one moment, then absolutely anti-social the next. You weren't sure if you wanted to be here or you were just here existing. You were confused and you feel lost but you bottle it up inside because you don't want to worry anyone. Tears unconsciously fall from your eyes but you brush it away so fast, it wasn't obvious that you teared up unless one was to look at you carefully.

Someone notices and it pisses you off.

You tried your hardest to fend off anyone noticing, but someone sees through your facade and you get extremely pissed off, you weren't sure if it was towards him or to yourself.

And then you become robotic. You go through the day by muscle memory, ignoring everything, hyperaware of everything. You both cared too much and too little; you become hardened. You tell yourself you don't want to get attached anymore—you only ever get hurt. There wasn't any point. And then you descend to darkness.

You're lost.

So many attempts to climb out of the well, drowning, drowning, drowning. You didn't want this anymore. A plea. A cry for help. Nothing.

Save me.

She couldn't breathe.

There was too much at stake and too little to sacrifice. Anxiety attacks her, hundreds (thousands) of invisible needles prick her skin, cold and hot at the same time. Her vision is littered with black spots and her lungs felt like they were collapsing. Too many thoughts, too little thoughts.

She didn't know what was going on.

There was silence, there was noise; too many things going on, nothing going on. She didn't know what was happening. Too many people around her, not one person around her. Her senses were failing, her senses were on overdrive.

There was both too much and too little.

She sinks to the ground, her knees weaken and give way. Her eyes see too much, too little. There was too much colour, there was no colour. 

Her hands make their way to her head, stopping too many and too little. Her eyes become blank then dilate, her breathing becomes ragged. She starts shaking, she pulls her hair tight. People around her notice; one attempts to approach her.

She suddenly starts screaming.

People around her jump in shock, almost disgusted, almost disturbed. She starts scratching her arms, rendering them red and almost breaks skin, until somebody pulls at her hands.

Strong, tight, commanding.

The smell of the ocean invades her nose, and whispers (snap out of it, snap out of it, snap out of it) pour in her ears. Her breathing calms down, she stops shaking, she closes her eyes.

She collapses.

Murmurs were everywhere.

(Who is that man? How are they related? It's not our problem now.)

And then suddenly, no one remembers anything—the lady and the man vanish.

In the shadows of an alley, the tall man carries the woman, and vanish into the wall.

A black cat emerges.

(Her power is far too much, far too great for her to handle. She was overwhelmed and finally collapsed.

Bring her back. Her training is nowhere near done.

Understood.)

The cat's green eyes become blue.

The pouring rain marked the end of summer.

She was walking, her face void of emotion, her strides confident but almost trying to be invisible. The pavement was wet from the rain, small puddles on the side. People were rushing about, occasionally bumping into her. Her pace was slower than normal (but definitely not to the point of annoying the people behind her), her posture rigid and almost secretive.

Too many things going on in her head. Nothing going on in her head. She had no idea herself but she was doing something.

She swipes her card and waits for the metro at the platform. Beside her, high school girls were chatting about. Behind her, a lady was on her smartphone, the familiar sounds of Candy Crush reaching her ears. She takes out her earphones and drowns in her playlist. She gets lost, her eyes shut.

A chill runs up her spine and her eyes snap open. She looks sideways and backwards, not seeing anyone suspicious, until she looks forward and onto the opposite platform.

A tall man, dressed in all black, was staring at her, almost piercing her with his look. She looks back, captivated, before a train gets in the way. She gets on immediately, trying to look at him through the glass, only to be disappointed.

The man disappeared.

Curious but also a little frightened, she resolved to forget about it. Five stops later, she gets off her stop and walks to her apartment. Caught in a junction, she wills the red light to green. Another chill runs up her spine and she looks to her right, stunned to see the same man from the station. She opens her mouth, ready to ask him something, when the light turns green and everyone starts walking. She walks ahead, eager to get to the other side, when she notices him gone again.

Startled, she walks around the neighbourhood, throwing him off her trail. She suddenly noticed that she arrived at the older part of town. Bright neon lights captivate her, almost hypnotizing her. Her face becomes devoid of emotion again, walking toward the place of neon lights.

The man in the black coat—the same man from the station and the junction—was at the gate. Her eyes become blank and she walks in, him following behind.

She never saw the sign outside the door—the sign that only someone like her could see.

Behold the haven of shapeshifters.

As I sit at the corner table in the hall, I see different personalities. Different, yet the same. A group of undergraduate Accounting students, ledgers and calculators littering their tables. One person's voice stands out, loud and boisterous but also very helpful. Another group, a bit more quiet, have their readings pushed to one side and prioritizing breakfast over anything else. A girl takes another table, her calculator out and her pen and paper on top. But she takes off her glasses and puts her head down, hoping to catch at least a few minutes of sleep. Professors walk in and out of the study hall, some with food and papers; others, just their phones. People are already milling about.

The bells chime and the students and professors stand up in a panicked frenzy. Exams are looming over their heads, wondering how many answers they could get right; wondering how many students are going to fail the exams. As soon as the last student leaves, the hall becomes a little melancholic. Nothing is left.

And it's another day in the university.