text: [Themes: modern, villain protagonist, action, grimdark, fantasy, anti-hero]
  
  'Imagine you are in a dark room, able to see nothing at all. Before this, you saw the world at its best. The gentle, sparkling streams of waterfalls; the caressing, heart-warming rays of sunlight; the giddying, comfortable feeling of joy. You used to hear laughter - the good kind - and the sweet, melodious sound of birdsong. Now, it's all just darkness and eternal silence.
  
  Imagine you decide to walk around a little. There's a light in the distance. You chase it for miles, going on and on and on. At days it seems so close, on others, so far away. Then you finally reach it. You smile, almost forgetting what this once-familiar expression feels like, and you lift your fingers to the orb of light.
  
  Before your very eyes, it disappears.
  
  This is the first checkpoint. Remember that. No matter what you do, the light never returns again. You're tossed into this world of darkness where everything is always the same. The only hope you have is the images in your head of the world you once saw, but you're quickly forgetting. It's fading, just like your hope.
  
  You still go on. You have to. Memories of the past, as weak as they are, fuels your motivation. While your mind struggles to remember, you repeat the phrase like a mantra over and over again. 'There's light at the end of the tunnel'. You treat this goal of escaping like an obsession, moving on and on even though all logic has already established that there is no point in doing so. Logic has failed to get you out of here, so why not let blind persistence take its turn? You're at the next checkpoint.
  
  Until one day, you can take it no more. Is there any point in going on? The darkness has won and you desperately need a light, a way out. It doesn't come. You've stopped believing in it, 'cause why believe in something that is so obviously a lie? Everything you've ever hoped for is gone.
  
  That means you've reached it.
  
  You've arrived at Hopelessness.'
  
  > Begin
  The hardest thing to do those days was to explain how I lost Rosa. I didn't lose her in the typical sense, like how Death's cold hands wrapped around those he claimed for his kingdom. Nor did I lose her literally. My dear girl was lost, and by this, I meant her mind was gone. Retreated into the dark web of thoughts, the endless abyss within her head. As I wrote this, she stared blankly at the wall, unable to do anything but exist. When prompted, she could eat, sleep, and walk, yet that was about the extent to her capacity.
  
  It happened around the time she lost her mother, or so I think. She was already quite distant a few months before that. My wife, the world which my heart used to revolve around, left us peacefully. There were no arguments, no regrets, no anger. She said all she wanted to say, leaving us both with deep, heartfelt messages. Her only wish for me was to watch over our dear daughter.
  
  Despite that, Rosa refused to believe that her mother had passed. She claimed it was all a far off dream, that a place known as the 'dreamworld' was behind it all. Worst of all, she truly thought that these people killed her mother.
  
  She believed my wife, the most benevolent woman ever, was murdered.
  
  "Hey, Rosaline. Hope you're feeling better today? It's been...843 days since you last spoke to me. Do you remember that day? Zerna, that backstabbing git I used to call my friend, tried to cut off your life support at the hospital. You woke up for a second, snapped out of your daze, and smiled at me. You told me not to worry, that you were almost out of the Jungle, and that you were coming home to your mum and I. As you said the words, the tears kept falling down your face. You were trying to be brave, weren't you? Trying to hide the truth from me. Then you left again, and I vowed to never let you out of my sight. Please, please get better."
  
  Rosa just stared, her gaze unblinkingly cold. It hurt to remember the glimmer of excitement that used to light up her eyes, the softness in her smile. I nudged her gently, and like a zombie, she walked over to the dining table. Stiffly, her movements were robotic. Why, if I didn't know any better, I would say she was being mind controlled.
  
  My wife used to say I was spending too much time caring for my daughter and not enough for myself. Perhaps it was true - I spent all my waking hours watching over the hollow shell my daughter had become. The few friends I had constantly urged me to see a therapist or get out of the house more often. As my Rosa went to bed, the thought came to me again.
  
  This time, I decided to entertain it.
  
  > see a therapist
  'Reule T. Ruthe', he was called. It was only a few minutes before he entered the room, claiming to be the perfect person for my case. As he led me to his office, he warmly greeted me and was especially interested in getting me to repeat everything I had already written on the paper before this.
  
  "So, she said your wife was killed by the dreamworld?"
  
  I sighed. "Mr. Ruthe. I am an old man, but not a delusional one. I know very, very well what I heard that night. If you truly insist, I have the recording right here."
  
  I played it for him, and despite having heard it many times over the years, the tears still brimmed in my eyes. What would I give to relive that moment again? Seeing my daughter, hearing her voice...
  
  "Sir, may I have your name again?"
  
  "My name? Isn't it written on one of the many forms I had to fill out?"
  
  "Yes, but if you don't mind-"
  
  "Do you take me for a fool? Of course I remember my own name! I'm Arnold, Arnold Cyzila."
  
  "Mr. Cyzila?" His eyes lit up. "Ah, and your daughter is Rosaline Cyzila!"
  
  "Yes. That- that was in the form."
  
  "I... I am truly sorry, Mr. Cyzila. I really am. It must be hard, to lose your daughter and your wife. We couldn't do anything about it, but your daughter managed to say goodbye to your wife, so I can only hope all was well."
  
  "I don't need your sympathy." I had enough people feeling sorry for me and I didn't need more. Then my brain processed what he just said, and I did a double take. "What was that you said again?"
  
  "I'm truly sorry for your-"
  
  "No, not that. The other thing."
  
  "At least your daughter got to say goodbye."
  
  "No! Before that. That... that you couldn't do anything about it."
  
  "Did I say that? You must have been mistaken-"
  
  I stood up, ready to stomp out of there. "Mr. Ruthe, once again, I know exactly what I heard. I have a gun here in my pocket, and if you do not tell me the truth-"
  
  "Hey, just calm down, Mr. Cyzila. I... I wanted to test you. To make sure you were not perceptible to what others say. Did you know your memory constantly rewrites itself, based on your-"
  
  "I passed the test. Done. Now can you do exactly what you were paid to and tell me what the hell is wrong with my daughter?"
  
  "With... with your daughter? Sir, you don't possibly think-"
  
  "Think what, huh? That I'm the problem instead of her?"
  
  "No, you're not the problem. You're not." He took several calming breaths, grabbed a cup of green tea from the table behind him, and offered it to me. "Before I commence the treatment, please tell me one thing. Why did you come here today? Do you want me to remove the hurt from your heart about your daughter, or would you prefer I help you cope with her loss?"
  
  > stop you from hurting
  It made me feel like a villain, but this was the ultimate truth. I didn't want Rosaline. Not truly. The only desire in my heart was to feel free from these feelings of guilt and despair. They weighed heavily on me, preventing me from living the life I had always desired. Call it a sense of duty and obligation, or look down on me from abandoning my daughter. I don't care. I had been the hero for so long, staying with that rotting corpse I called a daughter, even after the rest of the world had given up on her ages ago.
  
  Reule T. Ruthe offered me the cup of green tea. "Here, take it. I want you to breathe deeply as you drink it. Listen to the sound of my voice, and the sound of my voice alone."
  
  I took it and let the bitter, warm liquid flow down my throat.
  
  "Clear your mind of all thoughts that lead you astray. That leads you down the roads of the past. They would only hurt you, ensnare you, tear you down. Focus on the feelings you want to feel. Concentrate on the life you have always wished to have. Now, hear my words and repeat after me. I feel happy."
  
  "I feel happy."
  
  "I am going to be fine."
  
  "I am going to be fine."
  
  "Rosaline, my dreamtruding daughter, has never existed."
  
  "Rosaline, my dreamtruding daughter, has never existed."
  
  He nodded, saying, "That drink better work. It took me a lot of trouble to transport it from one world to the next."
  
  My mind was clearer than ever; I felt a smile creep on my face. Why was I smiling? Well, I didn't need a reason to, did I? I thought of my wife, her smooth lips on mine, whispering her last words as she departed.
  
  "Finish our dreams. Don't let hopelessness ruin them. See the world for me."
  
  I had a mission, a new hope, a great, great life. With a spring in my step, I left the dreary building, wondering why I even came here in the first place.