A blank screen.

The only thing that greets his tired face is the blank screen of his computer and the constantly blinking of the cursor that indicates he’s pushing keys in order to at least put something in the document. But that’s exactly his dilemma. He can’t just put anything to supply the empty program that taunts him every time he inputs a string of words, or if he’s lucky, then even a full paragraph only to delete all of them moments after he’d finished. The man whose eyes are just glued on the screen and fingers placed atop of the keyboard, not putting any pressure against the keys is in dire need of putting typing a certain something that is significant, interesting, and a type of story that will sell to the mass and boost his fame a tad bit more to the top.

Yes, you guessed it. Kris, at 25, is an author of several short novels, primarily focusing on romance with a tinge of mystery have swept the numerous people by his eccentric storylines and superb writing, and yet, on his supposed to be ‘the greatest book ever created’ [As referred by this seemingly annoying, and extremely pressuring editor named Hankyung] Kris is unfortunately having ‘the greatest mental block’ of all time ever since he began writing about two years ago. It doesn’t help that his draft is supposed to be submitted two weeks ago and yet, to his dismay, he hasn’t even typed a single world, nor did he have a concrete plot which made his editor at rage, constantly bombarding his apartment and giving death threats [which is lame, and not at all intimidating] for the past few days.

He takes a big gulp of the coffee that has gone stale; the heat no longer present, which made his stomach cringe at the unusual and definitely not the palatable taste your mouth would be looking forward to taste. He sighed and placed his fingers on his temples, as if the plot would suddenly burst inside his mind and hit him like a train, or something. Due to his frustration he groaned aloud and started aimlessly jabbing his fingers on the keyboard, which resulted the several gibberish letters that make out non-sense, a mess, nothing. The young writer glances at the lower part of his screen and saw the small ‘2:45 a.m.’ that made him want to mash his head against the key-board, leaving him with a head injury and then him being in a coma, being away from his job and actually have his ruthless editor to pity him and give him a break. The plan sounded too retarded that it actually began to make sense to Kris. He twitched his eye slightly and thought that maybe, just maybe, he was tired being up this late is causing him to fail to come up with a plot. Maybe if he wakes up the next morning, everything will be all right and he might just finish that draft before his editor can yell another curse at him. Kris felt his eyes becoming heavier as slow seconds tick by, and in a snap he lost it. He was now unconscious, and in a slumber in front of his computer screen propping himself in a sitting position that would probably cause him pain in the back which can be another lame excuse to reason out to Hankyung in order for him to be of the hook in writing.

A grip.

He felt himself lose grip.

He felt the strong rush of wind hit his face as his limbs were flailing. He was falling. Kris looks around but he sees nothing but brilliant colors that spiral before his eyes. Different hues, tones, and combination start to form as he fell from wherever. He tries to grip on something, on anything, but there was nothing to hold on. His eyes stalk around nothingness and he felt his chest tighten. Anxiety fill in as he shuts his eyes close, clenching his fist so hard that his nails start to scrape against palms, he tries to breathe normally, he tries to find his balance, he tries to find a foundation wherein he could stand firm and get a grip on himself. It didn’t take him a second to realize that he might be in a trance, a state of lucidity, he must’ve been dreaming. Just when he thought that he’s falling in an endless pit of colors and patterns his eyes take notice of a ground that was becoming closer and closer and he falls towards it. He braces himself for the pain, the sting of electricity, the sounds of his own bones crushing, or maybe even him splattering across the room. His mind was so sure that the flat ground was so near that in any second, his body would be against it. Kris mentally counts as he inches closer to the ground, preparing to break his long fall.

3..2...1

The writer shouts when he was so sure that he has finally hit the ground, but the peculiar thing is he doesn’t. Kris looks around and he seems to be in the middle of a city and the warm rays of the sun greet his skin. He constantly looks around him, wondering where the hell he is. Suddenly he felt everything sharpen then blurring out the next second. His surrounding were ferociously spinning and his so was his mind. He felt light-headed and his chest couldn’t breathe in more air. Just like that, he felt his body float, or fall. He couldn’t distinguish the feeling, but his face was greeted with the cold concrete ground. Kris had just fainted. A scream was heard. He couldn’t make the words out.

Heat, Hear, Help.

After every single odd event of what he seems to think of it as his ‘dream’ he wakes up, with muffles sounds of two people conversing in the background. It must’ve been Hankyung rummaging through his computer, looking for his story files. But there was another voice. Who could that be? Kris felt his fingers flinch slightly, and like a trigger, he pulls himself away from the furniture where he is laid and abruptly sits up; catching a deep, long breath which startled strangers in front of him.

“The new guy woke up!” One of them cheered and gave him a too bright smile that makes his eyes widen. Where was he? Wasn’t he awake? Who are these people? He stands up on his feet and wobbles, almost tumbling to the ground if another gentleman didn’t hold him up. Kris immediately steps away from the man and just stared at them with unfamiliarity. He shifts his gaze around the room, and he takes in details on how the room was painted in a pastel blue tone, or how it had about three vases filled with no fresh flowers, and how almost all of the furniture were placed accordingly, almost like it was infringed from a set of a movie. A little too perfect. He gulps as he felt the lump on his throat form. The man with a sweet face just looks at him, which kind of creeps him out in a way. He was never good with new people, and this scenario just sends him chills down his spine.

“Are you feeling alright?” The man with the more feminine features asks him. How was he supposed to answer? He definitely was not feeling ‘alright’. After falling from a limbo of flashing colors and fainting in the middle of an unfamiliar city, how the can he be alright? “I’m fine.” Understatement of the year. “Just feeling a little …queasy.” He sighs as he sits himself on the couch where he was laid moments ago.

“I don’t mean to be rude, or pry at the least, but..where am I?” Kris was more than confuse, over-whelmed and lost. He obviously needed answers before he goes berserk and tear his hair out and start to yell obscenities at whoever the people before him were.

“You’re in EXO planet.” A reassuring smile greets him and Kris can’t help but have his eyes turn to slits. “W-where?”

“I’m Sehun. And that is Luhan.” The man with the sweet face says and points to the other man that was present in the room. “That’s all we can tell. The rest.. you have to find out by yourself.” The young man named Sehun winked and left the room as the other trailed behind him. Kris just sat there, motionless. Just when he thought those two young men would be able to help him to fix things, and get answers. Apparently, he’s supposed to ‘find out the rest by himself’. He groans in frustration and stands up in the middle of the room. If answers are what he’s supposed to hunt for, then answers he will find.