-5/18/2988?-

  I…I can’t believe I’m…writing…this. I escaped!!!!!!

  I cannot adequately describe the overwhelming sensation of seeing color again after so long—any color other than the endless, soul-draining gray. The first hint of it was a subtle shift in the grassy hills before me, a flicker of green. At first, I thought it was just another trick of my mind, another hallucination brought on by the graying. But all the illusions I’d endured until now had been in shades of gray, never vibrant hues like this. Green. Actual green.

  I didn’t even stop to think. I ran—ran faster than I thought possible, fueled by a desperate hope that I hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. As I bolted forward, the world around me responded. The hills that had once been bleak and lifeless burst into vibrant color, like a canvas suddenly painted with the greens of lush grass. Above me, the sky shifted from its dull, oppressive gray to a deep, endless blue. It was as though life itself had returned, breathing back into the world that had been suffocating me for so long.

  I reached the top of one of the large grassy hills, panting, heart pounding in my chest, and that’s when I saw them—the gray monoliths in the distance. Those tall, towering markers that separated the Graylands from the world beyond. They loomed on the horizon, silent but unmistakable. A gateway to freedom. My pulse quickened, and I ran harder, my legs burning with every stride, but I didn’t care. I had to reach them. I had to cross that border and leave this nightmare behind.

  With every step, the surrounding colors intensified, filling me with a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in ages. I wasn’t going to stop now, not when I was so close to escaping this hellish place. The monoliths were my salvation, and I was going to reach them—no matter what it took.

  It only dawned on me now, as I write this, how strange it was that I could leave the Graylands so quickly. When we first entered, it took what felt like days before we even noticed the subtle, creeping shift from color to that relentless gray. It was a slow, almost imperceptible descent into that bleak world, but my escape? It happened in a matter of minutes—a frantic sprint, and suddenly, I was free.

  I should’ve found that odd, unsettling even, but I didn't stop to question it then. I was too consumed by the euphoria of seeing color again, too desperate to escape the nightmarish grasp of that land. Now, though, as I sit here trying to piece everything together, the swiftness of my departure feels... wrong. How could the transition happen so fast?

  Still, what’s the point of trying to make sense of that accursed place?

  The moment I crossed those monoliths, my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the vibrant, sunlit ground. I couldn’t help myself—I rolled across the grass like a madman, clutching handfuls of it, desperate to soak in every hue that the Graylands had denied me for what felt like an eternity. The lush green beneath me, the golden warmth of the sun, the endless blue sky—all of it overwhelmed my senses. It was as though I had forgotten what the world truly looked like, what it felt like to see real color.

  I’m not sure how long I laid there, completely overwhelmed by the colors and sensations I had been starved of for so long. Minutes? Hours? Time had lost all meaning to me back in the Graylands, and it still felt slippery now. Eventually, though, I forced myself to sit up, then stand, though my legs wobbled beneath me, weak from both exhaustion and disbelief.

  As I stood, I took a moment to drink in my surroundings. The familiar landscape of rolling hills, now fully vibrant and alive, stretched out before me. And then, off in the distance, something caught my eye—something that made my heart skip a beat. I could see it clearly—a small encampment, nestled among the hills. The encampment. The one we had set up just before entering the Graylands.

  As soon as I spotted the encampment, my body moved on instinct. I sprinted toward it with haste.

  As I approached the encampment, I was met with looks of shock and horror. The people who had once known me now recoiled as if I were some kind of apparition. The mercenaries, ever on edge, quickly raised their weapons, aiming them at me with suspicion and fear. Some shouted, calling me a ghost.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  I hadn't considered at the time how terrifying my appearance must have been. My skin, my clothes, my gear—everything was drained of color, a uniform gray, like I had been pulled straight from the very land they feared. Only now, in retrospect, do I fully understand their reaction. I was the embodiment of the Graylands, a walking nightmare that had suddenly appeared before them.

  I spent what felt like an eternity trying to convince them that it was truly me—Robert Evan. My voice cracked as I pleaded, desperately explaining who I was, repeating details only I would know, recounting memories, names. Eventually, after minutes of tense standoff, they began to lower their weapons. Their eyes were still filled with doubt, but they believed me enough to stop pointing guns at my chest.

  Once they accepted it was me, I started recounting what had happened—how I had wandered the Graylands for what felt like days, possibly even weeks, lost in that gray wasteland, trapped in a waking nightmare. But as I spoke, I noticed their expressions shift again, not to understanding, but to confusion.

  Then came the words that sent a chill down my spine. One of the mercenaries, still eyeing me warily, said, “You only left two hours ago. How can you claim to have been in there for weeks?”

  The world seemed to tilt beneath me when I heard that. Two hours? How could that be possible? I had felt time stretch out endlessly, had experienced countless days of exhaustion, fear, and survival. My mind reeled. The first pangs of true fear I have felt in a while since tuning completely gray washed over me.

  I expected my perception of time to be distorted in the Graylands, but to this extent? Could it really have been only two hours? The idea gnawed at my mind. Had my own sense of time stretched and warped so much, or was it something far more sinister? Was it merely my perception that was fractured, or had time itself bent and twisted in that accursed place?

  I stood there, speechless, as the weight of those two words—"two hours"—crushed me under their impossible reality.

  I shook off the confusion surrounding my explanation of time in the Graylands and forced myself to focus. There was no time to dwell on the bizarre nature of my experience—others had ventured into that cursed place with me. I wasn’t the only one trapped in that gray wasteland. My mind snapped back to the silter cable machine, the lifeline we had used to guide us in and, hopefully, back out.

  Then I turned to the others, urgency rising in my voice as I demanded they activate the machine. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving those people to aimlessly wander the endless gray, as I had. They needed a chance to return. They needed to escape that nightmare, just like I had. I wouldn't let anyone else be lost to the Graylands.

  They followed my command without hesitation. The machine sputtered to life, its engine groaning and belching out thick smoke. Slowly, the wheels began to turn, grinding with a metallic whine as the silter cable started its slow, deliberate journey back.

  Each turn of the reel felt like pulling hope from the Graylands itself, as if the machine were tugging at the very edge of that cursed place, attempting to free those still trapped within its monochrome grasp. I stood there, watching the cable inch its way forward, knowing that each passing second carried the weight of lives, of sanity, hanging by the thinnest thread. The surrounding air was thick with tension, the rhythmic clanking of the reel the only sound as we waited, hoping to see movement on the other end of the line.

  Hours went by before the hope of rescue of the others was shattered.

  When the cable finally returned, it wasn’t accompanied by the sight we had hoped for. Instead, it came back severed, the end frayed and dangling, as though it had been violently torn from whatever it was supposed to be attached to.

  When the severed end appeared, my blood froze. There was no vehicle attached, no caravan, no sign of those lost souls who had ventured with me into that abyss. Only the jagged, twisted metal remained, as though some unfathomable force had gnawed through it—had consumed it, and all it once connected. It dangled limp and dead, a grim parody of hope, cut loose from whatever cursed fate had claimed the rest.

  The sight of that mangled end was not a simple mechanical failure—no, this was far worse. This was evidence, incontrovertible and final, of something deeper, something monstrous and unknowable lurking just beyond the veil of reality. Something had severed it, but what? The Graylands themselves, or some presence—some ancient, maleficent force whose very nature defies comprehension?

  I felt it then—that subtle shift in the air, as if the world itself recoiled at the knowledge of what we had unleashed by venturing into that desolate, accursed place. A cold sweat broke over my brow, and the shadows seemed to deepen, lengthening unnaturally, as though they too were retreating from the silent horror that gripped my mind.

  The cable, still swaying from the motion, seemed to mock us with its terrible silence, as if whatever lay beyond the gray hills had severed not only the physical connection but any hope of return, of sanity. I understood with sickening clarity—those who had ventured into the Graylands were beyond saving. They were beyond the reach of our world, swallowed by a place where the rules of nature, of time and reason, twisted into gray.