Capítulo 37: Chapter 37
World Shine sat in his dimly lit apartment, the yellowing walls peeling like the last remnants of his ambition. The sound of static cracked through the speakers, a harsh reminder of the songs he'd worked on for years. Tracks no one listened to. Beats no one cared for. The world had never come.
He'd been close once. Maybe not close. But close enough. The dream had never felt so real, then faded in a blink. Every verse he'd spit, every hook he crafted, they all felt like they meant something.
But they never did. His followers were a handful, all shouting the same tired praises over and over. "You got it, bro. You're next." But "next" never came.
His phone buzzed again, some random number trying to get him to invest in something he didn't even care about. He smashed it down on the couch, the cracked screen staring back at him, mocking.
He tried to keep the music going, the beat pounding against his skull like a message he couldn't ignore. Every new track felt heavier. They didn't sound like his anymore, but something worse. He listened to the words, the way the rhyme stuttered, twisted in on itself. He'd recorded over it once. Twice. But it was always there, some dark force behind the verses.
It'd been six months since he last dropped anything. A few likes here and there. Nothing that mattered.
The apartment felt tighter every day. The air thicker. His breath came out in ragged bursts, his fingers drumming nervously on the desk. He stared at the screen, the list of failed attempts. His last big push had been a flop, and it ate him up more than anything ever could.
A knock echoed from his door. The sound almost too perfect, like a cue from a movie. He froze. No one came by anymore. He hesitated, then walked to the door. No one stood outside. Only the stale smell of the hallway and the echo of his own footsteps.
He stepped back inside, sat down, and pulled the headphones back on. The beat banged in his ears, twisting, pulling him deeper. But this time, the lyrics sounded different. They didn't belong to him. He tried to stop them, but it was too late. They wrapped around his thoughts, took hold.
"Nothing lasts forever, World."
His heart skipped. The voice wasn't his. It was in his head, scratching at the edges. The next line came like a whisper, too low to ignore.
"Nothing ever really comes."
The beat slammed on, louder now, filling the room, closing in on him. He gripped his head, the sound louder, closer. The walls felt like they were pushing in. He tore the headphones off, gasping for air, but there was no escape.
He tried to shut it out. Shut it all out. The voices. The whispers. His own music, bleeding into him like poison. His hands trembled as he typed out one last post, something final, something he could hold onto.
But his fingers wouldn't obey.
"Nothing lasts forever," he muttered to himself, the words tasting like ash.
The door creaked again. He turned, eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat. A figure stood in the threshold, blurred by the light from the hallway. It didn't move, didn't speak. It just stood there, watching.
"Not much longer, World."
The words broke him.
His screams rattled the room, but no one would hear. There was no one left to listen.
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