What happens when the enemy you fear most isn’t out there—it’s staring back at you from inside?
First Line Grab:
I flicked on the light—and there I was, sitting in the chair, smiling back at me.
Paragraph:
At first, I thought it was a trick of exhaustion, a hallucination brewed from too much caffeine and not enough rest. But then the other me spoke. His voice was calm, almost tender, as though he’d been waiting for this moment. “You’ve hidden me long enough,” he whispered, standing, moving with the same rhythm as my own heartbeat. I backed away, but the wall caught me. His eyes glowed with something I had buried years ago—rage, temptation, freedom. Every step he took felt like a countdown, every breath like stolen time. “Tonight,” he said, “only one of us survives.” The clock ticked louder, the silence pressed in. I realized this wasn’t a nightmare I could wake from. This was a reckoning. And the question wasn’t if I would lose sleep—it was if I would live to see the morning.
❓ Three Questions to Spark Writing
- How does the protagonist’s “dark side” reflect truths he’s tried to hide?
- What setting details could heighten the claustrophobic dread of this encounter?
- Who ultimately wins—light, dark, or something in between?