Chapter Text

CHAPTER 0 - TEARS

Don’t worry.

Static fills the silence, the only thing not drowned by the darkness.

Everything is going to be okay.

A boy is crying. He rubs at the tears but they just won’t leave. They drip onto the cold floor. Drip. Drip. Drip.

No matter what happens…
Promise me that we’ll always be there for each other…

The crying boy is consoled by another. His attempts at comfort are futile, for he is crying too. The cold bites at their skin. Their frail bodies are illuminated by the bright light streaming from underneath a black door, spilling into the void beyond.

Promise me…

PART 1: PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 - WELCOME TO WHITE SPACE

OMORI - WHITE SPACE

[Welcome to White Space.]

A young boy was lying down on the floor, casting his blank gaze at the black light bulb hanging above his head. He half-hoped it fell on him. A soft, repetitive tune echoed in the background.

[You have been living here for as long as you can remember.]

The boy’s name was Omori. A unique name, not one you heard every day, but it was Omori’s, and he took pride in that. He also didn’t look like other boys, but he was okay with that too. Omori was monochrome. His blinding white skin matched the endless void that stretched before him, whilst his flimsy vest, long socks, and dead eyes were an inky black. He also wore striped shorts that reminded him of piano keys. Black and white. Light and dark. Omori.

White Space was Omori’s home. There wasn’t much there, but he liked it that way. Nothing could get to Omori in White Space.

He mostly resided in his picnic blanket, which was also white. Sometimes he couldn’t tell where the blanket ended and the void began, but he didn’t mind that either. There were a few monochrome items scattered around his picnic blanket: his laptop, his journal, his tissue box, and his cat, to name a few. There was also a white door, which he knew was currently locked.

Finally, there was the black lightbulb. It hung ominously from above, wherever ‘above’ was. Omori could walk upwards and follow the string, but it would always lead him back to his blanket. Same with walking in any direction, it would always bring him back to where he started.

The tissue box had an obvious purpose. It was for wiping away his sorrows. Omori had a lot of those, therefore he had a lot of tissues.

Mewo also helped with ridding him of his sorrows. Mewo was his kitten. She only spoke in mews, but Omori had grown to understand her. Her quiet, comforting presence was always appreciated by Omori. It made White Space feel a little less lonely.

Sometimes Omori liked to draw in his sketchbook. This was one of the only things in White Space that had color, because Omori had a red crayon, not just a black one. His drawings were nonsensical – abstract, if you will.

The first was a depiction of a severed head. Had it been cut off, or did it just live that way? Despite creating the piece, Omori didn’t know. There were many other sketches and scribbles, depicting heads and eyes and cats and blood. Places like a bath or a desk or a playground morphed into something unrecognisable, with meaningless symbols hiding in the corners. Figures often loomed above the subject of these drawings (a boy that looked like Omori – was it Omori?), but he couldn’t remember who they were or where they were from. He just knew they weren’t in White Space, because White Space was Omori’s home, and Omori’s home was safe.

The only drawing that made much sense was the last one. It was a drawing of a steak. Somebody he knew liked steak. It wasn’t him, because Omori didn’t eat steak. Who was it then? He pondered it for a little longer, waiting for a name to come to him, but none did. Oh well. All he knew was that somebody liked steak, therefore he drew it.

Omori decided to talk to Mewo. She lazily opened her big white eyes, idly lifting up her furry face. Her tail swished softly behind her. She was so adorable. So innocent. Imagine if something happened to her pure soul.

“Meow?” Mewo asked, which Omori knew translated to, “Waiting for something to happen?” Good question. He wasn’t sure if he was.

Instinctively, he decided to boot up his laptop, where he kept his journal. Maybe that would give him an idea of what to do.
His wallpaper was a monochrome brick wall. Omori couldn’t remember if he’d chosen that background, or if it had always been like that. He didn’t mind either way.

[What would you like to do?]

Omori opened up his journal. With a soft buzz, a black tab opened up to reveal his journal. Each entry was titled ‘Day ???’ because by now Omori had forgotten when one day ended and another began. Maybe it had been many days, or none at all. Maybe it was still yesterday.

Each entry read the same text too:

‘Today, I spent time in White Space. Everything was okay.’

Today was the same. Omori didn’t bother writing another entry. He instead closed his journal and gazed at the screen instead. There was a little trash monster in the corner, but Omori never had anything to throw away. The time read 00:00am. It was always 00:00am though, so that was nothing new.

After a while of just staring at the screen, Omori decided to close his laptop. Its heat had warmed his lap. It felt nice.

Just then, a loud ‘THUD!’ rang out across the void. It was so loud Omori shook, tempted to cover up his ears. But he’d gotten used to the thud by now. That meant something had fallen nearby. Time to go get it and do something new. Good. The repetitive tune in the background had become slightly irritating.

Omori clambered to his feet and left the picnic blanket in search of the mystery item. Crawling across the void were what Omori called Red Hands, because that’s what they were, red hands. They liked to slither across the floor towards him if they spotted him, teleporting him back to the picnic blanket if he was caught. They were there to keep him safe, which he appreciated, but sometimes they became irritating.

Omori carefully stayed out of their way, dodging their advances as he searched for what had fallen. After a few loops of walking around White Space, he spotted it: a shiny knife. Its silver blade glinted at him, practically begging for him to pick it up. How could he resist?

The familiar handle cooled his palm. It was a pristine blade, so clear he could see his own dull eyes staring right back at him. A sense of security blossomed in Omori’s chest at the promise of protection. Oh, it felt good to have his knife again.

Now that he had his trusty companion back, he knew that the ominous white door would now be unlocked. Wonderful. He could visit Headspace again, and pay a visit to his friends. White Space was safe, but it was also no fun.

Omori let one of the Red Hands teleport him back to the picnic blanket. Mewo had curled up into a ball by the tissue box, her chest slowly rising and falling as she snoozed. She would be fine. It was time to go now.

[What would you like to do?]

The white door cast a faint shadow over Omori. Leaving White Space always felt intimidating because who knew what could be on the other side of the door. The sheer size of the door seemed to imitate this, looming over him like a giant.

Omori opened the door.