July 7th, 2025
6:00 AM
Waking up early was unusual for me. I've always been a night owl, clinging to the quiet hours long after the world had surrendered to sleep. But today was different. Today, I had a reason.
Let me tell you about myself—a guy named Alaric with no name etched into family trees, no history written in the warmth of a home. I grew up in an orphanage, though I suppose it could have been worse. The caretakers were kind, and I never wanted for the essentials—food, shelter, the illusion of stability. A scholarship carried me through university, where I became what society deemed useful: a software engineer. And today? Today was the first day of my new job.
Excitement hummed under my skin as I brushed my teeth, showered, and dressed—each movement deliberate, as if the universe might reward my punctuality.
8:00 AM
I locked my apartment door and descended the stairs, stepping into the city's symphony of honking cars and fragmented conversations. The morning air felt sharper, the sunlight brighter—or maybe it was just the adrenaline. I quickened my pace toward the subway, my shoes tapping against the pavement in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Then, the crosswalk.
The signal took its time, stretching seconds into eternity. Impatience gnawed at me—missing the train would mean tardiness, and I refused to let carelessness ruin this day. The moment the light turned red, I stepped forward, leading the pack of pedestrians.
Five steps.
Then—impact.
A blur of metal and momentum slammed into me, throwing me onto the asphalt. Pain flared, then numbness. The world tilted, my vision swimming in shades of red. Around me, voices rose in panic, footsteps pounding against concrete. But I—I was elsewhere.
I stood over my own body, watching as blood pooled beneath me, seeping into the cracks of the street. A car accident, they'd say. Faulty brakes. A drunk driver. Does the reason matter when the result is the same?
I was dead.
The realization didn't come with terror, only a detached curiosity. Two minutes had passed since impact, and here I was, a ghost observing his own corpse. How strange, to exist and not exist at once.
Had I not been so eager, so desperate to prove myself, would I still be alive? Or was this inevitable—some cosmic punchline where fate laughs at our illusions of control?
The scene before me began to dissolve—the crowd, the flashing sirens, the shell of my body—all fading into darkness.
Is this what death is? The great unknown that every living thing fears?
Then why did it feel like coming home?
With that thought, I ceased to be.