Cold, dark, and empty. A place that resembled my heart—rather, my current state. I had believed this was hell. A place suited for losers like me. After all, all I've ever felt throughout my life was hatred, disgust, and ignorance.
Until I met her.
Sasha. She understood where I came from. She was the only one who stripped away the facade of the human I had grown to hate. She loved what was behind the mask. How could anyone hate such a person?
And now, that person is gone. Taken from me.
I hate it. I hate it all. I hate love.
If I could, I'd rip my heart from my living body just to see her again—even if it was through hatred.
"It's fine... Even if love didn't exist, I'd hate you with all my heart," I whispered, collapsing to my knees as warm tears ran marathons down my cold cheeks.
A light pierced through the distance. I picked up my walking corpse and began marching toward it. Each step was a prayer. A wish. That it might be a gateway to see her—just one more time. To feel love once again. I'd gladly accept death after that.
"So sad... Love hates more than hate does, doesn't it?" said a soft, angelic voice behind me. It cried out my tears for me, as if it were fighting my battles.
I froze. Her voice was a song without rhythm, tone, or emotion—yet it could capture your soul like a mirror.
The light ahead grew brighter until I could taste it. I saw myself reflected in it. A memory—our first picnic. The day was clear. For once, I preferred the ocean-blue sky over the milky clouds that used to cling to the sun.
That day, I accepted the sun. I accepted a new heart, one that pumped love into my veins.
"The world is so blue," I remembered thinking. But her smile was brighter.
The light flashed more memories—our first kiss, our last, the time we lost our virginity, meeting her parents, our first fight. These memories fueled me. I walked. I jogged. I sprinted toward them.
But just like in life, I was stopped. An invisible wall slammed me to the ground. I shot up and pushed against it, my fists pounding.
"No! No! No!" I screamed. "You can't do this! Give me back Sasha!"
Anger replaced love. "It's not my fault... I was rejected first! Why would you do this to me? Don't I deserve love?" I cried.
I dropped to my knees. "Oh, Sasha... I hate living in regret. But now, I regret ever meeting you."
My tears joined me on the floor, their warmth the only comfort—yet still not enough. No ocean, lake, or sea could fill this hole.
"I hate you all! I'll kill you all! From the devil to God—I hate you!" I roared. "Especially you, Ren. You abandoned me and took the one thing I worked so hard to protect. I'll find you. And I'll make you suffer!"
My teeth ground together like rusted gears.
"Vengeance or repetition?" the voice whispered again—closer now. Behind me.
I turned around, faster than my spine should allow. There she was: a mature, pale woman with soft, sharp white wings flapping above me. Her blue attire complemented her beauty like a cherry on top of a mountain of sugar.
"Who are you?" I stammered, crawling toward the invisible wall. "Are you an angel? Are you mad that I cursed you out?"
"No. I'm Death," she said with a warm smile.
"But you're... beautiful. And your voice... it's soothing."
She descended from above and walked toward me. As she came closer, her eyes shimmered, cycling through red, green, black, white, and blue.
"Well, even death can be beautiful. Sometimes, more beautiful than life," she said. A long white staff accompanied her. I hadn't noticed it until now—it held what looked like a floating ring.
"After all, you of all people know what it's like to be deceived," she said, extending her hand to mine.
"Are you here to send me to hell?" I asked, hesitant.
"That depends. Do you trust me?" she replied.
I hesitated. But my hand reached for hers, like a head finding a pillow—warm, soft, and sure of its purpose.
"Congratulations," she said, pulling me up. "You're not going to hell." She laughed.
Confused, I asked, "If you're Death... then who killed me?"
"Are you dumb?" she smirked. "Anyway—look."
She pointed behind me.
"Those are my memories... Why can't I reach them?" I asked.
"Because this is a decision. A bargain, sort of," she replied, drawing a sword.
"What's the other choice? And... why the sword?"
"Well, you get a do-over. A restart. With someone you know very well. And as for the sword—" she chuckled softly. The blade erupted in fierce flames.
"So, what'll it be, Keegan? Love or hatred?" she asked, now standing behind me.
I turned and faced two paths: love or hatred. The blue sky or the white clouds.
I stepped toward the memories—but stopped. My last words before dying echoed in my mind like the gunshot that took me down.
"No. I'll be your demise. No matter how many lives it takes... I'll make you suffer. I will haunt your soul."
I turned to Death.
"How do I find Ren?" I asked, voice steeled with resolve.
"I don't know. But I assure you—she'll be there. You'll have to find her," she answered.
"So, have you chosen?"
"Yes," I said. "My heart was made for hatred. It burns with vengeance."
"And in vengeance, it shall burn," she said, before sliding the flaming sword into my chest.
I couldn't move. My body was frozen, but from toe to scalp, I felt the flame burn through my soul.
"Why?" I asked with a voice choked by smoke.
"Because," she whispered in my ear, "our creator saw this coming. He decided to give your burning heart of vengeance the flame it needed. Why? I don't care. Just know you're one lucky boy. You should thank your creator... rather than curse him."
Flames consumed my vision in an instant. And just like that—everything was fire. My memories burned with it.