Time has been moving faster than I ever expected. I was supposed to live several lives in several different bodies—but little did I know, my time in this cycle was nearing its end. My only chance at longevity lies in surviving every body I'm reincarnated into. If I die, it's game over—again.
One thing has been gnawing at my mind: the infant I once lived as. A life so short it ended before it truly began. He died before I could even learn his name. The orb never appeared to feed me his memories or abilities, and that's when I knew—Death had gotten it all wrong.
How could she allow an innocent infant to die before being named? Before he was held with love, or seen as more than a burden by those monsters who dared call themselves parents?
These thoughts circled endlessly in my mind. I sat on the cold floor of the void, eyes locked on Death where she lounged silently, as if the cosmos itself bent to her boredom. Without warning, she vanished from her perch and reappeared in front of me.
I stood up calmly, but the anger beneath my skin was boiling.
"Why wasn't there a memory orb for that baby?" I asked, voice low and trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the injustice.
Death tilted her head. "The orb didn't appear because he never had any memories or abilities," she replied, her voice as steady and cold as the grave.
I clenched my fists. "I don't even know his name. No one ever called him by it. How could parents be so—wicked, heartless, cold, reckless?" I spat out every cruel adjective I could muster, yet none felt adequate.
"If they are really parents," I began, "then they should—"
She interrupted before I could finish. "If they are really parents, then they should what?" she asked, her tone unshaken. "No one is guaranteed anything in life. You—" she pointed directly at me, "—have been reckless. You took life for granted. You treated death like a revolving door. But that baby... that baby didn't even get to make a choice. And there are many others like that. While some never get the chance to choose, you've tossed yours away again and again."
Her words struck deeper than I expected. I was still simmering with rage, wishing I could be given just one chance to meet those so-called parents face-to-face. Maybe then justice could truly be served.
Frustrated, I turned to Death. "Just hurry up and shoot me already. Send me to my next life," I barked.
She smiled—mocking me again. "Why the rush?"
"That's not your concern," I said. "All that matters is that you do your part. Kill me. Let me continue."
"Humans only start fighting to live after they die," she whispered.
I locked eyes with her, then started speaking in my mind. I knew she could hear me—clearly and perfectly—when I used my thoughts.
Just shoot me already. I know you hear me. You don't care what I end up doing anyway.
She chuckled.
"You're right. I don't."
I asked her why—why she truly didn't care what I did. She gave a chilling answer.
"Because from what I've seen of your actions, no matter how hard you try to survive, you'll always find a way to die. That's just who you are. But know this: if you ever try to kill someone else, I'll intervene."
That caught me off guard.
What does she think I am? A murderer?
"That would never happen," I said flatly. "Just send me off."
"If you insist," she replied. "If you're that eager to return, so be it."
Then she shot me.
I jolted into consciousness, gasping for breath in my new body. First thought—money. Where had I hidden it? The stash from my life as Francis.
I didn't even know who I was yet but I guess it didn't matter. The money came first.
I grabbed the phone beside me and checked the date. My stomach dropped. It was the last possible day to retrieve the cash from the post office box before it was claimed or destroyed.
But then—bad news. I wasn't in the same country anymore. I had reincarnated somewhere else entirely.
Panic set in. But there was hope.
I checked the phone again. A flight was booked. Departing in a few hours, heading straight to the city I once lived in as Francis. Relief washed over me, but I knew how fate worked. One cancelled flight, one tiny hiccup, and the money would be lost for good.
I boarded the flight with my heart pounding.
By some miracle, I arrived just in time. I raced from the airport to the mall where the post office was located. I was seconds away from disaster. The officers were already pulling unclaimed items when I shouted out to stop them.
Fifteen minutes left on the clock.
I opened the box and—thank everything—the stash was intact. Thick bundles of cash, exactly where I had hidden them. I exhaled a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
As I walked past a mirror near the exit, I paused. There I was. The new me.
"You're one handsome devil," I said, smirking at my reflection.
This body? I liked it a lot.
Tall, lean, model-like. My voice was smoother than any past life. My jawline could cut glass. I couldn't help but admire myself. And then I noticed something—my face was on a nearby poster.
A model. A real one.
No wonder the mirror liked me.
Just then, the orb appeared.
His name was Hakeem Awal. Twenty-four years old. Adored since childhood for his looks. The poster boy for charm. Girls fell for him like dominoes, and boys envied him with equal intensity. Life came easy for Hakeem. No struggle. Just fame, fortune, and a trail of lovers in his wake.
"Well damn," I whispered as the orb disappeared. "He's got money, looks, and no baggage."
I couldn't have asked for a better life to inhabit.
This time, it was going to be different. Death wouldn't win so easily. With a body like this, I could make her work hard for the last laugh.
I made my way to his apartment and—wow.
It was like stepping into a magazine. A glass tower with a view of the entire city. The kind of place people dream about but never get close to. Designer furniture, sleek finishes, floors that sparkled. The closet? Stuffed with top-tier designer clothes. His watches alone could pay rent for an entire neighborhood. And the artwork—gold-trimmed, custom, foreign. He lived like a prince.
I dropped onto the velvet sofa and let myself breathe for a moment.
Then something caught my eye.
A newspaper on the table.
"Five-Month Infant Found Dead – Parents Arrested for Abuse."
My heart stopped. That baby—it was me. That was the life I had lived before this one. Five months of silent pain. But finally, justice. The story was out. The monsters who abused that helpless baby had been caught.
I didn't care how long they were sentenced—I hoped it was for life. I only wished I could have testified. I wanted to stand before a judge and condemn them with every fiber of my being.
As satisfaction began to simmer, a darker thought crept in.
"How does Hakeem die?" I wondered aloud.
A car crash? Arson? Terminal illness?
Every life has its end—and mine always seemed to come too soon.
Before I could spiral, my phone rang.
Caller ID: Habib.
I answered.
"Yo! Bro, where the hell are you? The VIP party started an hour ago!" Habib's voice buzzed with energy.
"VIP party?" I asked.
"Yeah, man, your party. Hakeem's party. Everyone's here—top models, actresses, influencers. The city's most beautiful girls are here waiting for you."
He kept talking, but I was already out of my seat.
I'd never been to a real party in any of my past lives. Not one.
No prison walls. No gang hideouts. No torture chambers. No hospital beds.
Just a real party.
Maybe I didn't have to worry about how this life would end just yet.
"Right," I grinned to myself. "It's better to enjoy the party than worry about dying."
And with that, I left for the night that might change everything.