Today was the day Stephen King's life finally meant something.
The day he fucking died.
Before that, he was just another sack of bones walking around pretending to be alive. Zero looks. Zero social skills. Skinny. Pale. Sickly. Useless at his job. Unloved. Unseen. Forgotten.
He worked as a graphic designer, if you could even call it that. His designs were dull, outdated, and always needed to be "fixed" by someone else before the client saw them. His manager hated him. HR ignored him. And the company director was giving him exactly one more day before deciding if he stayed or got kicked out on his bony ass.
No one gave a shit about him.
Girls at work never made eye contact. Hell, most of them probably didn't know his first name. He was "that weird guy from downstairs." The one always hunched over, muttering to himself, dragging his ghost-body around like it weighed a hundred pounds.
He wasn't lazy. He was just… empty.
He spent his time reading manga, fantasy novels, and playing video games that gave him a life better than the one he had. He jerked off more than he ate. He talked to his reflection more than other people. He'd perfected the art of being invisible.
After another bullshit day in the office, Stephen got on the bus, face blank, soul fried. His back ached, his eyes burned, and the bags under them looked like they'd been tattooed there permanently.
He slumped into a seat near the back, leaned his chin into his palm, and stared out the window as the city crawled by.
He thought of Anna Mary.... the angel at the front desk.
Blonde hair. Ocean eyes. Soft, full lips that curved into a smile capable of ending wars.
Stephen used to imagine holding her. Kissing her. Waking up beside her.
Fucking delusional.
"She wouldn't even spit on me," he muttered with a bitter grin. "Let alone fuck me."
He laughed quietly. One of those dry, hopeless laughs that people make right before they give up.
He had zero chance with her. With anyone.
Beth. Emily. Jane. Names without meaning. Names that walked past him every day without ever seeing him.
The world didn't hate him.
It just didn't notice he existed.
"Fuck this life," he said under his breath. "...and the next one."
He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until an elderly woman gave him a sharp glance from across the aisle.
He gave her a half-assed smile. "Sorry."
The bus rolled into the tunnel. The glow from the streetlamps faded. Darkness fell over the windows.
The engine growled, and the driver accelerated..... a little too fast.
Then something shifted in Stephen's gut.
His heart thumped once, hard.
Then came the noise. Voices. Shouting. Screams.
"What the fuck-?"
Stephen leaned forward.
People were on their feet at the front. Someone pointed through the windshield. His eyes followed.....
And then he saw it.
A fucking truck.
In their lane.
Headlights blazing like judgment day. Tires screeching. Horn blaring.
Coming at them head-on.
Too fast. Too close.
Stephen's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He didn't even have time to scream.
Impact.
The front of the bus folded like wet cardboard. Metal howled. Glass exploded. Someone flew through the aisle, screaming mid-air. The old woman across from him vanished in a spray of blood.
Stephen's body snapped sideways. His head slammed into the window. His shoulder popped. Something sharp tore across his chest. He felt himself fly.
Then the pain hit.
Not quick. Not clean.
Sharp. Slow. Hellish.
It crawled through his body like molten glass, slicing, burning, crushing. Bones cracked. Flesh tore. His lungs filled with something wet and metallic.
"What the fuck…?"
"Am I dying?"
"No... I'm already fucking dying."
He felt it...death, clawing its way into him like it had always been waiting.
Cold. Heavy. Inevitable.
He didn't fight it.
He didn't scream.
He let it take him.
Let it erase the waste of a man he'd become.
Maybe the world would be better without him.
No more awkward silences. No more being ignored. No more pretending.
"Let it end."
And then.....
everything stopped.
No pain.
No noise.
No breath.
No light.
Just darkness.
Cold.
Eternal.
Merciless.
The kind of silence that doesn't come with a heartbeat.
The kind that means you're finally gone.
But then…
A voice echoed in the void. Low. Ancient. Calm.
"You died like trash... but you might yet serve a purpose."
Stephen's eyes flew open....
And he was no longer on Earth.