Time crawled slowly for Orien. It had been two weeks now, and nothing had happened.
The despair gnawed at him so deeply that he told his family he was going on a trip—he didn't want them to worry or know what he was going through. He also hoped to find a good place to spend his remaining days. But now, with nothing happening, doubt began to seep in.
Was I really wrong? he thought.
He looked around his room. The pale wallpaper had nearly faded; the designs were barely visible. Clothes were piled beside the basket, left unwashed. The windows were closed, curtains drawn, preventing sunlight from peeking in, casting the room into a dim, melancholic gloom. Dust coated the shelves—he hadn't cleaned in days. The sink was filled with unwashed dishes, and the stink drifting from them made his nose wrinkle.
In the darkest corner of the room, Orien sat hugging his knees. His eyes were red, tired, and empty from lack of sleep. All these days, he had barely allowed himself to rest, terrified that sleep would mean death. He'd pushed himself to his limit to stay awake.
But now, as he scanned the cluttered, neglected space—once tidy, now decayed—a flicker of clarity lit up in his eyes.
He stood up slowly and walked to the bathroom.
Facing the mirror, he stared into his own reflection. His eyes were sunken. Stubble grew along his chin—it had been two weeks since he last shaved. He barely recognized himself.
"I almost can't recognize myself anymore… Is this what people call despair?" he muttered.
A sigh escaped his lips as he looked down, then back up. This time, there was a different look in his eyes.
"I always tried to live a worry-free life. But the invisible pressure I felt... it made me hold back. Now? I don't need to care about anything anymore."
He reached for the shaver beside the sink and began trimming his stubble. As the hairs fell, he felt something inside him fall away too. It was like shedding old skin—a cocoon breaking. A small but powerful shift occurred. A breakthrough, an enlightenment. It felt like he was becoming someone new.
He rinsed his face and rubbed his smooth chin, nodding at his reflection.
"I look better now."
Back in his room, he threw open the curtains, allowing sunlight to flood the once gloomy space. He picked up his clothes, arranged them neatly, then took the dirty ones to the backyard to wash and hang them out to dry. He scrubbed the dishes, dusted the shelves, and cleaned the entire room.
Afterwards, he walked around, inspecting his work with a satisfied smile. It felt like all his troubles had vanished. He took a shower, then slipped into clean clothes—a white polo shirt and blue jeans. Joggers on, he stepped outside, locking the door behind him.
He was off to get something to eat.
Outside, the warmth of the afternoon sun wrapped around him. He glanced at the sky and checked his watch—1:00 PM. The world buzzed around him, everyone going about their lives.
That's when it hit him.
In this vast world… no one cares if someone is dying or living. Life will continue like nothing ever happened.
As he walked toward the nearest shop, he suddenly felt something—a presence—just beside him.
He turned quickly. No one was there.
Maybe I'm just being paranoid, he thought.
He reached a familiar crosswalk. The shop he was heading to was right across the street. He waited for the pedestrian light to turn green.
What was that earlier...? he muttered under his breath.
The light changed. He stepped forward.
From the opposite side, a white truck barreled through the red light.
The driver, wearing a face cap, was glancing down at his phone, distracted by frantic messages from an angry customer. He didn't see Orien or the red light ahead.
The truck struck Orien on his right side. His body crashed onto the hood, rolled across the windshield, then slammed onto the asphalt. His phone skidded across the crosswalk. His joggers were flung far away.
The truck came to a sudden stop.
For a second, there was only silence.
Then chaos.
A scream erupted from across the street.
The driver sat frozen, unable to move.
A woman nearby ran toward Orien, calling emergency services as she knelt beside him. Blood pooled beneath his head. He lay twisted at the edge of the crosswalk, his breath shallow, barely lifting his chest.
"Hey… hello… stay awake… don't move," she whispered gently. "You're okay. Help is coming. Can you hear me?"
Orien tried to blink. It was hard. He tried to speak, but only a faint gasp escaped.
Suddenly, his eyes froze. His hand twitched, reaching for something. The woman thought he wanted his phone.
But Orien saw something else entirely.
A shadow emerged—from his own shadow.
It had a humanoid form, but its shape was too dark, too unreal.
Is this... death? The world speaks about it like it's nothing much. How ignorant we are... Orien thought, a faint chuckle forming in his mind.
The shadow waited. Still. Silent. As if ready to take his soul.
Then came a growl—part meow, part monstrous snarl.
From the shadow, a massive black cat stepped out. Its fur was as dark as night. Its eyes shone like golden suns.
And Orien remembered it.
The regal feline beauty from his dream.
He stretched out his hand, calling to it.
The majestic cat walked forward, brushing its head against his palm. He smiled, peaceful. His vision began to fade.
But he could still hear the faint sound of sirens.
No one else saw what Orien saw.
The crosswalk was flooded with people and noise. Red and blue lights flashed. A paramedic van screeched to a halt. EMTs rushed forward with a stretcher and trauma kits.
One knelt beside Orien, checking his vitals.
The woman quickly explained what had happened.
Another EMT placed an oxygen mask over his face. "You're going to be okay. We've got you. Stay with us," they said gently.
They lifted Orien onto the stretcher and into the ambulance.
As the ambulance sped away, lights flashing, the street filled with angry voices—people cursing the careless driver, others pitying the boy who had just been struck.
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