"Hmm, so this is the end?"
Joren murmured, placing his hand on the bloody wound. The blood was flowing from his ribs; it hurt.
However, he had an expressionless face.
Even though it hurt. He found no reason to cry for help or thrash on the floor. People were watching him, but none of them seemed to mind him and kept using their phones.
Who would, though?
The first thing people did was to take out their phones and post the videos on Nitube, till then nobody thought about calling an ambulance.
Inwardly, Joren sighed. A hopeless sigh.
'A dog's death, I presume.'
He was stabbed by a beggar, whom Joren had given a few pennies a few minutes ago.
'Well, a dog death is far better than death with torturing hope of the being saved.'
His eyes took a glimpse at every face he could find near him.
Even at the brink of death, there was only one question on Joren's mind.
'What was the point of life?'
He wasn't sure, but he did hope that his miserable life would come to an end. He wanted to kill himself, but he never had the courage to place a knife at his throat.
He could hear the sound of his heartbeat receding and could feel the pain of the wound burning. Alas, what really was killing him were the disgusted stares of the people.
He tried recalling the good moments of his life… there weren't any. Parents died too early, leaving money behind, and it was taken by his relatives.
A typical situation of the contemporary world: everybody cares about money and nothing else.
another sigh…
Even at age twenty, he hadn't found a permanent job.
'That's one thing I wouldn't have to worry about now.'
That did relieve him. Why wouldn't he be? The first intellectual thought that comes to mind after you grow up is 'How will I earn money?'.
"You stupid people! Don't you see that person is dying?" A voice shouted.
A man came squirming out of the crowd and scurried towards him. Joren had never seen the man. He had silky grey hair, light-white eyes, and a heart-shaped face. A little whisker on his face.
"Stay with me, son; we will get you to the hospital."
The man was anxiously gazing at the wound; he was worried. He swiveled his head and cursed the people who remained heedless.
"Shame on them, Look at me, son. You will be alright; I have called the ambulance."
For the first time, Joren felt something within him stir. A forgotten warmth that he never received.
'Son…' Joren thought, 'That feels strange.'
However, it was already too late.
Joren's eyes were closing; he was losing his consciousness. At the very last minute, he thought.
'If I was a stronger human, maybe no one would have looked down upon him.'
It was only a dream; never in his life was he a stout person. It was a natural problem that he faced, weak and gaunt. As the darkness devoured his vision and mind, the thought never surged afterward.
He was declared dead.
That's what people thought, but Joren was alive, not technically.
He could feel his own body. Although he felt lightweight. He dreamed he was floating in the ceaseless void of darkness with nothing existing but him.
He felt no pain or any sensation.
Feeling alive, he opened his eyes.
'So, it wasn't a dream," he said in his mind.
Maybe it really wasn't. Everything was pitch-black. He wasn't sure why he was there.
He didn't panic, nor did he want to escape this place. What he wanted was to float in space without thinking about anything.
It was peaceful, with no sound and no human to be cautious of. There was no knife to stab him, nor was there anything else.
But in the end, he was still a human. Not entirely.
And humans' most profound emotion is curiosity. And that was what Joren had.
As he floated and pondered about the darkness and his situation. He came to a lot of conclusions. Sometimes considering himself dead, sometimes inside a black hole, sometimes calling it the dark hell or heavens.
He noticed a small light shimmering not-so-far from him. It was coming in his direction. At first he thought it was a star, or maybe he was seeing the start of a new universe.
But all those exciting thoughts were useless.
It turns out it was only a damn sword.
'What the heck is a sword doing here?' he wondered. Grabbing its hilt.
It was a beautiful, white sword that was glowing. A lion was carved on its pommel, and it had a rigid, jagged blade. Joren had never held a sword in his life except for seeing a few in the movies.
Rubbing his temples, he gave it a thoughtful look.
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
He ruminated. Planning how he will spend his time with the sword and in the void.
He thrust it forth, and abruptly he sensed a strange feeling enveloping his body. Not sure if what he felt was only his mind going crazy or if it was real.
He kept thrusting it, swinging it, and slashing it.
Not only had he kept playing with the sword, but from time to time he would float there and keep doing something else. Thinking about his old life, which had become harder after he had grown up.
He remembers he had a friend; he's not sure what his name was, but he was a good friend, albeit he took his own life after being unable to live the harsh life with constant bullying.
'What if I had helped him that day?' Joren thought.
He could have helped him; there was a way to save him, but… he didn't find any reason to. Death is peaceful, and life was chaos.
The only way to make life peaceful is by becoming stronger than the problems, whether it's mentally or physically.
Regardless, he failed in both aspects.
He thought of dying. Perhaps, death would end his pain. However, he never had the guts to do it. It wasn't because he was scared; it was because he was curious.
He wanted to give his life a shot. He was curious.
What if… he did try something else? Would it succeed?
Somewhere deep down, in the bowel of his heart. He knew there was no way he would succeed. Even then, the curiosity ignited his desire to try one last time. And yet, the unlucky guy remained unlucky.
He sighed again.
Now he wasn't in lamentation. He could thrust, slash, and swing the sword hard. He wasn't hungry nor thirsty. What remained with him in the darkness was him, his emotions, his mind, and this one sword.