'Tap-Tap.'
The keys clacked in a steady rhythm, the only sound daring to fill the silence. Outside, lightning cracked through the night, its echo crawling down my spine.
The laptop's glow painted the room in cold light—silver reflections spilling across the rain-slick glass of the balcony door. The space was barely enough for one: a narrow floor bed, a few scattered books, and a floor sitting table against the wall.
Each keystroke felt like a heartbeat in the dark, keeping the night alive.
"That should be it," I murmured. "The plot's saved, the characters are consistent—no loopholes this time."
I let out a quiet sigh and scrolled through the document one last time before leaning back. "Alright… that should be it," I repeated, clicking Send and watching the email vanish into the void.
Reaching for the cigarette on the desk, I flicked the lighter to life. The flame caught instantly, its crimson glow reflecting off my glasses for a fleeting moment before I drew in a slow breath. Smoke curled upward, soft and restless, blurring the faint light from the laptop screen.
The acrid scent filled the room, settling into the walls and my thoughts alike. I exhaled, letting the smoke fade as I sank back onto the cot behind me, the rain still whispering against the window—steady, patient, unending.
Completely exhausted, I felt my consciousness start to fade away.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, golden and gentle, casting a soft glow over the park. Laughter bubbled up, clear as crystal, as the boy ran ahead, breath catching with joy each time a butterfly flitted just out of reach. His small hand gripped his father's arm, the world secure and easy, while his mother walked beside them—her eyes bright, her smile the very image of warmth as she watched her son chase sunlight and shadows.
The afternoon was endless, green grass cool beneath their feet, and the air sweet with the scent of flowers. For a moment, nothing could disturb the perfect peace.
Then—sharp, sudden—shrieking tires split the day. A scream snapped through the laughter. Rain fell without warning, cold and relentless. Confused, the boy stood rooted as the world shifted. He turned, searching for his mother, and saw her on the ground—body twisted, limbs at wrong angles, blood pooled dark on the concrete beneath her.
Her hand reached for him, slick and trembling, the skin mottled and cold. Her eyes bulged, staring at nothing, but her lips dragged his name with a barely human voice.
The rain hammered all around, plastering his clothes to his body, yet he only felt a vacant emptiness as he gazed down at her. His eyes, once bright, now looked glassy, hollow, unmoving as a doll's. He didn't move, didn't scream, only stared as the scene blurred and faded.
When he blinked again, he was older—seventeen now, his face thin and his eyes shadowed. He stood before a closed door in a house silent as a tomb.
He pushed it open, the hinges groaning. The curtains were drawn tight, suffocating the moonlight, making the darkness inside almost solid. The air was thick, hard to breathe.
A slow creak echoed from somewhere deep in the shadows. His heart thudded, but he couldn't see the source—just the darkness pressing in, suffocating.
Lightning flashed: for a bare instant, the room blazed white, revealing a figure hovering in the air. Feet didn't touch the floor. The body swayed gently, silent and terrible. Then the dark snapped back, erasing everything.
'Beep-beep-beep'
Waking, I searched through my pocket to turn off the phone alarm.
=================================
(23:30) -[ Night shift starts. Don't be late.]
[ Snooze-5min ] [ Dismiss ]
=================================
With a small smile, I tapped [Dismiss] and tossed the cigarette—half-heartedly—toward the dustbin.
...
Water streaked down fog-slick streetlights, their pale glow bleeding into endless puddles. I lingered at the crosswalk, hood tugged low, caught in the city's drowned lullaby—the shuffle of strangers ghosting past under umbrellas, rain whispering against concrete, distant car horns hacking out bleats like drowned animal cries.
When the pedestrian signal finally changed, the familiar green stick figure flickered to life, dripping light through the gloom. Traffic lurched to a halt, and a tide of silent people began to cross. I stepped out, breath coiling white in the air.
Behind me, a scream splintered the rhythm of the rain—raw, jarring.
I spun around. A man stood on the curb, wide-eyed, voice cracking with desperate warning."It's still red! Stop!"
I frowned, irritation pricking my skin.
Ishe drunk? My eyes darted back to the signal. Green. It had always been green—wasn't it?
Sound blurred. For a sick moment, the stick figure contorted, limbs bending at impossible angles before dissolving into a swarm of strange symbols, crawling over the lights in a frantic, flickering dance—yellow, green, red—too fast to follow. They pulsed like insect eyes.
Panic iced through my veins. I stumbled back, heart hammering, as the scream of metal rose over the rain.
A car lunged from the curbside, headlights slicing a savage line through the darkness. Reflex jerked me sideways; it whipped past, so close the spray of filthy water slapped my legs.
The street shimmered beneath the heavy downpour, as if nothing had broken the night's rhythm.
Blink. Relief crashed through me, dizzy and shaky. I was still upright, still alive. Maybe my mind was fraying, reading terror into shifting shadows where there was only rain.
Then a shadow thundered overhead—a truck barreling out of the storm, massive and unyielding, dragging a merciless gravity in its wake.
This time, my body locked. There was nowhere left to move.
Smash.
'...?'
Red...
The crimson spread across my vision like spilled paint on a cracked asphalt canvas. Beautiful, in a twisted way. More vivid than anything I'd experienced in years of dull whites and grays.
"Ahhh…"
The sound slipped out—half sigh, half groan. The air was cold against my teeth, sharp enough to remind me I was still holding on to something faintly called life.
"Gurgle."
My throat betrayed me, drowning the bitter laugh that tried to claw its way out. Blood filled the spaces where words should have been, thick and warm, coating my tongue.
My whole body screamed in agony, each nerve ending a symphony of pain. I could feel every heartbeat pounding through the wound, echoing against the cold pavement. Yet somehow, through it all, I found it strangely amusing.
Is this what people mean when they talk about watching their life flash before their eyes?
How pathetic.
I chuckled inwardly—now the only place for my laughter to exist. If I could've managed a real laugh, I imagine it would have sounded broken. A soft tremor ran through me, half from pain, half from bitter amusement.
Lying on the road, I saw the clouds even in my last moments; the world was depressing. The smell of iron and gasoline thickened in the air, mixing with the faint hum of distant traffic.
How I'd lived out my dog of a miserable life.
For a brief moment, silence returned—heavy, almost peaceful. Then, after a while, the screaming began.
At first, a faint echo, then deafening.
"Hey! Stay with us!"
Pain detonated through my side. My vision melted into streaks of red and orange from the streetlights. My breath hitched, shallow and ragged, each inhale scraping like sandpaper.
Two men hovered over me, their hands slick with my blood.
"Ambulance is on the way—hold on!"
Their voices melted into static. Their faces blurred at the edges, like watercolors bleeding together.
I tried to speak, to say something, but copper filled my mouth.
"Sh…"
"What? What is it?" one of them asked politely.
"Sh… just… shut up."
The effort burned more than the wound. The world tilted. Streetlights fractured into halos. My vision dimmed like a dying bulb, flickering between awareness and oblivion.
Then—buzz.
My phone vibrated beside me. Through the blur, I dragged a blood-slick hand toward it, each movement sending a ripple of pain up my arm. The screen glowed with a name I didn't recognize.
I answered.
Maybe the boss was calling. I wonder how he would react if I said I was currently dying.
"Hello?" My voice came out as a rasp.
A man's voice, calm and almost tender, replied:
"How are you, my dear editor?"
My breath froze. We'd only spoken through email—never a call. The cold air bit at my lungs, but his words cut colder.
I tried to answer. Only a wet hiss escaped.
"No need to talk. Just listen. You will die, but later again breathe. And I've decided to place my bet on you. Don't let me down."
Click.
The line went dead. The sirens grew louder, swallowing the world whole. All I heard was ringing—and the distant wail of sirens growing closer.
What nonsense. Yet somehow, his words felt heavier than pain itself.
Because he was right about one thing—I really was dying.
And maybe, just maybe, this was what peace finally felt like.
"Oh my God—he closed his eyes!" A woman's scream cut through the night, sharp and panicked, the world receding into pitch.
I can't even die in peace.
The asphalt beneath me pulsed, faintly warm. For a fleeting second, I imagined it breathing back—a heartbeat from the earth itself, steady and slow.
Then the world dissolved into red.