The air blowing in through my window is freezing. It seems it will snow later today. I stood up to close the windows of my dingy, stale room.
Yet again, my mind snapped to the day my mum died. I remember it was also freezing that day, I was just four, and woke up hungry to find my mother only to see her figure lying on the floor of our kitchen, dead and frozen.
I remember the tiles were matted with her dried blood, and the walls were splattered with blood. The police closed the case as a random robbery; to date, I have never gotten that image from my mind.
After all, that incident marked the beginning of torment and abuse. My distant uncle and his family, with whom I was fostered, showed and told me how useless and unlucky I was in various cruel ways.
'You are a cursed fatherless child who killed her mother!" My uncle would say, and when he was drunk, he would batter me out with slaps and kicks, especially when he lost huge amounts of money at the gambling tables.
Life was miserable for us all; we were always in the red, and his two sons made me the butt of their pranks with the blessing of their mother.
Escaping when I became eighteen was my stab at freedom, but it's been lonely and tough all alone in this city of Mondrovia.
My friend Ellie wants us to hang out this evening; she's been my only friend since I started working at Start Accounting Firm.
I have always been good with numbers, which has helped me grow my career in the past 5 years. After bustling as a waitress to help myself through the local community college.
It's been a while since Ellie and I spoke; I haven't been able to reach her all this time. Seeing her message to meet at the Bullison Bar this evening is like a ray of light in my crowding darkness.
The night came with flurries of snow, and my gloomy mood lifted. "I think I am drunk," I hear myself tell Ellie.
She murmured, "That's for the best."
I asked, "What do you mean?"
Ellie replies, "Oh, it's nothing, let's leave quickly or we will miss the last train.
Follow me, I know a shortcut". My drunken self-replied, "Shortcut? I'm not sure that's safe. I think we still have enough time." My voice slurred to the ears.
Ellie replied, "Don't worry, I have used it before, it's safe. Trust me."
The alley Ellie suggested was darker than I liked, but before I could question it, figures stepped out of the shadows. My mind spanned. What's happening? A robbery. A setup, no, a sacrifice.
Ellie's voice was sharp, brittle, too loud in the night. "I'm sorry, Lena. I didn't have a choice."
I never felt the first blow. Only the wet warmth spreading through my shirt, the taste of iron on my tongue, the sight of Ellie turning her face away.
My knees buckled and I fell. The floor was cold and slick beneath my cheek. Above, neon lights blurred into a mix of color, fading with every one of my slowing heartbeat.
"So, this is it", I thought. I get to finally see my mother and end this whirling torment. There is no one to mourn me. No friend to hold my hand. Just silence at the end, the same silence that has always defined my life.
But silence never came.
A light bloomed in the darkness--not neon, not earthly. It pulsed like a heartbeat, vast and infinite, reaching toward me.
The pain receded, replaced by warmth that wrapped around me like an embrace forgotten; something missed but never known. A voice, not male or female but something beyond, whispered in my mind:
"Do you wish to live again, Elena Cruz? Do you wish to rise?"
My lips trembled. Blood bubbled in my throat. Rise? Why?
"Because your story was stolen. Because you have not yet learned what it means to live free."
I wanted to mock and laugh, but only tears slid down my cheek. I don't know how to live.
"Then learn. Fight. Love. Take your second chance."
The light surged. Pain vanished. The cold street disappeared. I didn't just heal. I rose.
The man left to deal with my body screamed when I moved; he looked shocked to see me rise.
My limbs felt like they had been rewired by fire, my senses sharp enough to hear every breath he took, every fear clawing at him from within.
I smiled. "Pathetic," I stated, letting his own thoughts fill me. I had no mercy in me. Not for him. And then he moved, lunging. I reacted before I could think.
My fist connected with bone, the sound of it snapping louder than his scream. I felt the shock travel up my arm, felt the thrill of raw, undeniable power. I caught him as he fell, my mind reaching into the chaos of his thoughts.
You thought it would be easy. You thought you could break me. He tried to move again. He couldn't. Not after my hand found its home in the center of his chest.
I stepped back, breathing, tasting the metallic tang of blood on my lips. Not mine. Mine was like pure fire, a strange electricity coursing through veins, a reminder that death had not won.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying in bed, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air as though surfacing from deep water. But something was different.
My body thrummed with a strange but familiar awareness of raw strength. My mind buzzed, filled with whispers that were not mine.
A fresh awareness forced me to my feet, clutching the bedpost--only to snap the wood clean in my hand. "What?" I screamed.
Then voices in my head grew louder, spilling words I couldn't make sense of. Clapping my palms over my ears, it didn't stop; rather, the thoughts kept coming. "I think I am going crazy."
Then my mind flashed back to the night before; I died yesterday. The realization sank me to my knees, trembling. I died. I am certain.
And yet… I returned. No broken bones or pain, not weak or weary as before – but, but as something reborn.