The boy with black hair and an unremarkable face, no older than fifteen, slowly climbed out of bed. His name was Felix.
"Another normal day…" he muttered under his breath.
He dragged himself to the sink, splashed cold water onto his face, and washed his hands as if following a routine he had long since memorized. Afterward, he prepared a simple meal for himself and ate in silence.
As he finished, his gaze drifted toward a photograph resting nearby. His hand paused. He picked it up and stared at it for a long moment, his expression growing heavy.
"I wish I had been there instead of them that day," he whispered, his voice trembling with quiet regret.
With a sigh, he placed the photograph back where it belonged, changed his clothes, and left for school. The morning air was cool, yet his thoughts were far away, trapped in the memory of that photograph. He walked on, unaware of the world around him.
Then—
Beep. Beep.
The sound came too late.
The truck rushed toward him, and in the next instant, everything went dark. As life slipped away, Felix felt no fear, no regret. Only a single thought lingered in his fading consciousness:
Maybe this is for the best…