David woke to warmth.
It wasn't complete like before, but it was enough. A blanket rested over him, trapping heat against his skin, while something softer supported his back. His body felt heavy, small, difficult to control.
He didn't move at first.
He just breathed.
Slow. Shallow. Unfamiliar.
When he tried to lift his arm, it responded weakly.
The movement lagged behind his intention, fingers curling without precision. He stared at them, watching how slow they were, how little control he had.
It didn't feel like his body.
He turned his head slightly.
The effort surprised him.
His vision shifted, still blurred but more stable than before. A pale ceiling stretched above him, featureless, unmoving. Light filled the room, softer now, no longer blinding.
Voices came from somewhere nearby.
"They said he's fine."
"Just tired."
He listened.
The words didn't fully register, but they grounded him. This wasn't the void. This wasn't nothing.
This was real.
The memory came back again.
The train.
The hum beneath his feet. The window against his head. The blur of lights rushing past as the Elizabeth Line cut through the tunnel.
And the headache.
He remembered that clearly.
The pressure behind his eyes. The exhaustion that didn't feel normal. Not just a long day. Something worse.
Then nothing.
His chest tightened slightly.
That had been the end.
He didn't need to see it to understand.
He looked down at his hand again.
Small. Weak. Barely responsive.
This wasn't a recovery.
This was something else.
He shifted again, testing his body. Both arms this time. The result was the same. Limited movement, no control, everything slower than it should be.
His breathing grew uneven for a moment.
Then steadied.
If that had been the end…
Then this had to be the beginning.
The thought didn't feel dramatic.
It felt simple.
He had died.
Now he was here.
A second chance.
The words formed more clearly than anything else so far.
He didn't understand how. He didn't understand why. He had lived once already. He remembered enough to know what that life had been.
Working long hours to pay off debt he earned he knew little of financial literacy. Constant fatigue from compulsory overtime.
That train ride hadn't been unusual.
That was the problem.
He had been tired for a long time.
The memory of sprinting came back suddenly.
Stronger than before.
Grass under his feet.
Sharp, fast breaths.
The feeling of pushing forward with everything he had.
That had been different.
That had meant something.
He could remember the way his body used to feel when he ran. Not perfectly, not in detail, but enough. The rhythm. The speed. The way everything else disappeared when he moved.
He hadn't felt that in years.
Somewhere along the way, it had stopped.
School ended. Life changed. Running became something he did to catch the train or the bus, not something he did just to feel the breeze as he competed.
And then it was gone.
The train. The job. The exhaustion.
That was what had replaced it.
His fingers curled slightly.
Weak. Slow.
He watched them closely.
This body couldn't run.
But it would.
That thought stayed.
He had time.
More than he had before.
More than he had used.
The difference was simple.
This time, he knew what happened if he didn't use it properly.
The memory of the train pressed in again.
The dull ache. The heaviness. The sense that everything was too much.
He didn't want that again.
He didn't want to end like that.
His breathing steadied.
If he was starting from the beginning…
Then he could choose differently.
Not later.
Not when it was convenient.
From the start.
The memory of running returned again, clearer this time.
The forward drive. The sharp contact of his feet against the ground. The way speed built step by step.
He held onto it.
That feeling hadn't been forced.
It hadn't been something he needed to think about.
It had been natural.
He wanted that again.
More than that.
He wanted to see how far it could go.
The thought settled firmly.
Not just running.
Sprint.
Fast.
The fastest.
It sounded distant, almost unrealistic given the state he was in now, but it didn't fade.
He didn't push it away.
This body was small.
Weak.
Uncoordinated.
But it wouldn't stay that way.
He had grown once before without thinking about it.
This time, he would pay attention.
Every movement.
Every change.
He shifted his hand again.
The movement was still poor.
Still delayed.
But he watched it closely.
This was where it started.
Not on a track.
Not in a race.
Here.
Understanding how his body moved.
A faint sense of focus settled in.
Direction.
He couldn't run yet.
He couldn't even move properly.
But that didn't matter.
This was the earliest point he would ever have.
If he wanted to be fast…
Then everything from here mattered.
The voices in the room continued quietly.
The hand beside him remained steady.
The world carried on as if nothing had changed.
But for him, everything had.
He closed his eyes slowly.
Not from exhaustion.
Not from confusion.
But with intent.
He didn't need to understand everything yet.
He just needed to remember one thing.
This time, he wouldn't let it go.
Not again.