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This is the story of how you died.
It starts as any story would. You were born, had loving parents, went to school. You were bullied, as were most children, but came into your adult life relatively unscathed. You graduated high school, attempted college, gave up, and ended up as a receptionist for some law office.
You'd thought you were in love in junior high, and again in high school, and again when you were twenty. None of it was real, as you'd found out through trial and error. So, so much error.
But you'd been able to move up from receptionist to office administrator. It felt like a slightly better position, perhaps a little more of a glorified assistant than before. You at least held some respect, and that was what mattered in a life like this.
Just…everything was wearing on you. Why? You didn't know.
Your parents were alive and healthy. Your job was going well and you were getting paid a decent amount. You hadn't had much luck with dating, but you hadn't really put yourself out there in a while.
So, why was it that you wanted to end it all?
In high school, you'd felt little nagging feelings like this. You'd not felt pretty enough, or smart enough, or cool enough, and what better way to fix those problems than to kill yourself? Well, you'd never been successful.
You were so desperate to feel something , to not be so incredibly numb to everything around you. Masking was becoming more and more difficult, your smile not even close to reaching your eyes on most days. So that's why you were re-navigating the world of self-harm as an adult. That's why you'd taken a razor to your thigh and watched blood drip from you.
But all that did was make you cry. Pain was never your thing, and pain wasn't making the numbness any better. You still felt nothing emotionally, but now with the fresh sting of a slit on your leg. You slapped a bandaid on that and tossed the razor.
Your next idea was alcohol. Never had you been a big drinker, maybe a little when you were still underage. The taste of hard liquor was repulsive, and drinking the good cocktails was expensive. You got your first hangover as an adult in your mid twenties while trying to form an addiction, and that was the end of drinking. If you never saw tequila again, it would be too soon.
Every day continued to drone on. You missed a few days of work, and had been scolded accordingly. You figured it was fair, but the irrational anger that came from your boss on your second missed day had you questioning things. After all of these years, they were threatening to fire you for missing two days of work?
The office felt off when you had returned. Some people were more cheery than they usually were. Some people were colder than they showed on a regular day. Your boss had a shorter temper than normal, and you had never seen him so anxious before today. He had been running around as if he were a chicken with his head cut off, all because some new client was coming in. Some guy named Dick Roman. You'd seen him on the news, but you still didn't get the big deal.
Maybe you could get into hard drugs. You'd never tried anything like that before, but cocaine or opiates made other people feel good…right? You weren't exactly sure on how to get your hands on something like that, but you were willing to give it a try.
You missed another day of work.
The pit inside of you had just opened so much further, threatening to swallow you whole. What was the real you any more? You didn't know. Did an iota of your old self even exist at this point? All you felt like was a black hole of nothing, of despair, of darkness that you couldn't describe.
So when you went into work and were called into your boss's office again, you just went ahead and assumed the worst. You'd be getting fired. You'd have to face that reality, and maybe that would be the final push you needed to end it all.
You could walk into traffic. Or, this building had ten floors, maybe you could go up to the roof. You didn't think you could shoot yourself, or slit your wrist properly. Train tracks weren't far from here…
But as your boss practically unhinged his jaw and bared an inordinate amount of sharp teeth, you suddenly felt full of life. Springing up from the chair, he almost had a grasp of you as you made it out the door. Yelling and screaming for help got you nothing but blank, and sometimes amused, stares. How did none of this affect them?
The elevator dinged. Just as it opened, you stumbled. Someone grasped the back of your shirt, lifting you up to your feet. You squeezed your eyes shut as your boss was about to, quite literally, rip into you.
There was yelling. Two large men had come through the elevator, immediately distracting your boss. He dropped you, and you crumpled. Watching in horror, you saw your coworkers surround the newcomers, and then you watched the newcomers chopping off their heads.
You could throw up.
You could throw up, but now felt like a bad time. Black goo splatter the floor and the walls. One of the men, the taller one, was pouring some kind of cleaning chemical down your boss's throat, and wow , was it having an effect. The shorter one came to you, practically dragging you up and to the stairwell. The other one caught up quickly.
They both moved you down, and you thanked the lord above that you only worked on the third floor. With everything that was happening, you didn't think you could make it much further than that. Outside, the tall one with flippy hair held you up while the other opened the door to a sleek, black car. They ushered you into the backseat before taking off.
No one spoke.
There was no explanation, no introduction. Your heart was thumping wildly, and you thought for a moment that you might pass out. It wasn't until finally, finally …
“What the fuck just happened?!” You practically screeched, looking out the back window, even though you were at least a block away by now.
“I'm not sure you'll believe us.” The one driving flicked his eyes to meet yours in the rearview mirror.
“Try me.” Right now, you'd believe almost anything.
That was how you learned about the world of the supernatural. Well, you knew about it, but not about how it was apparently fucking real. And very biblical. Leviathans? Your office had been taken over by Leviathans? And these men, these Winchester brothers, had just happened to come by to check out a lead.
So maybe…after everything…
You'd not felt anything like this in years. The black numb monster that consumed your every thought had been cast out in a matter of maybe thirty minutes. The fear of losing your job didn't exist, the need to end your pathetic existence didn't occur to you. How could it? You'd almost been eaten by a monster.
A monster that was real, and tangible, and right there . And you had been saved by hunters , by people saving people. What was to stop you? What was a better sign of a new path in life? Maybe this is what you needed to keep going. Purpose.
Maybe this was the story of how you
lived
.