Chapter Text
You don’t even flinch when the car doesn’t stop for you, death glaring at you through the cold, white glow of the headlights. You didn’t even notice the beep of the car horn or the desperate and annoyed shouts of the (presumably) drunk driver.
Though, it shouldn’t really surprise you– you had your half-broken earplugs in, blasted on full volume as you lip synced the lyrics.
What’s more, is that it was pitch black out, rain pouring down making the song you were listening to seem ten times more enjoyable. It sucks that you have to die right now, but at least you’ll die with dramatic background music, you guessed. You were slowly on your way back to your house after another evening spent at the library. It can’t be helped, you thought with acceptance. You were just unlucky.
And when the car finally hit you, all you could do was accept the agonising feeling of the wheels skidding over your body. It was painful, but it only lasted a few moments before your lungs started to struggle to take in air.
Unsurprisingly, you don't register the muffled sounds of people screaming and shouting, or the car that ran you over crashing into a wall, over the horrible, horrible ringing in your ears. The sound was agonisingly loud– or agonisingly quiet, you couldn’t really tell the difference when your brain neurons began shutting down to prepare for your body’s inevitable end.
But even as the throbbing ache in your abdomen worsened, and the blood clogging up your throat made you choke weakly, you still accepted it.
Now that you think of it, you don’t think you even mind the cold embrace of your demise. It was warmer than what this life had ever given you.
You knew you were unlucky, when you began to understand dialogue. As you grew older all you ever heard your parents talk about was how much of a mistake you were being born in the first place was. They bottled up their feelings from one another, and had no other output than you. It wasn’t your fault they were seriously in need of a divorce. It wasn’t your fault that when your father looked at you he saw your mother’s face, or when your mother looked at you she saw your father’s eyes.
Why couldn't they just look at you and see you? Why couldn't they just sort out their own problems instead of dumping the stress of their highly unstable relationship on their own child?
You knew you were unlucky when the kids at school taunted you for the bruises on your skin, for how much you suffered, lunches ending up spent in the school bathrooms.
It was like straight out of a corny, cliche movie where the main character is an unpopular loser. You wanted the Hollywood ending of that kind of movie so badly, to be the stereotypical trope of the loser who would finally get the chance to start over by the end of it.
But this was real.
This was your life whether you liked it or not. There was nothing that could save you, other than the fleeting surge of dopamine you felt alone in the comfort of a local library. The only salvation that could have helped you were the other adults in your life noticing you. But it was so unreliable.
Because even the teachers had no gall to speak up about how you came to school, bandaged up. They didn't point out that their students all taunted the pitiful looking girl at the back of the class. All they gave you were sympathetic glances (as if pity could save you) or frowns that told you “she shouldn't be here”. If just one person tried to help you, you're sure that it would help, even just a little bit. But no one did. No one even tried to spare you enough concern to actually help you.
You supposed it was your own fault; never asking for help in the first place. You always thought salvation would come to you first. But you knew it was useless to dwell on it. You knew you would still have to accept it in the end anyway. Because it was always like this. Unluckiness seemed to love spending its time tormenting you for the sin of simply living. You were only a toy in the games of fortune, and you know all you can do is comply because, after all, not everyone should live with the luxury of luck. Your life was no exception.
And, fuck– even despite your horribly unfair life– you had so much more you wanted to see, to do– that you’re desperately making attempts to steady your laboured breathing, forcing oxygen to fill your lungs in long inhales and exhales.
You didn’t want to die.
You wanted to move out of that dreaded house as soon as you could, and find a small house, and live comfortably. Hell, maybe even pay for a Scrunchieroll subscription instead of pirating anime off sketchy websites while you were at it.
You hoped that you could get a job as a teacher, and to know you’d be good at it. So you could save a child who was struggling and do something about it.
You wish you were a little bit more social, instead of avoiding all extra human interaction by isolating yourself in mangas and binging anime on local library computers. You wish you could've mustered up a little bit of confidence to talk to someone, make a friend who would’ve helped you, because you just know there was some good in everyone.
The bystanders watching you getting made fun of were no exception– maybe they were scared they would get made fun of next? And the people who joined the bullying– were they peer-pressured into doing so? You wouldn’t blame them either. You just couldn’t, because of this belief in your head. That everyone had good in their heart, and needed just one opportunity, one push, for that good to bloom.
Or maybe you watched too much anime. You’ll never know anyway; you can feel your heartbeat slowing now, and you can tell the ambulance lights are getting close– yet still too far to reach you in time– despite the fact that you can barely see from your blurry vision.
Ah, shit. What a totally stupid way to die. Barely a few feet away from an ambulance, you think with the coping mechanism of using humour as a response to the feeling of panic for your impending doom. At least those useless animes taught you one thing.
And now, barely six-teen years old and blood painting the road a dark, murky red, your very last wish was just as pathetic as your life.
…why couldn’t this fuckass universe… give me one chance… to be lucky…
Ba-dum, ba-bum, ba-dum.
The sound of a heartbeat was all you heard when you woke up. Your eyes were still closed (you were much too tired to open them yet), and your first thoughts were ones of pure confusion. For a moment, you thought you were saved from your demise. However, you scrapped that idea before it planted the seed of hope in your brain. There was no way you could’ve dodged something like getting run over by a fucking car.
On that note, you remember you only felt pain and agony as you writhed on the ground like a beetle on its back, but now you just felt… everything. You felt warm, and cold, and fresh, and worn, and there was this strange feeling in your chest that felt electrifying. It was a sparky sensation that travelled like lightning through your own being.
Deciding to forcefully open your more-than-usual droopy eyes, the only thing you saw was the same blindingly bright white glow you saw when you had died. But this time it felt strangely warmer. Like… life was gazing straight at your bare soul.
You wondered where you were. Was it the ceiling of a hospital you were looking at? You could kind of make out the gaps between the tiles on the ceiling. If so, why weren’t you feeling any pain? Why did you feel so… small… and fragile? It felt so inherently wrong, but it felt so… good.
Maybe this was the afterlife? Is that why everything seems so blurry and bright? No, that was definitely a ceiling. Unless they had ceilings in heaven or hell– wherever the holy fuck you were.
Even if this was the afterlife, you barely had the nerve to complain about the warmth you were feeling around your body. It truly felt like a reward compared to the last moments of your life, from when you were in agony and bleeding out on the ground. You closed your eyes and basked yourself in the comforting light. You felt like you were laying on soft, plush clouds. It felt peaceful. If you knew you would feel like this every time you died, you swear you would've made sure you got run over earlier. You could really get used to this.
“... oh my god. Honey, come here right now.” It’s a female voice, and you can sense from the vibrations you feel against your skin that she’s… close. Way too close. “J-just look! She’s.. she’s smiling!!!”
… um.
“What the…?” a male voice exclaims in shock. “... she’s barely a few hours old, and she’s smiling! This is… this is incredible! She looks so cute! Oh, hold on, let me take a picture…”
Voices? Well, you guessed this was the afterlife, so there was a chance you’d either be completely alone, or surrounded by other spirits. But why couldn’t you see anyone? And how come you were only hearing two?
”Bahahaha!! She looks so confused– I need another photo!” the masculine voice giggled. Agh– what the hell– a white light flashed in your face. The masculine voice squeaked in surprise. “Um… whoops. I left the flash on, wait–”
You were so confused. Who the hell were these spirits talking about? You decided you would ask them about it. You prepared your voice to be used for this task and opened your mouth.
But… nothing came out. It was so frustrating, you tried to form a proper sentence and talk, but all you heard yourself do was let out a quiet mewl. Your throat felt rough, like it had been scraped raw with sandpaper.
What the fuck…
You tried moving your arms and legs next. But you simply couldn’t. You felt like you had pins and needles affecting your whole body, paralysing you, but at the same time, it didn't hurt. It was a soft kind of numbness. One that forced you to keep still and rest, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it at least a little bit.
But even that didn't ease you from the fact that you couldn't move, or that you felt like you just chewed rocks until they were powdered bits of grain.
Why did the afterlife have to hurt so much? Why was the simple action of opening your eyes blinding you? What the hell– are you crying right now? You can barely hear, but you can still feel the tremors of your lungs trying to work (you are not in the afterlife you quickly realise– this was painful), and shaking your body from the sheer amount of wailing you were doing.
Why were you even crying? You weren’t that sad. As much as it hurt, it kind of felt good though– your lungs feel like gunk is getting vacuumed out of it. But still, if you weren’t dead, then where the hell were you?
As you began spiralling even more, a dark silhouette came into your blurry vision, contrasting against the glowing brightness. A large face became clearer as it leaned down over you. It gazed at you with what you presumed were its eyes (your vision was crappier than you expected) and it felt so warm when they got close, that you couldn’t help but stop crying to fully savor the warmth of… whatever was in front of you. You squeezed your eyes shut.
Then out of the blue, you felt a warm sensation on your forehead, followed by the sound of a loud ‘smooooch!’
… what in the hell…?
You opened your eyes again. The blurry silhouette was still there, but out of focus and when you squinted the face only came closer. You shrieked, but it came out more as a high pitched babble.
“Shhh, that’s it. Ah, look! She stopped crying! Gosh, she’s just so cute, I just wanna eat her up!” the feminine voice cooed, her face becoming clearer.
She had soft features, a weary smile gracing her lips but her eyes were bright with joy. She was carrying you in her arms, and you felt safely cocooned in her hold.
Wait a second…
… oh my shit.
You finally came up with a definite conclusion; you were a baby. And your parents are the ones giggling and squealing like high school girls when you smile again. You smile because you know now that you actually have another chance. Another chance to be luckier.
Your dying wish was granted. You could be happy this time. And you were so, so grateful for it.