I walked toward my room, my thoughts churning.
Is this really the right choice? Was hitting him the best way to teach him? Did I just make a mistake?
Am I... not enough anymore? Am I no longer a complete person?
This must have been the right thing to do… right?
The questions kept flowing through my mind, drowning out everything else. I sat on the edge of my bed, torn. Should I go talk to him? But I didn't. I just sat there in silence for a while.
Eventually, I changed my clothes, picked up my keys, and left the room. As I walked past Mark's door, I paused. My hand twitched toward the knob… but I moved on. Downstairs, Nana ran up to me, tail wagging and more excited than usual. I smiled for the first time in a while, rubbing her head gently with both hands.
"Who wants new toys, huh?" I said softly.
She woofed back.
"Is that a thank-you or a 'why'? Still haven't figured you out," I chuckled.
I headed outside, stepped into the car, and started the engine. My head was aching — maybe from work, maybe from not sleeping properly. I didn't know. I just kept driving toward the pet shop. It was a little late, but still open.
I stopped at a red light and waited.
It turned green.
I pressed on the gas.
The car began moving, then—suddenly—it stalled in the middle of the street.
I sighed, frustrated, and reached for the ignition—then—
BEEEEEP.
A blaring horn snapped my head to the left.
A truck. A massive one. Speeding toward me.
I scrambled to unbuckle my seatbelt, but it jammed.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't do anything.
I only whispered, "Please…"
And then the truck hit.
The impact was deafening.
The world flipped.
Once.
Twice.
Then stillness.
Black.
---
And then... I opened my eyes.
I stood upright. Somehow.
I looked down.
The car was upside down.
Smoke billowed out from under the hood.
Wait… how am I standing?
I looked at myself. I was completely unharmed. Not a single scratch.
I stepped forward, confused. The truck driver had gotten out — a frail-looking older man — and he was rushing toward me.
"I'm fine," I called out. "Don't worry. I'm okay."
He ran right through me.
I froze.
"What the hell?" I said.
No response.
"Can you hear me?" I yelled louder, waving my arms.
Nothing.
Maybe he's deaf. Or maybe my voice is too low?
He pulled out his phone, his hands trembling.
I stepped closer. I could hear him clearly now.
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" a voice on the phone said.
"P-please," the man stammered. "51st Street, right beside the Global Bank. A car crash. Someone's inside. I—I think he's dying."
I blinked.
"No, no, I'm fine!" I shouted. "I'm standing right here!"
But he didn't respond.
That's when I saw it.
Blood.
Dripping.
From the car.
"No, no, no…" the man muttered. "Come on, where are they…?"
I knelt down, peering into the wreckage — and my chest collapsed in on itself.
I was still in the car.
My body.
Crushed. Mangled. Covered in blood. Bones bent at unnatural angles.
I staggered back.
What… is this?
Am I dead?
Why can I see myself?
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even think.
Then—sirens.
Wee-woo, wee-woo—a fire truck and ambulance rushed up from the right.
I stood frozen.
Rescue workers flooded the scene, pulling out gear, shouting to each other. Even the truck driver joined them, frantically helping. They worked together, lifting the car inch by inch, until finally—
They pulled me out.
I stared in horror.
My face — twisted in pain.
My skin — pale, blood-soaked.
My body — barely recognizable.
I was watching my own death unfold in front of me, and I couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't cry.
All I could do was whisper:
"…What's happening to me?"