I woke up smiling.
For a few seconds, I didn't know why. My body felt warm, weightless, wrapped in a softness I haven't felt in years. The air smelled like sunlight and rain. Someone was laughing — a gentle, distant sound that made my chest ache in a way I can't explain.
A perfect world.
A perfect moment.
A perfect lie.
Then my alarm went off.
A sharp, metallic beep tore through the dream, ripping it apart like it was never real. The warmth vanished. The laughter faded. The sunlight dimmed into a dull gray haze.
My eyes opened.
The ceiling stared back at me — the same cracked, water‑stained ceiling I've been waking up to for as long as I can remember. A single patch of peeling paint hung loose, swaying whenever the old fan rattled.
I didn't move.
I just lay there, staring upward, letting the weight of reality settle on my chest. The dream had been so vivid, so painfully beautiful, that waking up felt like falling from a cliff.
"Of course," I muttered. "Back here again."
I dragged myself out of bed. My body felt heavier than it should, like every limb was filled with sand. The floor was cold. The room was colder. I dressed without thinking — shirt, pants, shoes — the same routine, the same motions, the same emptiness.
Work waited for me.
Work always waits for me.
I stepped outside into the gray morning. The sky looked tired. So did I. The streets were quiet, but not peaceful — just empty, like everyone else had already given up and left me behind.
Another day.
Another shift.
Another cycle.
I clocked in. I worked. I clocked out. I went home. I slept. I dreamed of a world that wasn't mine. I woke up to the ceiling again.
And every time, the dream felt brighter.
And every time, reality felt darker.
And every time, I felt a little more worn down.
A little more hollow.
A little more certain that I wasn't meant for this life at all.
I didn't know it yet, but the world would soon agree.
I wasn't born to live.
I wasn't born to dream.
I was born for something else entirely.
I was born for death.
I left my apartment like I always did — half awake, half alive, fully tired. The morning air felt colder than usual, or maybe I was just getting worse at pretending it didn't bother me.
The train station was already crowded when I got there. People pushing past each other, eyes glued to their phones, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere they probably didn't want to be.
I blended right in.
I stood near the edge of the platform, hands in my pockets, staring at the tracks. The rails hummed faintly, carrying the vibration of a train still far away. I watched the tunnel, waiting for the headlights to appear.
Just another day.
Just another ride.
Just another—
Someone bumped into me.
Hard.
I stumbled forward a step and turned around. A guy — tall, irritated, clearly having a worse morning than mine — glared at me like I'd personally ruined his life.
"Watch where you're standing," he snapped.
"I didn't even move," I said, too tired to care.
He shoved me.
Not hard enough to knock me down, but hard enough to make my blood heat. People glanced over, then looked away just as quickly. No one wanted to get involved.
"Back off," I muttered.
He didn't.
He grabbed my shirt, pulling me closer. I pushed his hand away. He shoved me again. I shoved back. It wasn't a fight — not really — just two miserable people taking out their frustration on the nearest target.
But then the train's horn echoed through the station.
And he pushed me one more time.
My foot slipped.
My balance vanished.
The world tilted.
For a split second, I saw his face — not angry anymore, just shocked.
Then everything went black.
No pain.
No sound.
No time.
Just nothing.
And then—
Air rushed into my lungs like I'd been drowning. I gasped, eyes snapping open. I was lying on grass — soft, warm, impossibly bright green grass. The sky above me was a deep blue, clearer than anything I'd ever seen.
I sat up slowly.
I wasn't in the station.
I wasn't in my city.
I wasn't… anywhere I recognized.
Trees surrounded me — tall, twisting, almost glowing with color. The air smelled sweet, like flowers I didn't know the names of. Birds chirped overhead, but their calls sounded strange, almost melodic.
And then I heard footsteps.
I turned.
A person stood there.
Except… not a person.
They had fur.
Ears.
A tail.
A wolf‑like face, but human eyes — curious, cautious, intelligent.
They stared at me like I was the strange one.
"Another human?" they murmured. "That's rare."
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
Because in that moment, I realized something impossible:
I died.
And now I was somewhere else.
Somewhere I didn't belong.
Somewhere I wasn't supposed to exist.
Somewhere I was never meant to survive.