Chapter 1: The Unluckiest Man Alive
Mark Welch had never known the warmth of a loving home. His earliest memory was of standing in the doorway of a dingy apartment, watching his mother and father walk away. He was five years old. The social worker who came to take him away kept saying something about how "they couldn't take care of him anymore," but Mark knew the truth: they had abandoned him.
For years, he bounced between foster homes, some decent, others unbearable. He learned early that if he wanted something, he had to fight for it. School was never easy—he didn't have the latest clothes, he never had lunch money, and making friends was a luxury he couldn't afford. Bullies targeted him because he was small for his age, but he refused to let them break him.
By the time he was a teenager, Mark had developed a reputation for being tough. He worked odd jobs—paper routes, washing dishes, even stocking shelves at a rundown grocery store—just to have a little money for himself. Despite everything, he persevered. He made it through high school and even managed to enroll in a community college while working full-time.
But no matter how much he tried to move forward, life always seemed determined to push him down.
Mark's latest streak of misfortune began just the day before. He had been walking past a construction site on his way home from work when a stack of bricks, precariously balanced on a ledge, suddenly tipped over. If he hadn't instinctively jumped back, they would have crushed him. The workers shouted apologies from above, but Mark was too shaken to respond.
Later that same evening, he had been chatting with his elderly neighbor, Mr. Thompson, at a crosswalk when a speeding car blew through a red light. The vehicle missed them by mere inches. The old man clutched his chest, struggling to breathe, while Mark had to physically steady himself to avoid collapsing from the shock. It was as if fate had a personal vendetta against him.
Now, as he boarded the train the next morning, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
The train was crowded as usual. Mark found a spot near the door, gripping a handrail as the vehicle began its journey through the city. He tried to brush off his paranoia—surely nothing bad would happen today.
But fate had other plans.
The train screeched suddenly, lurching forward as people stumbled and screamed. Mark turned just in time to see an out-of-control freight train barreling toward them on an intersecting track. The collision was inevitable.
Everything slowed.
A deafening crash. Metal twisting, glass shattering. A violent impact sent Mark flying through the air. Pain erupted in every part of his body, and for a moment, all he could hear was ringing. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Darkness crept into the edges of his vision.
Mark's last thought as the world faded was bitter resignation. Maybe, after all this time, fate had finally won.
Then...void.
All around was blankness, the cold eternal void. Time seemed to stop or did it.
Mark didn't know how much time had passed or it had even passed.
Then he saw a spark of light. The spark of light moved closer until it was upon him then there was warmth. A strange, muffled sound surrounded him.
His body felt small, confined. A powerful force squeezed him from all sides, forcing him forward.
Then, a gasp of air. A sharp cry—his own.
His vision was blurry, but he could vaguely make out the face of a woman, she seemed old but healthy. He felt he was being lifted and cradled by her.
He hear her she say "@$%$#$"##$" in a language he has never heard in his life but could vaguely understand what it means. It means "He's beautiful." while lifting her eyes from him she looks at his mother.
Then she slowly walks to his mother, by the time she reaches her he turns around to see her. She was beautiful, her white skin matted with sweat, her brown hair looked shatter and most of all her beautiful blue eyes.
The old lady passed him into her arms. She looked into his eyes and said "David, he will be named David just like his father".