The world buzzed around me.
"Dude, did you see the latest episode?!"
"Mom, I want that!"
"Hey, wait up!"
Chatter. Laughter. Footsteps.
People hurried by, lost in their routines. The tall buildings loomed overhead, neon lights spilling onto the busy street. No one stopped. No one noticed. A few curious glances, maybe—but that's all they ever were: glances.
I walked slowly out of the hospital, shoulders slumped, my mind heavier than my steps. The doctor's words still echoed. Less than three months to live.
He could've sugarcoated it. Maybe doubled the time, given me false hope. But no, that wouldn't have changed anything. For all I knew, even three months was generous.
I shrugged, as if that would make the weight of it lighter.
There was no destination, just the rhythm of my footsteps. I walked simply because I still could. Soon, even that would be taken from me. My legs would give out. Movement would be a memory. My voice would fade until I could no longer speak. And when the last breath came, I'd be nothing more than a body—silent, still, forgotten.
But not yet. For now, I walked.
After walking a few more blocks, I reached the edge of the city. Beyond the steel fence, tall grass swayed in the breeze, and sky-high trees stretched toward the darkening sky.
"I've made up my mind," I thought, my steps steady with determination.
I grabbed the cold metal bars, pulling myself up. The fence groaned under my weight, half convincing me it might give way, half surprising me that it didn't. Each movement was awkward, my muscles protesting with every climb, but I pressed on.
Finally, after a few slips and scrapes, I reached the top. Perched there, I cast one last look at the city—the glowing lights, the endless noise—and then I jumped.
The soft grass welcomed me as I landed, the plastic spikes bending harmlessly under my legs.
"Man," I groaned, dusting myself off. "Why was that so hard to climb?". Maybe I was getting old already.
I scratched my cheek and glanced toward the dark forest ahead. It was wild and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos I'd left behind. But it felt better somehow. More real.
"This is it," I muttered. "I'm staying here."
I just wanted to escape.
The city, with its noise, its lights, and the endless stream of people, felt suffocating. Everyone kept moving like nothing had changed, like life wasn't slipping through my fingers—but for me, everything had. The hospital's cold walls, the doctor's blunt words, the countdown hanging over my head... it was too much.
Out here, in the forest, there's no ticking clock. No pitying stares. Just the wind whispering through the trees and the soft rustle of grass beneath my feet. For the first time in a long while, I can breathe.
I don't want to spend my last days in a world that won't even notice when I'm gone. I want to be here, in the quiet, where no one expects anything from me. Where I can live on my own terms, even if it's only for a little while.
Out here, there's no past. No future. Just now. And that's enough.
I started walking deeper into the forest, the crisp air cooling my skin. I'd survive out here. I'd hunt rabbits or mice… maybe even bears! No, probably not bears. But if there were any, I'd hunt one, eat it, and wear its fur like some wild legend.
A small laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "Ha… yeah, right."
Still, it felt good to imagine.
"Alright then," I said, stretching my arms. "Time to get organized. Let's make this place home."
"The bed goes here," I said, pointing at a mossy log that looked soft enough to pass as furniture. "The couch… here." I gestured toward a wider log nearby, its surface rough but sturdy. "And the dining table…" I scanned the area until my eyes landed on a smaller, stiffer log. It wasn't much, but it had the perfect qualifications to be my makeshift table.
Satisfied with my choices, I gathered a pile of dry leaves and spread them beside the "bed." With a sigh, I stretched out on the crunchy bedding, letting myself sink into the forest floor.
For a moment, there was silence—just the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the wind—until:
"Achoo!" I sneezed, rubbing my nose with a groan. "Damn… it's colder out here than I thought."
I glanced over at the so-called dining table, the log sitting there. A few more seconds passed in stillness, the cold gnawing at my skin.
Then, suddenly, I grinned.
"Alright," I announced, sitting up. "Time to hunt a bear!"
I scanned my surroundings, searching for something—anything—that could pass as a spear. Not just any spear, though. No, this would be the spear, the legendary weapon that would one day be revered as the mighty Beast Killer. The sole companion of the Slayer of a Hundred Bears—who, of course, would be me.
My eyes settled on a thin tree, its branches strangely long and spiked, standing out among the hundreds, if not thousands, of trees around me. I grinned wide, baring my teeth like a predator who'd found his prey. The tree didn't stand a chance.
I reached for a particular branch on the left—longer and straighter than the others, perfect for my purpose. Gripping it tightly, I pulled with all my strength. The tree resisted, creaking and bending as if it were locked in a fierce battle. For a moment, it seemed like I might lose.
But after a struggle that felt worthy of legend, the branch finally gave way with a loud snap, bending free from its stubborn hold. Victorious, I held it high, panting from the effort.
The Beast Killer had been born!!
I took the spear—Beast Killer—and swung it with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned spearman. Or at least, that's what I told myself. In reality, I was spinning it awkwardly, clumsily imitating scenes from a movie I barely remembered. Unlike the hero on screen, I had to use both hands. There was no way I could pull it off with one.
After a few moments of ridiculous, childish spear moves, I stopped and glanced at the forest stretching before me. This was my battlefield. The place where my legend would soon begin. Or so I hoped.
I started walking, my eyes scanning every shadow, every rustle, searching for something to hunt. I peered into every corner, listening for any sign of life. But nothing. No animals, no easy prey. Well… not entirely true. There were moments when the trees shivered with movement, quick and fleeting. But whatever it was, it moved too fast to be seen. I told myself they were just shadows—my shadows.
Minutes passed. Then hours. How long had I been wandering? Time felt slippery, ungraspable. All I wanted was something slow, something clumsy, something I could actually catch. Instead, I walked through the dark with a broken branch in hand and my shirt tied around my head like some wannabe barbarian.
What was I even doing? If someone saw me like this, they'd either die of shock or run screaming, "Mommy!" into the night.
A bitter chuckle escaped me. "Dying from a dead man…?"
The words hung in the air, and I couldn't help but laugh again, soft and hollow. "Ha… ha…" The smile on my face wasn't a happy one. It was the kind of smile you wear when you've accepted the joke life has become.
I turned around, ready to go back. Back to the world I thought I'd left behind. But just as I did, something caught my eye—a dark silhouette, standing still in the distance.The silhouette was barely more than a smudge against the darkness, its edges blurred and shifting, like smoke trying to take shape but never quite solidifying.
I took refuge behind a tree, pressing my back against the rough bark, my breath ragged and shallow. The cool, damp scent of the forest clung to the air, but it did little to calm the wild pounding of my heart. I could feel the grit of dirt on my palms, the sting of small cuts from my frantic escape, but none of it mattered.
I peeked around the tree, every muscle tense. The shadow was still there, gliding in the air like a phantom, silent and unstoppable. My throat tightened as cold dread settled in my chest. The tree felt like a flimsy shield against something so otherworldly.
I couldn't make out its appearance, but it looked like it was searching—searching for something… or someone. Then, its attention locked onto me. Even from behind the tree, I could feel it. And before I could react, it hovered toward me with startling speed, silent and relentless.
Instinct took over. I turned and ran, sprinting as fast as my body could manage, heart hammering in my chest. Desperate, I hurled the branch in my hand at the silhouette. But it passed right through, like throwing a stone into smoke.
"A ghost!" I screamed, my voice raw, panic driving me faster than I thought possible.
My breath burned, my legs ached, but I kept running, clutching onto my life as if it might slip through my fingers. Then, disaster struck. My foot caught on a thick, gnarled root, and I crashed to the ground, slamming face-first into the dirt. Pain exploded in my leg, and my nose throbbed as warm blood trickled down my face.
I rolled over just in time to see the silhouette approaching, silent but sure, hovering closer, closer still. I grabbed a fistful of dirt and leaves and hurled it at the thing, desperate to fend it off. It vanished into the dark mass, only to reappear on the other side, untouched.
Then it lunged.
It surged into me—through my nose, my ears, my mouth—filling me with an icy, suffocating force. A wave of nausea hit me, sharp and relentless, as if something inside was trying to tear me apart, piece by piece. My body ached in ways I didn't know it could, like every cell was being drained of life.
"No," I gasped, the word barely a whisper. My mind blurred, teetering on the edge of oblivion. What's happening to me? Why me?
I didn't want to die. Not like this. Not now.
I don't want to die.
"I want to live!" I choked out, tears burning my eyes. "Please… anyone… give me another chance… don't… d-don't…"
My consciousness slipped, like sinking into an ocean of cold darkness. Memories flashed before me in fragments—school, work, the doctor's sterile room—each one ringing like a distant echo. Then, there was nothing. Absolute, crushing nothing.
It was the kind of nothingness that stretched on forever, an eternity without time or feeling.
Until suddenly—light.
My eyes flew open, and a voice greeted me, sweet yet unnervingly bright.
"Oh… what a delight! Master has awakened."
I blinked, disoriented. My eyes focused on the figure in front of me—a small girl, no more than a child. She had dark, flowing hair tipped in deep-sea blue, and her sharp, bright blue eyes shimmered like gemstones. But what caught my breath were the wings—soft, sleek feathers that shimmered faintly in the light.
"Where… where am I?" I rasped, my voice weak. "Who are you?"
The girl's smile widened, gentle yet strange, as she raised her hands toward me.
"Yes, yes, I'll tell you everything," she said, her tone almost playful. "But first…" She leaned in closer, her smile softening, eyes gleaming.
"Good morning, Lord Meisen,-Wish of Death."