Chapter One, Titled: A Miserable Life
"I never wanna see your face again," said Jane Anderson, Henry Adams' now erratic and controlling ex-girlfriend, who just happened to strike him across the face. The two had been together for almost three years, but anyone paying attention could see there was a big mishap in the relationship and Henry wasn't enjoying it at all. Jane's actions constantly made Henry question whether he was unlucky and needed to try and end things with her and look for someone better. Yet, he always doubted if such a person could exist for someone like him.
The two lovers had met on a snowy night, standing at the edge of Cold Harbor Bridge—one of the largest and possibly, most dangerous bridges in Cold Harbor City where the thick scent of incense usually lingered, a haunting reminder that many people had lost their lives there and the strange fragrant sticks were used as part of their burial ceremony. From the looks of things, the two were inches away from ending up like the unfortunate ones, being moments away from becoming part of the tragic history weighed down by the struggles they faced in their separate lives. Adam had recently lost his mother, the only family he had left to cater for. Jane faced an even darker burden—returning home every day to an abusive husband.
Their initial plan was to put an end to the suffering they faced by leaving this world but Henry never wanted to die, he was just tired, and dying wasn't going to give him rest from what he was facing.
As before, Adam usually dreamed of having another partner in his life, but the thought always felt impossible for him. His frustration led his mind down darker paths which was a surprise to him. *Why didn't I let her just fall off the bridge?* Those haunting words replayed in his mind multiple times.
Being in a relationship like this was likely destroying him, piece by piece. The bridge wasn't the only dark thought in his mind when he entertained about ending Jane's life. Each time, he imagined he'd meet the same fate, ending his own life in the same way. After all, what else did he have? His life was already hollow as it was, filled with only pain and suffering in a world that seemed determined to break him. Adam had already lost his father when he turned eighteen, a milestone that marked a new chapter in his teenage years. Now, at just twenty, he had lost his mother too, leaving him completely alone in the world.
Jane stormed off, leaving Henry, completely immobile, standing there silent and miserable with his head bowed to the ground through out the entire confrontation. As her form slowly dissappeared into the crowd of pedestrians going about their daily lives in Cold Harbor City, the sky grew darker. Soon, the rain began to fall, first as light droplets and then as a relentless downpour. People around him hurried to find shelter, seeking refuge from the rain, but Henry remained rooted to the spot, as though the storm was the least of his problems.
Minutes passed, and anyone who walked by with an umbrella over their head likely assumed Henry was suffering from some mental incapability, watching him stand motionless as if frozen in time. The rain showed no sign of stopping sooner, drenching him completely from head to toe. He stood there, lost in his thoughts, until the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket snapped him back to reality. Shaking himself free from his trance, he took a step forward and began walking, trudging through the relentless downpour.
In situations as difficult as this one, the only thing a young man like Henry Adam has are three options in order to shape his future. The first was to return home after a long day of hearing bunch of words fly out of a woman who only drained him and do absolutely nothing, resigning himself to a life of insignificance, just like his parents, who passed away with nothing to their names. The second was to start over—hit the gym, because to society, looks did matter not the mind and heart, and maybe build a stable life that might offer a glimmer of hope for the future. Working hard was the only way.
The third, however, was fsr darker: it was to commit murder. To kill, either as a way to ease his pain or to end it altogether.
But how could a man like Henry find the peace to weigh these choices when he was staring down the cold barrel of a 9mm pistol, pointed directly at his left eye?
"What the hell..?" Henry muttered, his voice barely audible as his eyes darted toward the gun's owner.
Standing right before him, was a figure dressed entirely in black, every inch of their skin concealed, with the 9mm pistol aimed steadily at him. Henry froze, his body refusing to move as his mind raced.
Just moments ago, he thought he had been standing on a busy street, drenched from head to toe. But now, somehow, he found himself in a deserted alleyway, the world around him, being eerily quiet. Could it be that the trauma he endured from an early age had finally broken him, leaving him detached from what was known as reality?
No, it didn't seem that way at all.
But not of it really mattered anyway because now, it felt like death itself was staring him in the face.
"Wh… who the hell are you?" Henry muttered, his voice trembling but loud enough for the mysterious man to hear and process.
The man stood silent for what seemed to be about a second long before answering. "Asking my identity is irrelevant," he said, his tone cold and detached. "All you need to know is that death awaits you."
The young man's heart pounded as the man clocked the firearm, the sound being so ominous it was enough to send shivers down his spine. In that very instant, the world seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity. Henry's mind raced, and in that moment of impending doom, he made his final choice.
He would kill to end the pain, but not like this—not as a forgotten man. He wanted more. He wanted a family, love, and someone who would mourn him when he was gone.
No.
He didn't want to die. He wanted to live.
As these thoughts swirled chaotically in his mind, Henry made a split-second decision. Before the masked man could pull the trigger, Henry tilted his head sharply to the right. The bullet whizzed past, grazing his cheek and leaving a burning sting, but he was alive.
In that moment, Henry acted on pure instinct. He struck the gunman's hand, knocking the aim askew, and seized the opportunity to run. Pain tore through his body as a shot rang out, the bullet embedding itself in his shoulder.
"Agh!" he cried, clutching the wound. But he didn't stop. Adrenaline pushed him forward, his only focus on escaping.
The gunman fired again, but this time a dull click echoed—the weapon was empty. Relief surged through Henry as he gained a small chance to flee. But that hope was short-lived. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his body betraying him. By the time he tried to scramble away, the gunman had reloaded, firing a round into his foot.
Pain exploded in his leg, rendering him immobile. Lying on the ground, soaked in rain and blood, Henry's thoughts spiraled. Why him? He wasn't a bad person. His life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't miserable either. He owed no debts, had no enemies—or so he thought. So why was someone trying to take his life?
As the gunman advanced, more thoughts flooded his mind, each one amplifying the agony he felt. He tried to get up, to fight, but another shot struck his right leg, pinning him to the ground.
Henry groaned, squirming as tears streamed down his face. He wanted a simple life—happiness, work, rest, maybe even a fitness routine to better himself. But those dreams were out of reach now. His body was failing, his strength draining away with every drop of blood.
He thought of his mother, of all the trouble he had caused her. Maybe death would allow him to apologize, to find peace in another realm.
The gunman stood over him now, the barrel of the gun aimed directly at Henry's left eye. Time seemed to slow as Henry accepted whatever worst fate awaited him.
Bang!
The deafening shot marked the end. The day of Henry Adams' death had come. Perhaps it was for the best—a painful death to escape a tormented life. Maybe his sins would be forgiven in the afterlife.
But was it truly over, yet?
As darkness enveloped him, a distant light pierced through it. The rhythmic click of high heels belonging to a woman approached, followed by the faint image of someone or something crouching beside him. The world around him blurred, and Henry's vision faded completely as his body got warmer by this individual's presence.