Humans cling to life with a ferocity that defies reason, driven by an innate fear of the inevitable. 

Death the final destination of every journey is an unyielding specter, always trailing behind us, indifferent to our efforts to deny or outrun it.

But I see death differently. To me, it's liberation. 

A release from this confining existence, this burdensome miracle we insist on romanticizing. 

Life is beautiful, they say, but it's also cruel, and sometimes, unbearably so.

The rhythmic clatter of train wheels echoed through the air, a metallic symphony that accompanied my thoughts. 

I sighed deeply, lifting my gaze from the glowing screen of my phone.

 A year had passed since her death, yet Natalie Fairness lingered in my mind like a ghost, her absence carving an unfillable void.

Death. I carried the weight of it like a stone in my chest, heavy and unrelenting. 

Was I mourning her, or had I simply rationalized my grief into something else anger, regret, or even an unsettling clarity?

 Maybe I had grown through the pain, realizing the futility of blindly following life's demands. 

Or maybe I was just a man slowly unraveling under the strain of loss.

I chuckled softly, my fingers tracing the edges of a well-worn page in the book I was reading. 

Natalie's book. She wasn't just a friend; she was the brightest star in my sky. 

A dreamer, a writer, a soul who poured her essence into stories so vibrant they felt alive. 

Her unfinished novel sat heavy in my hands, a reminder of her brilliance and the cruel swiftness of her departure.

She'd spoiled the ending for me on her deathbed. "It's tragic," she'd tell me.

"But beautiful. I didn't want it to end that way, but sometimes the end is the end, no matter how much you wish to continue."

I'd smiled through the ache in my chest, knowing she despised bad endings. 

And yet, she'd crafted one anyway a testament to her belief that stories, like lives, don't always conclude as we wish.

The train screeched to a halt, jolting me from my reverie. I stood, grabbing my bag and stepping onto the platform. 

The cool air greeted me as I looked around, sighing as I started toward the nearest café, hoping to distract myself with a meal.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—a spark.

A deafening bang shattered the calm, the sound reverberating in my ears. 

Screams erupted, blending into a chaotic symphony of terror. Women cried out.

Children wailed. 

Men shouted for someone to call the police. I froze, my mind racing to comprehend what was happening.

And then I felt it. A cold, wet sensation trickled down my forehead. 

Slowly, I raised my hand and caught the liquid: dark, viscous blood.

For a moment, I stared, detached from the reality sinking in. 

A sharp pain followed, piercing through my skull, forcing me to stumble.

 I turned toward the train's window, catching my reflection.

Natalie's memory flooded back. She had bought me this blue suit, insisted it would suit me perfectly. 

I'd styled my curly hair into neat braids, and for once, I'd even tended to the scars scattered across my dark skin.

 "You look dashing," she had said with a smile. 

But now, my reflection was a grim mockery of that moment.

 My bloodied face stared back at me, hollow and unrecognizable.

There was a hole in my head.

I fell to my knees and started gasping for air, why? I could breathe.

My heart started to race but why? I wasn't scared.

My vision went dark but why? I was alive.

The world swirled with colors and vibrant heat, the feeling of pressure forcing down on me and cold washing over me.

I was dead yet even with this I opened my eyes.

The world revealed itself in shades of gray and black, a dim, foggy expanse stretching endlessly in every direction.

Twisted trees clawed at the sky with gnarled branches, their silhouettes looming over stone ruins half-swallowed by the earth.

Shadows flickered at the edges of my vision, shifting with a life of their own.

The ground beneath me was littered with shards of broken metal, fragments of some forgotten past.

Each step I took seemed to disturb the silence, the crunch of debris underfoot a sharp reminder of my fragility.

I blinked a few times, the cold sinking deep into my bones.

Crawling sensations prickled my skin, the gnawing headache and terrible frost making one thing clear: I wasn't dead.

And I wasn't in my world anymore.

My eyes lifted to the sky, where two moons hovered, their dark surfaces radiating an unnatural, consuming black.

The faint light of a fading blue sky only emphasized their eerie glow.

I looked down at myself: long black boots, a leather tunic nearly worn to shreds, and at my sides, a rusty sword and a gun that seemed completely out of place.

But it wasn't the weapons that unnerved me most.

It was the book in my hands a heavy, ancient volume, its surface etched with incomprehensible symbols.

The book felt alive, pulsing faintly against my skin, as though it had a will of its own.

I flipped it open with trembling hands, only to find nothing page after page of endless void.

Then, without warning, it shrank, collapsing into a fragile, leather-bound notepad.

Was this a dream a last-minute attempt to ease my dying mind?

Fiction was someone playing a trick on me?

No an influx of dim hazy memories flew into me.

This world, this twisted realm, wasn't random.

It was hers.

Natalie. Her story was dark, filled with eldritch horrors and impossible despair... but this was different.

This wasn't fiction; it was real.

I could feel the air biting at my skin, hear the faint whispers of unseen things, and smell the death clinging to the ground.

This world was her creation, and now it was my reality.

The ground trembled a soft vibration at first, then stronger.

I turned sharply, and there it was: a skeleton, cloaked in tattered brown cloth, wielding a sword that was as rusty and broken as the one at my side.

Its hollow eye sockets glowed with an ominous black light, and its bones creaked as it moved, an unnatural sound that sent a shiver down my spine.

I took a step back, slipping the notepad into my pocket.

"You wouldn't happen to be passing through, would you?" 

The skeleton answered with a growl, its bones rattling as it raised its weapon.

Instinct screamed at me: run.

I couldn't fight it not with this body, these weapons, or this crushing fear.

The gun at my side felt useless, and the sword, heavy and chipped, seemed like a cruel joke.

So I ran.

The sound of its bones clinking together chased me through the darkness, joined by the low growls of more creatures stirring to life.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding louder than the chaos around me.

The ground beneath my feet grew uneven, forcing me to stumble as the twisted shadows seemed to close in.

Ahead, a clearing appeared like a mirage amidst the nightmare.

I pushed toward it, desperate for escape, but salvation turned to dread as another creature emerged from the shadows ahead.

This one moved faster, its skeletal frame bending unnaturally, its weapon poised to strike.

I skidded to a halt, every instinct screaming at me to act.

The gun and sword felt impossibly heavy in my hands, but hesitation would mean death.

I turned to face the first creature behind me, its glowing eyes closing the distance with deliberate malice.

Was it worth it? To fight?

No, I suppose I shouldn't waste another life, yet I did truly think about it.

Both creatures advanced, their movements methodical, their presence suffocating a pure, unrelenting aura of death.

For a brief moment, the thought of surrender tempted me. Let them end this torment, I thought.

But the fragmented memories that weren't mine refused to let me give up.

There was something I needed to do.

When the first creature lunged, I reacted.

The rusty sword in my hand felt foreign, yet my body moved with a precision born of someone else's experience.

The blade struck clean, severing its arm. It howled, stumbling back as I pivoted to the second.

Raising the gun, I fired, the shot echoing in the oppressive silence.

The bullet struck true, shattering bone and reducing it to a heap of dust and debris.

I spun back to the first, the sword cutting through the air in a desperate, fluid motion.

The blade met its mark, severing the skeleton's head cleanly.

Its body crumbled, lifeless once more, and the weight of my actions hit me as I stumbled to the ground.

Breathless, I stared into the darkness. Did I just kill? No... they were already dead.

Weren't they? The thought lingered as I pushed myself to my feet.

My body ached, my hands trembling from the weight of the sword.

I then came to one last realization, an enlightenment. I'm stranded.