A few dozen kilometres from the nearest city, deep within an undeveloped, dense forest, there was a vast patch of recently overturned soil. Clearly, a lot of things had been buried here. If one observed closely, then the true nature of this place would reveal itself, due to the shoddy work of the people responsible.
Human hands and clothes, as well as a plethora of blood were barely covered by the earth that had been shoveled upon them. It was a corpse dumping ground! There wasn't merely one of them in this part of the wilderness, but a staggering number instead–at this point, not even the criminals responsible for them would know just how many hundreds of their victims had been unceremoniously laid to rest here.
The only ones innocently profiting from this act were the local flora and fauna, who gladly welcomed these additional nutrients.
Stealthily, but with excitement shimmering in its little eyes, a weasel snuck its way closer until it reached someone's hand. It sniffed it for a while and was just about to partake in a lavish feast when, to its horror, its meal-to-be twitched. Startled by this, the animal hid behind the nearest tree, eyeing the scene with caution. Soon, the earth all around the hand began to tremble and lift, as if something massive was about to burst out of the ground, scaring the poor weasel to the point that it immediately fled the scene, never to return.
The one responsible for this disturbance was soon revealed, as a man in his mid-twenties dug his way out of what was supposed to be his grave. Coughing up copious amounts of blood and dirt, the man grimaced, reaching up to touch the back of his head, where a terrifying wound was festering. Somehow, however, it had already begun to scab over, and he seemed to be on his way to a swift recovery.
Wordlessly, the man glanced at his surroundings, then he unsteadily climbed to his feet. There was only one visible makeshift path cutting through the underbrush, undoubtedly made by those who thought that they had killed him. It was the sole track that he could follow out of here.
A normal person would have been rattled by a near-death experience that left them buried alive, but this man was anything but ordinary–in some of the worst ways possible. Mere minutes after he had started to make his way through the woods, the sky overhead turned cloudy and a thick bolt of lightning hit the tree right above him, causing a massive branch to plummet downwards, intent on crushing him. Yet, the man seemingly coincidentally stumbled over a tiny root at the same time, allowing him to roll out of the way of an accident which would have certainly ended his pitiful life for good. The branch merely scratched him, causing the man to furrow his brows, but then he stood up again and unerringly moved forward, one step at a time, an undeterred look in his eyes.
Over the next few hours, many absurd events took place. Sometimes, sudden sinkholes would appear right below where the man was standing, other times, a sudden gale would bring with it a dark-green toxic gas, killing everything in his vicinity. Beasts of the forest more monster than animal and terrifying poisonous creatures would cross his path, and yet, none of them managed to kill him. He was like an undying cockroach, desperately struggling to survive, always saved by an equally ridiculous stroke of luck.
Many people, at some point or another, get the feeling like they don't belong to the world they're living in, or even that the world itself is out to get them. Yet, there was solely ever one person who was truly burdened with such a fate.
Born to unknown parents and left at the doorstep of a hospital, the man's life had quite the melodramatic beginning, yet it only progressively got worse from here on out. The nurses in charge could never bring themselves to care about him, so they didn't bother to search for his parents and slapped the name "John Doe" on all relevant documents, too lazy to waste even a singular second on thinking about what to call him.
Little John grew up unlike anybody else. Not a single person ever cared about him–but that was already considered good, as most people outright hated him upon first laying their eyes on him, for no specific reason. They simply found him an eyesore! It wasn't that his looks were that painful on the eye–quite the opposite, in fact.
Fortunately, even for a completely neglected, hated child with nobody to rely on–like him–there was still a general welfare that ensured that he wouldn't outright drop dead, so he was allowed to grow up despite the difficulties. Yet, there was always a disturbing feeling burdening his heart, as if something was profoundly wrong about this... about everything!
Very early in life, John noticed that he was different from others. While they found it challenging to understand things, he not once encountered such a problem. He even mentally matured at an absurd pace and never forgot anything that had happened, ever since his birth. Still, as he learned more and more about the world, he grew to realize that he wasn't actually a genius–rather, his newborn mind had been forced to grow at an extreme rate due to the difficulties and dangers that he had encountered.
Often times, the moment he attempted to eat something, it would start to rapidly rot within his mouth, leaving him starving or with food poisoning. Various accidents also accompanied him along the way, whether they be man-made and aimed at him, or merely in his general vicinity. Whether it be the air that he was breathing turning poisonous completely out of nowhere, or a driver losing control of his vehicle and suddenly charging directly at him–anything could happen.
The frequency of such events, at first, was relatively low, approximately happening every few weeks, but the older that he got, the less time passed between such incidents. Coupled with the extreme lack of care, disdain or even hatred he was showered with from everyone he had ever met, John was truly miserable.
He wasn't sure if his almost unscientifically good luck was a blessing or a curse, but no matter what he encountered, he always escaped the worst of it. Maybe it was his extreme desire to survive, but his recovery ability was outright uncanny, at least compared to regular people. What would take them months to heal from would take him a day at most, and even lost limbs could regrow over the course of a dozen weeks.
Perhaps it was that strange 'blessing' of his, but nobody ever took note of this oddity. Even when it happened right in front of other people's eyes, it seemed like they couldn't really perceive it, as if he might as well be air.
Did this make him some sort of Heaven's Chosen? Absolutely not!
To be exact, it was the opposite. That disturbing feeling that had haunted him ever since his first memory was, in fact, the world itself rejecting him, conveying to him that he didn't belong here and should be on his way. In other words, it was telling him to go die already.
How was he so sure of this? Well, at first, he wasn't. He had no clue at all. But as the sensation intensified over the decades and the events that transpired grew increasingly dangerous and common, he began to feel a vast yet intangible will observing him from everywhere around him. Whether it be the people, the grass, the stones, or even the very air–everything was a part of it–except for him. His mind picked up the meaning contained within the will around him. It wasn't any particular language, but yet he understood it very clearly.
"You're not welcome here. You don't belong here. Depart immediately."
These sentences repeated inside his mind ad nauseam and unceasingly. But how could he possibly follow this command? There was only one way by which he could potentially 'depart' from this world–and that was to die.
There had been a time when he had foolishly thought that he could just leave this planet somehow, that other planets or corners of the universe might not be considered a part of 'this world'. Yet, a mere glance at the night sky made him realize how wrong he was. Every single star shimmering in the darkness, even the endless distance between them... they all contained the same intangible will that haunted him.
How did he know this? The same way in which he discovered it in the first place. It was a feeling, an instinct deeply rooted within his heart. It could easily be wrong, and he could simply be some sort of madman driven to insanity by his horrendous lot in life, yet he decidedly didn't think that this was the case. But to be fair: How many lunatics actually acknowledge that they are the crazy ones?
Over the decades, John slowly but surely grew numb to horrific events that would leave a regular person traumatized for life. He had no other choice, he simply had to adapt! Even he couldn't really say why it was that he desired to survive this much, he just knew that he didn't want to die, so he stubbornly persisted.
His most recent major unlucky break, which had left him buried alive in the wilderness, was not the first of its kind. Just like the last dozens of times that he had dug his way out of a grave, the cause behind it all was that he randomly came across something that he shouldn't have seen and had to be silenced as a result. Playing dead was quite the useful skill that he had learned, which allowed him–coupled with that ridiculous luck of his–to make it through "unscathed".
After a whole afternoon and night of stumbling his way across the forest, John finally escaped its bounds in the early morning. It didn't take him long to find the nearest road, so he picked a direction and silently walked onwards, intent to rejoin civilization. While he couldn't say that he was fond of the people, at least their knowledge and works of art, as well as fiction, could sometimes serve as worthwhile distractions from the purgatory that was his life.
Unsurprisingly, he encountered not a single car throughout the entire morning. But maybe, that was a blessing in disguise? After all, most likely, he would have only been met with another car accident if someone chose to drive in his vicinity.
Eventually, the thirst he felt became too unbearable, and despite knowing that he most likely would just end up being poisoned again, he staggered over to a small stream nearby, cleaning his hands in the entirely unblemished, perfectly fine water.
Scrutinizing it with suspicion colouring in his gaze for once, he carefully took a sip, noticing that his body quickly became numb.
'Oh, just a paralysing poison this time. Lucky!'
Overjoyed, he quickly gulped down as much of the water as he could, before lying down in the grass, helplessly losing all sensation in his limbs. He knew that something else would inevitably happen now that he was defenceless–but what else was he supposed to do? The last time that he drank anything was almost three days ago! Coupled with a lot of blood loss over that period of time, his body was well and truly beyond the limit already!
For a few minutes, John experienced something that he hadn't felt in close to a decade: Peace and tranquillity. Despite being paralysed, nothing unusual occurred, leaving him both overjoyed and flabbergasted, as a sinking feeling slowly settled in.
Suddenly, he realized that the intangible will that had constantly bombarded him with commands had fallen silent. It was still omnipresent, yet it didn't 'speak' any more.
'... it's the calm before the storm, isn't it?'
Alarmed, John tried to move, yet the paralysing effect of whatever he had ingested was far more potent than ever before, even suppressing his practically superhuman recovery speed.
Soon, he knew exactly what it was that was about to happen. Far away in the sky, an enormous passenger plane approached.
'Don't tell me...!'
His eyes widening in shock, John could only watch as the plane's engines failed. It plummeted towards the ground, its nose miraculously aimed directly at him.
After a couple more attempts to move, John eventually realized that there really was nothing that he could do. This was it. He couldn't dodge this and somewhere deep within, a part of him knew that even his luck couldn't save him from this disaster.
It took 26 years, 3 months and 19 days, but the world's blatant murder plot against him was finally about to succeed!
In between pained coughs, John couldn't help but laugh.
"Hahaha! Are you really that shameless? A plane crash? Just for me? Why, you shouldn't have!"
Moments later, amidst his laughter, the plane crushed his body to pieces.