Thomas Morrison's breath grew shallow; each intake of air was a rasping reminder of how little time remained. The dim bulb above flickered faintly, mirroring the unsteady rhythm of his heart. His frail body felt impossibly heavy, sinking deeper into the thin mattress that had supported him for years. Yet, amidst the suffocating haze of his final moments, a strange clarity began to emerge, cutting through the fog of regret.
He lay motionless, his thoughts a chaotic storm. But beneath the turmoil, something faint and fragile stirred—a whisper of hope, a yearning that defied the weight of his failures and the inevitability of death.
His mind wandered, imagining the life he might have lived. He saw himself as a young man, full of ambition and energy, standing at the threshold of endless possibilities. He pictured the university he had never attended, bustling with students filled with laughter and purpose. In another version of his life, he was a graduate holding a degree, his mother's face glowing with pride.
He thought of the business he had recklessly launched, born from desperation rather than vision. It could have succeeded, he realized, if only he had approached it with patience and care instead of haste and arrogance. He envisioned himself working tirelessly, making thoughtful decisions, and building something enduring. The dream felt so real he could almost feel its weight in his hands.
Then came the memories of gambling, casting a shadow over his thoughts. He had squandered money he didn't have, chasing the hollow thrill of the dice. He saw himself in those smoke-filled rooms, desperation in his eyes as he placed bet after bet. It was never about the money, he understood now. It was about filling the emptiness inside, the void left by lost dreams and broken relationships.
And then, there were the women. He had spent so much time pursuing fleeting pleasures, indulging in meaningless affairs, while ignoring the deeper connections in his life. He remembered the nights with strangers, the hollow mornings that followed, and the quiet shame that wrapped around him like a shroud.
But most of all, it was his family that haunted him. His mother's face, her soft eyes filled with disappointment, loomed large in his thoughts. She had always believed in him, even when he couldn't believe in himself. And his siblings—those who had tried to reach him, to pull him back from the brink—he had pushed them away, too proud and stubborn to listen.
Now, on the brink of eternity, Thomas saw it all with painful clarity: every missed opportunity, every poor decision, every bridge burned—a relentless parade of what-could-have-beens.
His chest heaved as he fought for air, but his mind surged with a desperate wish. He wanted to fix it, to go back and make things right. If only he could turn back time, he would do it all differently. He would go to university, work harder, take risks for the right reasons, and cherish the people who mattered most.
Tears streamed down his face, hot and relentless. "Just one more chance," he whispered, his voice barely audible. It was a plea, a prayer to anyone—or anything—who might be listening. "Please… let me fix it. Let me try again."
The room grew quieter, the faint hum of the city outside fading into an eerie stillness. The light above flickered once, then twice, before steadying. For a moment, Thomas felt weightless, as though the burdens of his regrets had been lifted, if only slightly.
His vision blurred, the edges of the room dissolving into a hazy glow. The pain in his chest was gone now, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of calm. He wasn't afraid anymore. The thought of death, which had loomed over him like a dark shadow, no longer frightened him. What scared him was the idea of leaving the world without doing better, without proving he could be more than his mistakes.
As his breathing slowed, Thomas closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his lids, he saw a light—not harsh like the fluorescents of a hospital or the dim bulb of his apartment. It was warm, radiant, and full of promise.
His final thought, as the flicker of hope consumed him, was not of fear or despair, but determination.
"If there's anything after this," he thought, "anything at all… I'll make it right. I'll seize every opportunity, no matter how small. I won't waste a single moment."
And with that resolve, Thomas Morrison exhaled his last breath. The room fell silent, but somewhere, in the vast expanse of existence, a new journey was beginning.