It was quarter past nine on a chilly morning. Businessmen, backpackers, and bored workers. They all had somewhere to be. Somewhere to belong. Rew leaned against the stone wall of the train station, ruefully staring into nothingness, the acrid smell of the cigarette between his fingers wafting into his nose as he twiddled with it.
He stared at it for a second before chuckling to himself in disbelief. What was he doing with his life? Where was the sweet boy who stared older kids smoking with disgust?
That boy was gone. Smoking was disgusting. But at least the buzz it gave him quieted the storm in his head, even if it was just for a moment. It was the only way to ease the pain. He was drowning, and this was the only way he could breathe.
"If you're that depressed, talk to someone."
He suddenly remembered a quote he had seen online. Talk to who? His hand brushed his phone. No messages. Not one. Maybe they were busy? 'Or maybe they just didn't care.' She used to text him a lot didn't she? I mean, she WAS his best friend. She was the only one who actually went out of her way to care for him. But then she went with the "wasn't ready for a relationship"—two years in. She said she'd "let you know when I'm ready." Pfft, yeah right.
She probably just didn't care about him, and he didn't want to go out of his way to annoy her. 'He was a worthless, useless piece of garbage anyway. He didn't deserve his friends, and his life woul-' Rew stopped abruptly. The thoughts were coming back quicker.
His hand faltered on his phone in his pocket again. He should probably at least try to talk to someone.
Oh. That's right... the person who said the quote killed himself all the same. 'Calling someone wouldn't help. And he didn't want to put a burden on his friends. He was already lucky enough that someone as worthless as h-.' "SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP!" Rew screamed in his mind as he collapsed against the wall. He wanted to be in peace. He wanted to be happy. He wanted it all to stop. The voice, the pain, the emptiness. But they persisted. Though maybe the voice was right. Maybe he should end it. Maybe he'd be better off dead.
Rew picked himself up as he paced down the footpath. His eyes stared hollowly into the distance as he trudged past the pedestrian crossing. He was only 19 but he had never felt so lost in his life before. The pain in his chest wasn't a stranger, it'd been with him since he was 14, but it was getting unbearable over the years. Was it because of loneliness? Or something else. Either way, that feeling in his chest persisted. He was exhausted. Maybe he should've just stayed in his cramped apartment after all. Lie in bed until he needed to get out.
Rew kept walking, though didn't know where he was going. The world around him seem to bend and blur. The city sounds merged into a monotous hum. He didn't really know what he was going to do. But his feet just kept dragging him forwards.
He wanted to do nothing more but to break down and started crying. But he kept walking.
It's okay! You're a man. Suck it up. Get it together! You got this!
He wanted to scream. His eyes were stinging. He desperately held back the tears.
Without realizing, a ringing sound began bouncing around in his head. But at least it seemed to drown out the thoughts. Only, the ringing got louder and louder. He turned to see a car barreling toward him. He had time to move.
Should he move though? He didn't mind dying. But he wasn't sure he wanted to die either. Maybe he'd just wait and see what happens.
If I die, I die. It is what it is.
He closed his eyes, ready to embrace the cold, hard metal.
'Sorry, Mum. Dad. My friends. Her. I'm not strong enough to keep going.'
...
...
...
Rew opened his eyes, dazed and confused. He blinked several times, trying to figure out where he was, of what just happened. His chest felt lighter, but the dull ache still lingered. But... this, wasn't where he was supposed to be? Shouldn't he just be... nothing? Like he had hoped?
Glacing up, the sky looked impossibly blue, the kind of blue he'd only seen in manhwa and anime. The trees surrounding him were lush and green, and the air was fresh as if it had just rained, there was an earthy scent of moss and fresh grass that filled his lungs.
There was something cool, hard, metallic in his hand. He glanced down. A... sword? It was in pretty bad shape, though. Web-like cracks stretched across it, as rust crawled out from them as if holding the sword together. It looked like it would shatter on the first strike, but somehow it stayed together. Just like him. The leather on the handle had long since rotted, leaving behind tattered strips.
He ran his hand over it absentmindedly.
I-is this the afterlife? Heaven? Hell?
No, no. He didn't feel dead. Not in the way he thought he would. The weight in his chest was still there like a small rock pressed against him, suffocatingly, but it wasn't unbearable. At least not right now.
Staring at the sword, he pondered to himself.
Should he? Do it again? If it was the afterlife it wouldn't matter... right? But, the weight in his chest didn't seem so dull anymore. Maybe staying for a bit wouldn't hurt. See what this place was. Yeah. That was a good plan.
Rew tightened his grip around the sword. Maybe he'd wander for a bit. Find a town, city, or a road. Or something.