The alarm blared again, sending a sharp spike of pain and discomfort through my mind. I groaned, squinting against the harsh sound, probably coming from an alarm clock, before blinking in quick sucessions, bringing my eyes to focus on my surroundings. My hand shot up to cover my ears, but there was no escaping the high-pitched noise.
I opened my eyes, but what greeted me wasn't the familiar sight of my bedroom, or the last place I remembered before everything went black. Instead, I was staring at the sterile white walls of a room that felt… cold and distant. A bit too cold. There was no warmth to the space, like someone had intentionally stripped it of character or comfort. The bed beneath me felt stiff and uncomfortable, as if it were made for someone who had no intention of staying long. A quick glance around confirmed my suspicion.
The room was sparse. It didn't look like a home—at least, not one I would choose for a home. The furniture was minimal: a small, plain nightstand, a chair by the window, and the bed I had just woken up in. The blinds were half drawn, casting soft light across the room. But the air felt off, as if it wasn't meant to be a place of rest.
'Where… where am I?'
I pushed the covers off and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet touching the cool wooden floor. My head swam for a moment, but I forced myself to stand. The dizziness subsided, leaving me with an unsettling feeling of disorientation. I walked over to the window, drawn to the idea of seeing something—anything—that could help me make sense of this situation.
The window felt too modern, too perfectly placed. The blinds were the kind you'd find in an office, not a home. My fingers grasped the edge of the blinds, pulling them up slowly, careful not to make a sound. When I saw what lay beyond, my stomach tightened in confusion.
The street outside was perfectly ordinary—too ordinary, in fact. The houses across the road looked new, their architecture clean and symmetrical, each one practically identical to the other. Cars rolled down the street, their engines humming in a monotonous rhythm, though there were differences in the sound they made. I could hear the muffled voices of pedestrians talking in the distance, the occasional bark of a dog breaking through the stillness of the air.
This wasn't where I expected to end up after… well, after everything. After dying, even. The scene outside looked like any modern suburban neighborhood, nothing like the fantasy worlds I'd read about in those novels. No floating castles, no magical creatures, no signs of a grand adventure to come. It was… just a street. A boring, regular street. Yes, that was all there was to it.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Something had gone wrong, or perhaps this was part of some strange afterlife I hadn't bargained for.
I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. Maybe I was dreaming, or maybe I was in some sort of purgatory. It didn't make sense. I should've been in a fantasy world, right? Like all those reincarnation stories. That's what I'd hoped for—an adventure, a second chance, a life where I could live better and not just like my previous boring and repetitive life like I was like a programmed robot that was tasked to do that which has been askde from it. But what if that wasn't going to happen? What if I wasn't in control of any of this?
I turned away from the window and looked around the room again. It wasn't like I had any better ideas of what to do, but staying here wasn't going to help me figure out what had happened. There were no answers within these four walls.
With a sigh, I grabbed the chair next to the window, pulling it out with a screech that echoed through the empty room. Sitting down, I leaned forward, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
But then something caught my eye.
The small, rectangular device on the nightstand next to the bed. A phone. Or, at least, it looked like one. It was just like the ones back in my old life. It was sleek, with a smooth black surface that seemed to glow faintly under the harsh light of the room. I hesitated for a moment, then reached over to pick it up.
It was warm to the touch, like it had been used recently. I pressed the power button, and the screen flickered to life. The display was different from anything I'd seen, or to be more precise, anything that was mine. It looked rather bland for a phone.
My fingers hovered over the screen, unsure what to do with it. The only thing that seemed familiar was the clock at the top of the screen. It was reading 9:45 AM, the date was listed as "February 3, 2025."
2025? That wasn't possible. I'd died years ago. At least, that's what I thought. The voice in my head—the one that had told me I was being transported to a new world—had spoken of a new world called "Eonar." Was that this place? Was this "Eonar"? It didn't look like it. I thought I was going to a new world like those fantasy but this didn't look that different from my old life.
It took me a second to digest my thoughts. Was this a joke? Or had my death—my weird, bizarre death—led me to some sort of simulation? Was this all part of the process?
I pushed the phone aside, standing up quickly. The last thing I needed was to waste time trying to figure out what happened to me from this piece of technology. I needed answers.
I walked to the door, my footsteps soft against the floor, and gripped the handle. I paused for a moment before opening it. What if I was wrong? What if I was walking into something dangerous?
There was no way to know without seeing for myself. I turned the knob, pushing the door open.
Beyond the door was a small hallway, dimly lit by ceiling lights. The walls were painted in a soft beige colour, nothing too harsh, but again, it lacked any personality. No artwork, no decorations, just empty space. The floor creaked under my feet as I moved forward, my hand brushing the smooth, cold surface of the walls.
At the end of the hallway, there was another door, but this one led outside. I could already hear the sounds of the street from beyond it—cars honking, voices chatting.
I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the porch. The cool air hit me like a wave, a mixture of fresh breeze and the faint scent of asphalt. The street was just as I'd seen from the window—modern, clean, and orderly. People were walking by, seemingly lost in their own little worlds, oblivious to me as I stood there, trying to make sense of everything.
I glanced around. The houses were all identical, standing in neat rows. There were no towering spires, no glowing magic in the air. It looked like a place someone would live—a normal place.
I took a step forward.
What had happened to me? What was this place? I had no answers, but I couldn't just stand here forever. I had to keep moving, to search for something that might help me understand why I was here.
I walked down the porch steps, onto the sidewalk, and started down the street. My footsteps were quiet against the pavement, and the world around me felt distant, like I wasn't truly part of it. I didn't belong here—yet.
I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but maybe, just maybe, if I kept moving, I'd find something that made sense. Maybe I'd find the answers I needed.