I wake up every day with the same empty feeling. The alarm rings, the sun rises, and the world moves forward—without me.
I drag myself to work, where my boss barely acknowledges my presence. His eyes scan my reports, and with a sigh of disappointment, he tosses them aside. "Redo it," he says. Always the same words. Always the same rejection.
I eat lunch alone. The restaurant is crowded, yet I remain invisible. People talk, laugh, share stories. I sit with my food, silent. Even my shadow feels like a stranger.
Life repeats itself. A loop of nothingness.
Then, that day happened.
I was walking home, lost in my thoughts, when I tripped. My knees hit the pavement, pain shooting through me. Before I could get up, I heard it.
Laughter.
A shopkeeper, standing behind the counter, laughing at me. His face twisted with amusement, mocking my existence.
Something inside me cracked.
I don't remember deciding to do it. My hands moved on their own. A flash of metal, a sharp gasp, warm blood staining my fingers.
For the first time in years, I felt something real.
Silence. No more laughter. No more judgment.
Just me and him, his lifeless eyes staring back at me.
And I smiled.