Mark had just gotten off work and was heading home, following the same familiar routine he always took. The city was alive with the usual hum of distant traffic, the glow of streetlights painting long shadows on the pavement. It was supposed to be just another ordinary evening.
Then he saw it.
A man wielding a knife, his eyes wild with aggression, running toward a defenseless woman. The people around them stood frozen in fear, watching the man trying to kill the woman.
Mark had no idea why he moved, but before he could even think, his body reacted. The rush of adrenaline drowned out every rational thought as he lunged at the attacker. Blow after blow, he fought, his fists moving with desperate urgency.
But in a split second of distraction, pain tore through his abdomen. The cold steel of the knife sank deep, and for a moment, the world blurred.
Mark staggered but didn't fall. Gritting his teeth, he kept fighting. He didn't stop until the attacker was on the ground—unconscious. Only then did the weight of his wound pull him down.
As he collapsed, the world around him felt distant, muffled. His body grew colder, the pain slowly giving way to numbness. Lying there, he knew this was the end. And yet, there was no fear. No regrets.
His entire life had been a void—an existence without purpose. His father, a soldier, had died a hero, martyred while defending the border. His mother had left this world the moment he entered it. He had no siblings, no family, nothing to tether him to life. He had been nothing more than a wandering shadow, a ghost among the living.
But tonight, for the first time, he had done something that mattered.
As his vision darkened, a bitter smile formed on his lips.
"I hope I get another chance," he muttered, barely a whisper.
The words were empty, spoken with no expectation.
But fate had been listening.
And it had other plans for him.