Chapter Three

The darkness swallows me whole, deeper and deeper, until there’s nothing left but silence. It feels like I’m floating, weightless, in an endless void. The air is thick, suffocating, yet somehow, I breathe. Time ceases to exist here—minutes, hours, days? I can’t tell. There’s no difference. There’s no sound. No light. No sensation. Just... nothing.

Maybe this is what death truly is—emptiness. A quiet place where thoughts fade into oblivion, and everything ceases to matter. I can’t say I expected anything more, and nothing less.

I drift through the blackness, waiting for the inevitable. But then… a flicker. Faint at first, like a spark in the distance, almost invisible against the endless dark. Slowly, it grows brighter, pulsing, beckoning. I’m drawn to it, helpless as it pulls me closer.

The brightness came to a halt right in my face, I couldn’t help but reach out, wanting to feel more of the bright light. After what felt like years in the void, it was very welcome. There was a switch and somehow, I find myself watching my life, right from where I was a tiny baby to adulthood till when I died and even after that, over and over again.

I lost count of how many times I saw this until the void begins to ripple around me, like water disturbed by an unseen force. My limbs feel heavy now, weighed down by something I can’t name. I try to resist, but the light surges forward, fast and all-consuming, engulfing me in a blinding flash.

It’s warm. So warm, it seeps into my bones, chasing away the cold emptiness that once surrounded me. For the first time, I feel something other than nothing. My senses flare to life—colours bloom behind my eyes, like streaks of sunlight piercing through clouds. The silence shatters, replaced by a distant hum, a vibration that pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat.

I’m not sure if I’m awake or still trapped in the afterlife. The boundaries between reality and dream are dissolving, and for a moment, I’m everywhere and nowhere at once. The light wraps around me like a blanket, cradling me, comforting me, pulling me out of the abyss.

Then, without warning, I’m falling, tumbling through the light, spiralling toward something unknown. The warmth doesn’t let go, but the sensation of freefall leaves me breathless, unsure if I’m floating or sinking. It feels like an eternity, yet it’s over in a second.

But when I open my eyes, I am... here?

My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, I’m sure I’m still lying in that pool of blood, the pain of the gunshot tearing through my body. I gasp, clutching my side, feeling the phantom ache of a wound that isn’t there. But I’m not in that dingy room. I’m not dying.

I’m in my room. My old room.

Disoriented, I blink, my mind struggling to catch up. The familiar pale blue walls greet me, the posters of old movies I loved as a teenager hang neatly in their places, untouched by time. The worn-out rug my mother insisted on keeping despite its frayed edges is still there. The same bedspread, soft pink with delicate white embroidery, lies beneath me, as if the years haven’t passed at all.

How am I here?

I sit up slowly, my hands shaking as I touch the bed, the sensation so real it makes my head spin. My body feels lighter, unscarred, as though the horror of the last few days has been nothing more than a terrible dream. But I know it hasn’t been. The images of Lisa, her cruel smile, the gunshot—it’s all so fresh, so vivid in my mind.

I stumble to my feet, my legs unsteady, and take a few faltering steps around the room. Everything is not exactly as I remember it. My bookshelf, lined with the novels I devoured growing up, is untouched. The framed picture of me and my family at a park—one of the few happy days—still sits on my nightstand.

My family.