Afterlife : AD

𝟶𝟷 | 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝. 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎.

“𝙼𝚘𝚖... 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎,” 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔, 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍. 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

𝙽𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙𝚜. 𝙽𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢.

𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜. 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚓𝚊𝚛.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍. 𝚃𝚠𝚘. 𝚃𝚎𝚗.

𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑. 𝙰 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝, 𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑.

“𝙼𝚘𝚖,” 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗’𝚜 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚖. “𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚘𝚝.”

𝙰 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍.

‘𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗‘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛.’

𝙰 𝚐𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚠 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚕, 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕.

𝙽𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

My hands trembled as I rested them on the typewriter. I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I didn’t know I was holding. The last line still burned at the back of my head.

No one is born a monster. But one must die to become one.

Aries’ words echoed through me, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was writing her pain or reliving my own.

The typewriter’s clatter had faded, leaving only the low hum of the lamp on my desk. I leaned back, rubbing the ache from my eyes.

My gaze drifted to the watch on my table. Calling it a watch was generous. The dented case barely held the dial together, and the strap had long been lost. Still, the hands ticked faithfully. They pointed to three in the morning. I should’ve been asleep hours ago. I had to be up by seven for school, but here I was, chained to words that refused to let me rest.

Frustration welled up in my chest. I pushed the lever down on the typewriter, killed the lamp, and let the room sink into darkness. The mattress on the floor waited for me, thin and uneven, but I dropped onto it all the same.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide in the dark. The line echoed again, stubborn as breath. I shut my eyes hard, willing the words away, ignoring their weight. Sleep. Just sleep.

...

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚣𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚖 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛. 𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚠𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢, 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕. 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚜.

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚠𝚕.

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚠𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑.

𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔.

𝙻𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜.

I turned the cup of instant noodles in my hand, searching for the expiry date. I’d just gotten home from school and decided to cook myself some lunch before heading to my construction work.

While waiting for the electric cooker to warm up, I hastily wrote the scene that kept replaying in my mind while listening to my grammar teacher earlier.

I chuckled wryly. Was the book affecting me... or was I just writing myself onto its pages?

I turned my attention to the little cooker as the boiling water rattled its lid. I grinned and poured the water over my cup noodles, the steam hitting my face and fogging my glasses.

I slurped the noodles, the hot broth burning my tongue just enough to make me wince. The sound of my own eating seemed loud in my barren room.

Then, almost impossibly, the slurp twisted into something else. A sharp, slicing sound—like a whip cracking. It echoed in my mind. I froze, the plastic fork hovering above the cup.

For a moment, the room disappeared. The pale buzz of the light faded, replaced by the memory of wood pressing against skin, the cold that had crept through my veins, and the voice that had pleaded in the dark.

I shook my head, blinking, and the sound was gone. The noodles still steamed in their little cup, mundane and warm.

...

𝙰𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜′ 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚊, 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢.

𝚃𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚍. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚌𝚊𝚝! 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞‘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚎?”

𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚔 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜′ 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗—𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝.

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚣𝚎, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚎, 𝚑𝚞𝚑? 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍... 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗!”

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎... 𝙸 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗. 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐. 𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍.”

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎.

𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜′ 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙. 𝙰 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛.

‘𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝! 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐! 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎.’

𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚊, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙰𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗—𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎.

𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜‘𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛. 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝, 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚑 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖.

𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚌𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚢, 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

My hands gripped the shovel, each strike against the gravel sending sharp splinters of sound into the air.

The rhythm—detached yet familiar—echoed in my chest as sweat stung my eyes.

I paused and drew a deep breath. Just another hour and I’d be done. Then I’d move on to washing dishes at the diner near my apartment. I should be home by 9 PM.

“Dean! Hey, can you help me with these sacks?” A hand tapped my shoulder.

“Of course,” I answered with a smile, turning toward my colleague.

I propped the shovel against the wall and walked over to the stack of sacks. Hoisting one onto my shoulder, I carried it a short distance and dropped it into the wheelbarrow.

Back then, I could hardly lift them—each weighed at least 25 kilos. Now I carried them on my shoulder with ease, sometimes even stacking three or four. In the past, I would drag them along with a rag underneath, hoping and praying it wouldn’t tear. If it did, they’d dock my pay.

...

𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜.𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚞𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚎‘𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗‘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚛𝚑𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍.

‘𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗‘𝚝 𝚖𝚎,’ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝.

‘𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐,’ 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍.

𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚕𝚢—𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚘𝚋.

I took off the rubber gloves after checking the time on the clock hanging on the wall. It was half past 8. It should be time for me to clock out.

“Good work as usual, Dean! I really wish you’d stay and do full-time with us,” my manager chuckled as I stretched my weary arms.

“As much as I would like to, I do have to continue studying. It’s the only shot I have to get out of this kind of life,” I explained with a slight smile.

I couldn’t hide the ambition that I have — not with these people who cared about me.

My manager just chuckled and nodded as he headed towards the front of the restaurant. I then unwrapped the plastic apron before heading out towards the back door.

“Good night, everyone!” I waved at them and enjoyed their miserable complaints.

The door rattled loudly as I exhaled a tired breath.