Chapter 2: Death
It was a dark and stormy evening.
The rain poured down in thick sheets, drumming loudly on the roof and windows. The wind howled through the trees, creating an eerie symphony of rustling leaves.
However, even with the ominous weather, people were crowding the streets, going about their business as usual.
Among them, there stood a young man dressed in a long, black coat that billowed in the wind. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and his eyes were fixed steadfastly ahead. Black strands of messy hair framed his pale face, the raindrops dripping off his angular jawline.
He seemed completely unfazed by the weather or rather was exhausted, so exhausted that he could barely register the storm raging around him. Black circles were etched beneath his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights and a burdened mind.
"Do you need an umbrella, sir?"
A young lady standing nearby tugged his cloak, however, all it took was one glance from the young man to make her pause mid-sentence.
His eyes...
They were dead and filled with a haunting emptiness. It was the eyes of a man who had nothing left to lose and nothing more to give, devoid of any emotion.
"No, thank you."
His low and dull voice barely carried over the roar of the thunder and rain.
Before the young lady could utter another word, he turned and continued walking, crossing the crosswalk with a slow stride.
He could've kept going, but a sudden sound caused him to halt in his tracks. It was the noise of vehicular tires screeching against wet asphalt. The man turned towards the source of the sound and saw a car losing control, hurtling towards the sidewalk, where the young lady stood frozen in fear.
Without even thinking, the man sprinted towards her, his coat flapping behind him like the wings of a bat.
Thud...
Extending his arms, he managed to push the young lady out of harm's way just in time. As he did so, the car crashed into him with a bone-shattering impact. His body was flung across the road, crashing onto the wet pavement.
As he hit the ground, he understood that this was his end.
The man's golden eyes stared up at the dark and stormy sky, his expression that of complete calmness. He was in pain, a lot of pain but his face remained serene.
Some blurry figures started to gather around him, however, their voices sounded distant and muffled as if they were underwater.
They were the last sounds he heard before everything faded into the darkness.
The man knew he was dying, however, he wasn't sad or afraid.
There was nothing left for him in this world, no purpose, no meaning. This was probably the reason he didn't even think before sacrificing himself for the young lady.
'At least I saved someone kind...'
The man thought, before even his mind drifted away into oblivion.
This was his death, the death of a 27 year-old Ash Brightstone.
***
...
The sound of something rustling echoed in a dark room.
It wasn't the harsh wind of the storm anymore, but the gentle sigh of a worn curtain stirred by a faint breeze.
A young man lay sprawled on a bed, the worn sheets unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. Unlike the cold, unforgiving pavement, this surface cradled him with a softness that coaxed him deeper into sleep.
Suddenly, an involuntary tremor ripped through him. His body jerked, muscles spasming as if jolted awake by an electric shock. His golden eyes, dull and lifeless just moments ago, snapped open with a gasp.
They darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar yet strangely familiar surroundings. Panic clawed at his throat as the memories of the crash, the bone-shattering impact, and the chilling embrace of darkness flooded back.
"How am I alive?"
He croaked, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper. His hands shot up, clawing at the ceiling as if searching for answers in the shadows. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his body, a dull ache that throbbed with every beat of his seemingly impossible heart.
Slowly and tentatively, Ash pushed himself up in the bed.
Confusion washed over him.
This wasn't some sterile hospital room. It was his old apartment, the one he'd abandoned years ago. The worn furniture, the faded posters on the walls, the chipped paint on the windowsill – it was all a stark contrast to the sterile environments he'd come to expect.
Confusion warred with the dull ache in his limbs.
How did he get back here? Who had brought him here? And most importantly, how was he possibly alive after taking the full brunt of a speeding car?
With a trembling hand, he reached for the bedside lamp. It cast a warm glow upon the room, illuminating his old phone that sat on the nightstand.
Picking up the phone, Ash unlocked it with his fingerprint and a home screen full of notifications greeted him. However, he didn't care about the notifications, his golden eyes were fixed on the date displayed at the top of the screen - it read September 27th, 2087.
"..."
For a moment, he simply stared at the screen before he lowered it slowly, his mind racing with a million unanswered questions.
Why was the date displayed 10 years in the past?
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