Awakening Amidst the Ashes

“In your eyes, what is death?”

The question, unvoiced yet insistent, echoed in the quiet of the room. “The last step before eternal rest,”  I thought, the answer tasting hollow even in my own mind. My gaze dropped to my lap, where the cold, metallic weight of the pistol rested. A silent whisper seemed to emanate from it “Just a single chance.”  A faint, bitter laugh, barely a tremor, was swallowed by the oppressive shadows that clung to everything “That’s all I need.”

Only one bullet. That was all it would take to end all of this, once and for all. A faint light, like a mocking glare, shimmered before me as I raised my arm, steadying my aim. “What would be the judgment for thee?”  it seemed to ask, as I awaited the inevitable end. Perhaps what humans perceived would differ from what I was about to witness. For what I aimed at was an angel of one wing, whose hand, mirroring mine, held the same gun, aimed directly at me. “The end is near, what doubt do your thoughts have left inside?"  We both wore thin smiles, acknowledging our intertwined fate, much like devils and angels understanding their predestined places. Pulling the trigger was merely the act required to gain what the other possessed—the missing wing. “We’ll meet each other again, for I am nothing but a part of you.”  His smile, thin and strong, shone with a beautiful, bright halo. “A part I never let live,”  my own smile, mad yet fragile, was accompanied by the warm, flowing blood from my wrist.

The gunshot's deafening sound was a singular, violent tear in the silence, followed by an immediate, overwhelming void. It wasn't merely the absence of light; it was an absolute nullification of all sensation, leaving only a faint, persistent tingle that prickled across every nerve. The world, as I knew it, ceased to be, replaced by a momentary, profound blankness.

***

My eyes fluttered open, not to the familiar ceiling, but to an unfamiliar canvas of azure. A clear, bright morning sun warmed my skin, a stark contrast to the cold steel I had just embraced.

I lay sprawled on my back, cushioned by a bed of soft, vibrant green grass that tickled my ears. A sigh, heavy with something akin to weary resignation, escaped my lips. Slowly, deliberately, I pushed myself up, my gaze sweeping across the verdant expanse.

There, clinging to the dewy blades around me, were scattered flecks of dark ash—a grim, almost literal, remnant of my recent past. The air was crisp, carrying the distant, cheerful chirping of unseen birds and the gentle rustle of leaves from the dense forest that bordered the clearing.

It was an ordinary scene, almost painfully so in its mundane beauty, and the realization settled over me like a familiar, unwanted shroud: I was still here.

“...What a shame,” I muttered, my voice rasping like rust scraping against metal. A hollow ache settled deep in my chest, unfamiliar in its intensity compared to any physical pain I could recall. This was disappointment, a gnawing void that left nothing but a scorching heat in my veins, a silent fury demanding answers that would never come.

“Why? Why must I live?!”
“Who is to blame for this?!”

The questions hung in the air, unanswered, unacknowledged by anything but the indifferent rustle of the leaves. My voice, raw and unpracticed, felt alien in this new silence. I let my head fall back, staring up at the endless blue. The tingling sensation, a faint taste of the transition, still hummed beneath my skin, a subtle vibration that seemed to resonate with the very air around me. It was not pain, nor pleasure, but a constant, almost imperceptible pressure, as if the atmosphere itself had gained a tangible weight.

My gaze drifted from the sky to the dense wall of trees that enclosed the clearing. They were taller than any I remembered, their leaves a deeper, richer green, almost black in the shadows. A narrow, dirt path, barely visible beneath the overgrowth, snaked into the depths of the forest. It offered a direction, a potential escape from this unwanted continuation. I pushed myself to my feet, the tall grass swaying around my knees. My body felt… functional. No lingering aches from the bullet, no weakness. Just an infuriating, perfect normalcy that mocked the finality I had sought.

“Where am I?” I almost asked, then scoffed. As if that mattered. As if answers ever saved anyone.

“it would be a stupidity to even ask such a question,” I mocked at my own mistake. It was clear that wherever I was now, it was vastly different from where I had been. “Where, should I go?” I mused, the query more a formality than a true search for guidance.

The path, barely more than a deer trail, was the only clear direction. My eyes, accustomed to dissecting complex narratives, now scanned the forest with a detached efficiency. The trees, though dense, did not feel threatening, merely… indifferent. The air, with its subtle, palpable hum, was the most curious element. It was not merely breathable; it felt present, a silent, invisible force that brushed against my skin, a constant whisper of something alien.

I took a step, then another, following the faint indentation in the grass. Each movement was economical. There was no urgency, no panic, only the cold, hard logic of survival. My fingers, still stained faintly with the memory of blood, brushed against the rough bark of a nearby tree. It felt real, solid, annoyingly so.

“This was not a dream, not a hallucination. This was simply… another place.”

And like any other place, it would eventually reveal its rules, its vulnerabilities, its inevitable disappointments. The path ahead was merely a means to an end, whatever that end might prove to be.