00 - Prologue / Between Worlds / Reflection

… Oh.

I'm dead.

Aren't I?

Well, can't say I'm too surprised. It was a long time coming, I suppose.

Last thing I remember, I was sitting at my desk in the office. Empty cans of white sugar-free M*nster and loose-leaf printouts crowding my workspace. The rest of the floor abandoned, everyone else gone home, the fluorescent lights overhead shut off for the night hours ago. The only illumination the glow from my dual monitor setup. Spreadsheets and burndown charts and ninety-three J*ra tabs on my browser. Start of a new sprint tomorrow. I'd slept about three hours in the past four days. Sleeping bag under my desk.

I remember polishing off the last of my energy drink, and reaching for the mouse, when I felt a sudden pain in my chest, radiating outwards. Sharp. Crushing. Couldn't breathe. My left arm went numb. My vision blurry.

And then—

Nothing. Pitch black. Lights out.

I guess I must've collapsed.

And in doing so, I have given my body, mind and soul to job I hated.

I leave behind no legacy.

No friends. Nobody to share my life with. Not even a pet. Who's gonna miss me?

And now here I am. Me, weightless, floating in a black, empty void. No stars above or below. This final culmination of every path I never took. Every decision, or lack of one, has lead up to … this.

And as I float on now there is nothing to ferry my voyage beyond, save my own reflections on a life lived.

… 'Lived'?

I say 'lived', but am I truly being honest with myself?

Did I ever really live?

I did everything 'they' told me to. Even if it went against what I truly thought, felt, or wanted. I never spoke up. About anything. I let others impose their wills on me.

How many times did I meekly acquiesce when faced with, '*****-kun, we're heading out for drinks. Hey, you can take care of these reports for us, right? Thanks, man! You're a life-saver!'

Or even something as basic as the guy in front of me on the airplane reclining back all the way. I'd sit there in misery the entire ten hours as I flew halfway across the world for work conferences, stewing in anger, wondering why people couldn't be more … You know. Considerate.

And perhaps even most pathetically of all, I'd never even correct wrong orders whenever I got my food wrong. I'd just sit there, eating something I never even ordered.

Every day of my life, I sat down and just … took it.

My life was one sick, sad joke—and I was the punchline. One of my own making, no less.

Spineless. Doormat. Coward.

And what did I get in return for playing by the rules all my life?

A few condescending pats on the back, and a cheaply-made Al*Expr*ss pin with the company logo on it for my ten-year anniversary.

I didn't have to stay at my job. I could've left at any time. But I always talked myself out of what could have something different. Out of the very possiblity of any sort of change. Of a separate reality. What could've been.

… What was I even afraid of all this time? Rejection? Being hated by others?

I was too pre-occupied with caring about what others thought, trying to be considerate of other people's feelings, at the expense of my own … Always too afraid to step on any toes.

Nobody ended up hating me? … Maybe that's true. But at the same time, nobody respected me. Nobody ever even knew who I was.

Well, no more. No more of that.

I don't know where I'm going, where I'm headed, or where I'm going to end up.

But my mind's made up. Wherever I'm bound for, whatever's next … If I get another chance …

I'm going to do what I want. Say what I think. And if people don't like that—then fuck 'em.

I'm going to do things my way this time around.

… Ah.

That sound. Is that … singing I hear?

From somewhere above. Getting closer now.

I feel myself drift upwards, toward that lovely voice. Calm, warm. Soothing. Healing.

I close my eyes.

Then I open them again.