Beyond The Four Walls

The curtains hadn't been opened in weeks. The room was a coffin of shadows where dust clung to the air like a second skin. The only sounds were the stubborn ticking of the old analogue clock on the wall and low hum of my computer - white noise for a life that had stopped moving. My world had shrunk to four walls, a chipped mug of cold coffee on the nightstand, and the rancid stench of stale bread left over from last night's half-hearted midnight snack. A sharp twinge in my chest reminded me I was still alive - or close enough.

Last week I turned twenty-one. Funny thing about birthdays - people suddenly remember you exist. My phone buzzed like it had something important to say, but every message was the same: Hope you have a great day!
If they meant it, they'd actually be here. One text a year was apparently all I was worth. Another year older, another year closer to proving natural selection is a scam. If idiots like this were still alive, clearly evolution had gotten tired halfway and just clocked out.

Some of them even showed up, surprisingly. Half the faces wore guilt like badly-fitted masks; the other half came for the free food. "Make a wish!" someone shouted as the candles flickered. I leaned forward and blew them out with all the passion of a man extinguishing a cigarette.
Cheers erupted like I just cured cancer. Congratulations, everyone - you've witnessed the miracle of a functioning lung.

"Speech!" someone cried.
I raised my glass, lips curling into the fakest smirk I could manage. "To another year of surviving humanity. Barely."

They laughed. They always laughed. To them I was clever, maybe even darkly funny. To me, it was truth wrapped in sarcasm. I didn't believe in "special days," "fresh starts," or "new chapters". I believed in one thing only - looking out for myself. Because if life was just a room full of hollow words and pity smiles, then pretending otherwise was the real joke.

A knock at my door dragged me back to the present. My grandmother's voice filtered through, soft and careful, as if afraid I might break. "Mornin', Luke. I'm off to a friend's for lunch. I left your new friend's number by the door..."

Silence. I held my breath, hoping she'd give up.
"I left some breakfast too... even if it's a bit cold". A pause, then softer, "Okay, bye."

Her footsteps faded, and finally the front door clicked shut. Relief. I hated pity. Hers. Theirs. Mine. It was all the same. If anything, her kindness only made the weight heavier.

The "new friend" she mentioned was the neighbor's son I'd met yesterday. A kid, maybe nineteen, who tried to smile but couldn't hide the flicker of disgust in his eyes when he looked at me. My grandmother either didn't notice, or pretended not to. She was good at pretending.

Every day I promised myself I'd change. That I'd crawl out of this pit, piece my life back together. And every night, I swore tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, I'd start over.
But tomorrow never came.

I pushed myself off the bed, body moving on autopilot through a fog of thought. The next moment was a blur. A sudden lightness, a collapse, the dull thud of my body hitting the floor. My chest clenched tight. Breaths turned shallow, jagged, like my lungs had finally decided enough was enough. My heartbeat stuttered, frantic, then faltering.

And for the first time in years, my thoughts weren't about me. They were about the things I hadn't done, the people I never said goodbye to, the question of whether anyone would notice I was gone.

Then came the darkness. And it wasn't terrifying it was release. Life had been too heavy. Too exhausting. Maybe this was mercy.

~  ~  ~

When I opened my eyes, everything was different. The suffocating dust, the sour stench - they were gone. I lay on soft earth beneath a sky so sharp and endless it looked like it could swallow me whole. The air was alive, filled with the scent of rain-soaked leaves and wild, untamed greenery. It reminded me of the plants I once tried to keep alive, long since withered from neglect.

But this wasn't home.

For a fleeting moment, I thought I had finally escaped. That death had given me peace. But the forest stretched endlessly, vast and alive in a way my world had never been.

That's when I realized the truth.
I hadn't escaped anything.