The Dawn After Dusk

The traffic light was red—and for once, that was fine.

Rain tapped against my windshield, steady but not violent. Not enough to flood the streets, just enough to be comforting. I had music playing, something familiar, and I found myself singing along without thinking. I was tired. Too much caffeine, too little sleep. Four shots of espresso had my hands steady but my eyes burning.

Work drifted through my mind. A promotion, maybe. Or just another long year. No—another long life.

I had been doing better lately. The depression diagnosis felt like something behind me now. I was fixing things. Family. Friends. Moving forward. Some pain still lingered, but it was manageable. I told myself that was enough.

The light turned green.

I took a sip of coffee.

“Oh. It’s about time,” I muttered.

Then—

Impact.

The world flipped. No pain. No sound. Just motion—weightless, wrong. Airbags exploded, but everything felt distant, like I was underwater. Sound existed, but it was muted, flattened into nothing. Gravity let go of me. Then everything went upside down.

A truck had T-boned my car.

I understood that much.

What surprised me was the calm. No panic. No fear. Just a strange stillness as muffled screams echoed somewhere far away—then faded.

This is it.

This is where Marko Montes ends.

Images surfaced without order. The first car I ever owned. My first paycheck. The first time a girl said yes, and how that single word made the world feel lighter. Then the collapse—betrayal, anger, exhaustion. Family voices that pulled me down when I tried to dream. The loneliness of being surrounded by people and still feeling unseen. Explaining myself over and over, hoping not to be misunderstood.

And her—the one who made me feel loved, then took it away because of others.

I realized something then.

I had endured more than I had lived.

“Ah,” I thought. “So I was never really happy.”

There was no bitterness in it. Just clarity.

I accepted it. The end of a quiet tragedy. No redemption. No dramatic climax. Just a man who held on long enough to see an exit—and missed it.

This is okay.

For the first time in a long while, that thought felt true.

My vision dimmed. The screams disappeared completely. I closed my eyes.

And then—

Light.

I tried to open them. My hands were small. Fragile. Not mine.

I had become a child.

Panic rose—briefly—before a calm realization settled in.

I suppose I’ll live this second life.

At least until I understand it.