"...What happens after death?"

That was a question almost anyone would have been familiar with. A question that everyone would eventually ask at least once in their lives. A question that some of the greatest had tackled ever since the first humans gained sapience. Every culture and every religion, both dead and alive, had claimed to give an answer to this question.

Truly, it was that important. To the point that one could be defined by how they viewed such a subject.

People who were entirely materialistic would say that nothing came after death. They believed that there was no afterlife, that faith and good deeds would bring us nowhere after we took our last breath. We would become dust and our molecules would be reused for the birth of new life elsewhere.

People who were religious would say that there was something that happened after death. We would go to either Heaven or Hell, or any other afterlife one's beliefs might dictate. It would truly depend on one's faith and what they had accomplished in life to attain such reward, or punishment.

Others would say that we would reincarnate. That depending on specific circumstances, we would either be reborn as another person, or something else entirely. The laws of karma would apply here, whether good or bad.

There were many thoughts and feelings that one would have whenever this one specific question was asked. But, truly, it was something that was almost impossible to know the real answer to. If so...why would one try to find out?

Why would one want to escape their current lives, to be released from their predicament, to be liberated from their bodies and minds?

Why would someone want that sort of decision to be acted upon?

Varying reasons, that would be the answer. But those varying reasons were ones that would lead to one conclusion and one conclusion only; they wanted to escape.

Whatever that might lay ahead, these people who chose to not live anymore, they were the ones that had suffered. They were the ones that found no more meaning in life. No reason to continue.

The most arrogant and full of themselves would call these people cowards. The most empathetic would be saddened for them. The most indifferent, simply a passing pity.

But for her specifically...

"This is it, huh?"

Standing upon the ledge of a building, looking over the skyline of the city in the midst of its nightlife, the girl whose name did not matter anymore contemplated her life for the final time.

It was a decision that only the most desperate would make. An option that only the most fearless would take. A choice that only people who had nothing else would choose. It was truly one of the hardest things to do as well, at least for her.

She had persevered for so long, she had found glimmers of hope that her life could improve. But, to what point did that matter in the end? Despair had taken over her, it was simply just not fair.

She had heard from somewhere, when she was naught but a child, that giving up was easy, that it didn't suit those that chose to fight for the ones they held dear. But to what end did that matter? If one was powerless against their fate, what else could they do?

She had no power. She had no wealth. No influence. Barely any friends.

Pathetic, that's what she was. A sorry excuse of a daughter, that's what her mother would say. A pity, that's what most people in her life would deem her as.

She used to be happy—back when her world was simple, back when her father would come home early just to surprise her with little gifts. A doll she’d leave on the living room floor, a candy bar she’d finish in one bite, a disdain for gross boys and broccoli.

She loved him for those moments, for how he’d laugh and call her his 'little sunshine.' She still remembered the sound of his voice.

But everything shattered after that night.

Her mother’s grief came first, then the anger, as if sorrow was a doorway to all that rage. She’d throw her wine glass across the room, scream that it was her fault—that her father wouldn’t have been driving home early, wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for that damned birthday gift.

The words had sunk in deep, deeper than she’d ever admit. And so, the love she once felt from her mother turned into something else—something she couldn’t fix.

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Indeed, a trivial reason for why the young girl, powerless against fate, would be at fault.

She found it funny, to say the least. She laughed for a brief moment in remembrance of that event. But of course, it did not stop there.

Her mother had stopped working honest jobs long ago. The scent of cheap perfume clung to her, a thick fog that followed her even at home, where she’d count the money in the dim kitchen light. Not enough, never enough.

The girl kept her distance. She learned quickly how to stay quiet, how to slip away unnoticed. School was her only refuge, a place where she could pretend—at least for a little while—that life was different. There, the world opened up: books, history, ideas of places far away. Places she could escape to, if she tried hard enough.

But making friends? That never happened. She kept her head down, hoping no one would notice the holes in her shoes or the way her stomach growled at lunch. She wasn’t meant for connection. Her life had taught her that much.

Eventually however, she was able to make a friend, another girl, who lived a far happier life than her. It was one of the brightest events she had in a while, the brightest it had ever been since the very peaks of her early childhood. But now...why did it matter?

She had no worth to speak of, that's why her mother hated her. She wasn't special, at least not anymore in her eyes. This reasoning was kept clear in her mind every day. It was like she had no family, just an older woman she lived with.

But after she had made that new friend, whose name was Violet, an exchange student from Britain, her life slightly turned for the better. More things to look forward to, more things to do outside of her home. Something to be positive about.

It had been Violet’s idea—her friend, the only one who ever tried to pull her out of the darkness. "Maybe she’s just waiting for you to reach out," Violet had said. "Mothers and daughters fight, but they’re supposed to heal, too."

So she did it. She went to the place her mother worked, feeling her stomach twist as she stepped into that parking lot, smelling the stale alcohol in the air. She found her mother, hoping for something—anything—like the warmth she used to know.

But her mother barely looked at her. She hissed. The woman's face twisted in disgust, lips curling as if the sight of her daughter made her sick. Words of anger, ones that she remembered until now.

She could only freeze, forced to listen to her berating. There was nothing she could say. The words hit her like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath out of her. She felt the ground tilt beneath her feet, the old wounds opening again, the guilt bleeding through.

"Of course." She thought bitterly. "What else could I have expected?"

Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled out of that area, not sure where to go, not even sure if her legs could carry her any farther. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to face the emptiness there, the silence that swallowed her every night.

So she walked. And walked. For days, she wandered the streets, hollow-eyed and starving. She refused to eat, refused to let herself feel anything but the numbness she’d clung to for so long. It was almost easier this way—to punish herself for the life she couldn’t fix.

Each step was a small surrender. Each missed meal, a quiet form of giving up.

No one paid attention to the girl lying in wait, the most flawed of damsels in distress. At this point, she wondered why she wasn't even taken advantage of either.

Perhaps because she wasn't even worth that? Who knew at this point. It didn't matter in the end.

For this...this was what it all led to.

"Suicide."

Another word spoken, a simple yet powerful word. A harrowing word. Even in the current state of her own mind, it brought fear to her heart.

What would Violet think of this, she wondered, tears in her eyes streaming down as she thought so.

It was...no matter.

In the end, she was nothing, right?

Her friend could always find another better girl to bond with. After all, she even said that she would eventually go back to her home country after the semester ended, moving schools and all due to her father's work.

At most, she was a footnote in her life. At best, she was a fleeting memory.

Even with her hesitation, of some part of her not wanting this action to take place, that sense of self-preservation, she couldn't find any other reason to continue.

There were regrets, but now she couldn't bear to hold them.

With a last smile on her face, feeling calm over her last and final decision, she took a step, and let herself fall.

She heard a fading scream from behind, but it didn't matter. She could feel that someone was trying to save her, it didn't matter.

She was about to be free, she was going to answer that lingering question that everyone else had asked themselves in their lives.

Truly, what happens after death?

Would she become nothing more than a rotting corpse, soiled in blood and decaying, left with nothing but an eternity of nothingness?

Would she be granted access to Heaven as compensation for her despair and clinging on for so long, or would she be granted punishment in Hell for her mistakes and final act of sin?

Would she become another being in this world, released from all despair, but still tied to the cycle of karma that she had to pay for?

There were many thoughts and feelings that one would have whenever this one specific question was asked. But, truly, it was something that was almost impossible to know the real answer to. If so...why would one try to find out?

This was her reason, that she was nothing, that she was a mistake better left corrected, a laughable life that thought she was something more. Her thoughts and feelings over this very question were rather bittersweet, but they were her own.

A final thought to the world at large, one of gratitude for bringing her here.

"Here I shall write my final testimony: thank you for everything, sorry for any wrong that I have done. I hope you live on well without me."

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When a butterfly flapped its wings, a hurricane shall occur on the other side of the world. When death arrived, then life shall sprung forth somewhere else.

The laws of life and death were and shall be an endless cycle. Hope and plight shall remain for as long as something breathes. Existence and non-existence shall always remain a duality of creation.

Your Origin has been determined. Your potential shall be realised. Your wish shall be in your reach.

Blessed art thou, for you have been chosen.