It was a Wednesday, but it could have been any day. The kind of morning that always seemed to drift in, unnoticed, like a forgotten thought.

He walked to work at a leisurely pace, the familiar rhythm of his steps a quiet comfort. The street was busy, as always, filled with the hum of cars and the chatter of pedestrians. He greeted the crossing guard with a smile. The woman’s name was Lisa, but he didn’t know much else about her. Just that she had a friendly face and a way of making the world seem a little smaller, a little warmer, with each wave of her hand.

At the office, the coffee machine was already brewing when he arrived.

“Morning, Mike,” said Jenny from the desk next to his.

“Morning,” he said, sliding the coffee cup toward her without a word, offering a friendly nod. She smiled and took it with a grateful “thanks”.

The day passed in the usual blur of emails, meetings, and soft chatter. At lunchtime, he stepped out for a brief walk, the cool air a welcome contrast to the stale office atmosphere. He waved at the hot dog vendor on the corner—a routine exchange. His lunch was a quiet affair, the vendor handing over the same order he had every day: a hot dog, no mustard, extra onions. The vendor’s smile gentle, he too liked these quiet exchanges they had every day.

The workday ended, and he packed up, grabbing his duffel bag from under his desk. Outside, he turned right, heading not for home but to the small community gym where his volleyball team practiced on weeknights. It was something he looked forward to—not just for the game, but for the feeling of camaraderie, the pulse of energy that reminded him there was more to life than screens and fluorescent lights.

The smell of rubber and faint sweat lingered as he entered the gym, greeted by the echoing voices and laughter of his teammates already gathering. They were a friendly group, brought together more by habit than skill, but it was one of the few times he felt a part of something, the steady hum of life around him.

They always started with a light jog around the court, each player falling into step. He found himself next to Luis, the team’s resident jokester, who kept the team’s spirits high, usually at his own expense.

“So, Mike, are you actually gonna spike today?” Luis teased, nudging him. “Or are you still holding back so you don’t break my fragile self-esteem?”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes as they jogged. “I’m just giving you a chance, Luis. One of these days, I might even aim.”

The group laughed, and they picked up their pace. After the jog, they circled up, stretching in silence, each player focused but relaxed. His muscles felt pleasantly sore, the good kind of tired that came from a day’s work. It grounded him, made the day feel complete.

Then came passing drills. He paired up with Sarah, who worked as a teacher and had a calm, patient demeanor. The ball bounced between them in a steady rhythm, soft thuds punctuating their easy conversation.

“Long day at work?” she asked, sending the ball with a controlled pass.

“Nothing new.” He passed it back, adding, “Just the usual spreadsheets and coffee runs. You?”

“Second graders with Halloween energy. Need I say more?” Sarah groaned, catching his pass and sending it back with a grin.

The drills shifted to setting practice. The team dispersed into pairs again, and he found himself with Jake, a tall, lean guy in his late twenties who took his fitness seriously. Jake always aimed high, both in life and in volleyball.

“Alright, Mike, let’s see if you can keep up,” Jake called with a grin, tossing the ball into the air. He set it high, and Mike adjusted his stance, arms moving up, the ball bouncing gently against his fingers as he aimed it back at Jake’s waiting hands.

They repeated the movement in smooth, coordinated practice, until the rhythm felt second nature. He enjoyed this—the focus, the seamless teamwork. Even though it was just practice, each set felt like a mini-challenge, a chance to give his best.

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Finally, they broke into a friendly practice game. The teams split up, and he positioned himself close to the net, ready to block or set up a spike. The first serve was sent across the court by Jake, landing just shy of the opposing team’s line. Sarah dove to save it, her arms reaching out just in time to pop it up. Without thinking, Mike moved to position, ready to follow through.

And then he saw it—the opening he hadn’t anticipated. Luis called out, “Now, Mike! Now!” He stepped into place, legs tense, and leapt, timing his jump perfectly to meet the ball midair. He spiked it, the ball landing just inches inside the line on the other side, sending up a cheer from his team.

He landed, slightly breathless, with a grin he couldn’t hold back. Luis slapped him on the back, laughing. “See? I knew you had it in you! Just don’t go getting too cocky, alright?”

The game went on, a series of serves, saves, and near misses punctuated by friendly taunts and cheers. For the next hour, he lost himself in the momentum of the game, each play its own small victory, each set its own test.

When practice wrapped up, they gathered to stretch, tired but satisfied. He sat with his legs outstretched, watching the others talk and laugh, feeling the contentment settle over him like a familiar blanket. One by one, his teammates filtered out, waving their goodbyes, until it was just him, Luis, and Sarah.

As they rolled up the net and put the volleyballs away, Luis gave him a playful nudge. “Hey, Mike, you need a ride home?”

He shook his head, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “Nah, I’ll take the bus. It’s nice out—I don’t mind the walk.”

“Suit yourself.” Luis grinned, giving him a friendly salute before heading out.

The bus home pulled into the final stop. He stepped off, stretching as he walked the last few blocks home. His thoughts were on nothing in particular, just the usual hum of a tired day winding down. The evening air felt crisp against his skin, the streetlights beginning to flicker to life as the sun dipped below the horizon.

"The streetlights blinked to life, casting their soft, golden glow over the street. He glanced up at the sky, tracing the first few stars as they began to peek through the gathering dusk. Home was only a few blocks away, and, as always, he felt the comforting pull of familiarity, the day’s rhythm winding down as the city around him began to rest.”

A truck rounded the corner, coming at full speed, too fast, too loud, its engine roaring like a beast on the hunt. The wheels screamed against the pavement, slicing through the night air, a relentless force of steel and motion.

He stared at it, a unstoppable demon of machinery, until the soft whimper of the dog reached his ears. The sound barely registered at first, a distant cry beneath the hum of city life, but then it pierced his thoughts, sharp and clear.

His eyes darted to the side—there, at the curb, a small, scruffy dog darted into the street. Its paws scrabbled against the asphalt, panic evident in every movement. The truck was closing in, too fast, too loud, too close.

Everything slowed.

His mind caught up with the situation, but his body had already made the choice. The exhaustion from playing volleyball was suddenly completely gone. His legs surged forward without thought, a blur of motion, muscles tightening with purpose. There was no hesitation, no question. The moment was too small to grasp, too fast to second-guess.

The dog’s terrified eyes locked with his for a fleeting instant. Time bent.

He didn’t think. He didn’t calculate. His arms reached out, wrapping around the dog’s small body, pulling it toward him with an urgency that felt foreign—no rational plan, no conscious will behind it. He dove, feeling the impact of the ground against his chest, the weight of the dog’s body in his arms as they tumbled away.

Everything else was background noise now. The truck’s roar was a distant memory. The streetlights bled into one continuous smear of yellow and gray. The world was suddenly compressed into the space between his breath and the dog’s quick, panicked heartbeats.

It was just this.

Just this moment.

The truck’s horn blasted, deafening, but his mind didn’t register it. It didn’t register anything. There was only the dog, the instinct to protect, and the feeling of weightless motion, as though the world itself had decided to pause for a single heartbeat.

And then, a flash of pain—a sudden, crushing force—and the world snapped back into focus.

The world went silent the moment his body hit the pavement. Time unraveled, each second stretching into infinity as he lay there, half-twisted on the cold asphalt.

He could feel the sharp sting in his chest, a distant ache radiating like ripples on a lake. Then, slowly, the pain began to blur, dissolving into a numbness that spread through his limbs like a gentle tide.

A warm light flickered somewhere above—a streetlamp, maybe—but it seemed to waver, as if it were losing its shape. His gaze drifted upward, unfocused, watching the edges of everything melt and soften, the concrete dissolving into shadow, light merging with darkness.

Breath by breath, sound by sound, his senses slipped away. The cold hardness of the world ebbed, leaving him adrift, weightless. The last sensation was a faint warmth in his palm, a memory of soft fur, the dog he had saved.

Then, nothing.

An infinite quiet, deep as the night sky, welcomed him.