I had high expectations for my life, but things have always been and remain dull. I feel trapped in a life that isn’t mine, a body that isn’t mine, and a personality that doesn’t fit me, with no way to break free, no matter what I do. Life keeps deceiving me, and perhaps I deceive it as well. I ignore it, letting it pass, but it always returns to slap me. I’m no longer responsible for it. My own mind stops me from cursing, though there’s no point in using harsh words against an entity that doesn’t feel, that hurts but cannot be hurt.

I may not be able to move forward or leave and never return, like dying in the same place where I was born. Fate is boring, and dealing with the foolishness embodied in people close to you is like living with an illness you were born with. The scent of failure clings to you, and your misery is visible to everyone, even if you don’t speak or nod. No one questions the reason; they silently praise your sorrow because feeling sadness takes courage, and expressing it requires intelligence.

You lean and fall repeatedly, like a water bottle with a crooked base. Your expressions erase any beauty in your features, and you grow uglier by the day. Your blood ties into your sense of taste; you think of death daily and dream of it constantly. You've studied every wall and door, finding no escape, and the hard walls only make you want to shatter your skull against them. But pain isn’t a useful option; if you’ve lived a painful life, at least find a way to die comfortably.

I’m not a fan of pessimists, but excessive positivity is toxic, and constant laughter is pitiful. Fake smiles cause headaches, as if the wrinkles on your face can see the truth. I wake up every day for a hidden job, repeating the same tasks without a clear understanding of others’ lives. Yet, we’re alike in how we tolerate what some surrender to, most complain about, and a few escape. I don’t categorize myself in any of these ways—I neither submit nor complain, nor am I free. I simply enjoy my time in all the ways available to me.

My soul has a soul that never stops criticizing me, telling me I don’t deserve love or life, forcing me to frown all the time, forbidding me from love. This is me, and this is she. We share nothing in common, yet I love her because if she wasn’t with me, no one else would be. When I’m at my lowest, she fights to keep us from falling together, and when she survives, she lifts me up. I cannot separate from my lifeboat or from the water I swim in. If strength means walking on the moon, then I’d rather explore the depths of my oceans. I don’t care about the other world; inside me, there’s a world yet to be discovered. I’m more terrifying than space, a tropical forest at night, a sinking ship, a volcano about to erupt, a cliff’s edge, a bridge on the verge of collapse. If you don’t understand the peak of death, you won’t understand the peak of life.

Life isn’t just about life; it’s about living with the awareness of death.

That boy, unnamed, pulled me back to reality. I’m not dead; I’m alive, and even if I’m in the wrong place, I should appreciate being alive. My body doesn’t define me—I am a spirit, ultimately, with no limits holding me back. He took my hand, leading me out of school. Everyone was watching us, until we reached the end of the courtyard, and we arrived to the street. I didn’t understand his intentions, but I followed him without resistance. The others looked at us curiously, but no one approached, as if they already knew. What did they know, really? Did they feel the strangeness but choose not to understand it? Was it because Nermin didn’t matter to them, or because Marian was too intimidating to question?

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

The boy stopped a cab and asked the driver to take us to the hospital, where my body lay in one of its dark rooms. If Marian’s mother found out about this visit, she’d be furious, but I had no choice but to follow my instincts. We arrived at a time when my parents were likely away at work. We entered the hospital and went to my room. When I looked at my pale face, I felt empty—not sad, just numb. It felt like a punishment I deserved, for I’d always wished to be Marian, to have her looks, her wealth, her parents. But now, all I felt was regret, not happiness.

The boy spoke: “I brought you here so you could apologize. Apologize to Nermin. Let her hear it; maybe it will help her wake up. I read somewhere that people in comas can hear us.”

“Do you think she can hear us?”

“Yes, so we should tell her to hold on and not give up.”

He’s a kind and strange boy, though he doesn’t look it. Sensitive and considerate.

“Listen, I know I’m late, but I lost a part of my memory. I’m sorry if I caused you any harm, but if anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive you.”

The boy looked at me, confused, then said, “Is that how people like you apologize?”

His question made me think for a moment, then I whispered to myself, “I think so; I’m not even sure who I am anymore.”

“What?”

"Nothing. By the way, you haven’t told me your name, and I don’t think we’ve met before.”

He looked at me with confusion again, locked his eyes on mine, and said, “You must have really lost your memory to ask that.”

How odd. I’d never seen him talk to Marian, so how would she know him? And he doesn’t seem wealthy enough to have a connection with her outside school. Who is he?

“So, do we know each other?”

“I’m Orca. Don’t forget, because I won’t let you off the hook for what you did, even if you have forgotten.”

“In court, it would be your word against mine. Neither of us has evidence.”

“That might be true, but you rich people care about your reputation more than anything. Even people at school already suspect you. All I need to do is spark the rumors, and in your case, they’d be true.”

“Are you threatening me? What do you want in return, then? Money?”

“I want you to bring her back. Can you do that?”

“I don’t think Nermin even knows you, so why do you care so much?”

“You’re right; she might not know me, but I know her, and that’s enough.”

“You’re truly a strange guy, Orca.”

“Convince your parents to help her. You have the money to bring in the best doctors. Do it—it’s the only way you can make up for your mistake.”

“I’ll try.”

I don’t believe doctors can do anything in our situation, but I don’t know much about supernatural matters. So, I need to find the right person to help me.