Every world had its grim realities. Its denizens had to come to terms with it and Rowan was forced to make a choice soon. Rather, there was no choice at all. He was to be a cog in the machine. Nothing more, nothing less. There weren’t many ways life could go unless you were a genius, child of a billionaire, or lucky.

Rowan was none of those.

If he could help it, he’d speedrun college and settle on a stable job. That was his life goal and there wasn’t much else to be desired. Investments, early retirement plans, and wild gambits were things he wasn’t interested in.

If you asked Rowan, he’d say he was a realist but in reality, he was a pessimist. After all, why would he be sure he’d be dead before he reached the age of fifty? It was a low bar, especially with modern healthcare but he didn’t seem to pay it any mind.

“Life’s boring,” mumbled Rowan and rolled onto his side as the bell rung.

They had another period of Physics and if there was anything that made him want to slam his head into the table repeatedly, it was that. When letters started to replace the majority of the numbers, Rowan’s grades in mathematical classes started to plummet and Physics had the most letters. It was still better than the nonsensical shapes of Chemistry, though.

The teacher walked out of the room as swift as the wind. He seldom stayed in the classroom for breaks and often spent it in the teachers’ room. That was understandable. Even in high school, most of the students hadn’t outgrown recess and ran around like madmen during the brief break.

It also meant hell for Rowan.

Very much like some other days, it started with a spitball to the back of the head. When blown through the hollow tube of a pen, it ended up stinging for a few seconds but Rowan tried to ignore it.

“Hey, cunt,” said Peter Moore. Armed with a thick British accent that could be made out from miles away and no shortage of arrogance, he ruled over the classroom as its resident bully.

It wasn’t purely physical might that let him parade around like that either. He’d have gotten his nose smashed in had he not been the son of a businessman that owned the largest and only mall in town, and for a small town like Ascot, it was as influential as you could get without being the principal’s son.

He was what you’d call a jock, on the school’s soccer team. Had blond, curly hair and blue eyes that’d make any Nazi idealist shed tears of joy after seeing the perfect Aryan. His temperament was sour and that was the only part of him that made him unlikeable, but many a girl ignored it.

“I’m talking to you,” said Peter and slapped the table with all his might. The sound deafened Rowan’s left ear, courtesy of being hit point-blank by the sound.

“Oh, me?” asked Rowan and gave him a smirk with a snort. He pointed a finger at Peter’s face and let his mouth open slightly, then clarified, “I thought you were talking about yourself. I mean you did say cunt, right? Your face looks a lot like one so I’d assumed someone was holding a mirror in front of you.”

There was no laugh track in the background.

“You trynna start something with me or somethin’?” asked Peter as his voice turned gruff in his best imitation of a badass, which he failed at.

“Please, you’d already made up your mind. Nothing I did would’ve helped. Might as well add some oil to the fire so I can burn to ashes faster,” said Rowan and spat in Peter’s face, tired of all this nonsense.

Peter closed his eyes, wiped away the saliva with his hands, and as if he finally realized what had transpired, he pounced for Rowan. His hands were balled up into fists and he came at his prey, swinging like a wild beast. There was no form or elegance, only plain and simple pugilism in Peter’s mind.

That wasn’t enough.

Rowan went for a jab but dove down and hugged Peter around the waist as tightly as possible. In seconds, both of them had tumbled to the ground and Rowan was visibly winning. If you could call not losing that, at least. Even as elbows and punches landed on his back, he was stuck to him like a flea.

It was amazing what you could do when you stopped being afraid. It didn’t even hurt as much as people expected it to. There was no way to properly defeat someone driven by desperation by yourself but Peter wasn’t alone.

Rowan was peeled off him by one of his friends, whom Rowan liked to refer to as Minion Number 1. He had a large frame and looked fat, but had a surprising amount of muscles on his body. That let him easily overpower Rowan’s clutches and throw him aside.

The fight was over.

“Ever the coward, hiding behind someone all the time,” said Rowan, already out of breath. Physical exercises weren’t his forte but his healthy diet let him remain what you’d call fit, but that was nowhere near Minion Number 1’s mutant-like strength. In a futile attempt to coerce Peter into starting another one-on-one fight, he spat out with contempt, “Come on, then. Can you even take me alone? You can’t, can you?”

Peter bit his lips and forcefully breathed out through his with a massive scowl on his face, his eyes glaring right through him. Both of his hands were clenched and his eyebrows were slightly furrowed.

“We’ll meet after school,” hissed Peter after leaning in close enough to his neck that it seemed like he wanted a bite out of his soft neck like a rabid vampire.

“What? Afraid of the repercussions?” asked Rowan and scoffed, “Do they even exist for you?”

“Calm down,” said Simon and put a hand over his mouth, only to be countered by a lick that forced him to pull his hands away within a fraction of a second. With wronged eyes, Simon turned to Rowan, his mouth agape, “You licked me.”

“I did, yes. I wanted to spew out some more nonsense, in case you didn’t take the hint,” growled Rowan and took his seat, and with heartbeats that loudly resounded in his ears, he laid down on his table and closed his eyes.

“You’re so dead,” said Simon and took a seat next to him, a dumb grin on his face. It wasn’t a real one, though. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, which stared at him with a lifeless gaze.

“And what’d be so bad about that? Might as well take a nose or an ear or two before I get wasted, yeah?” asked Rowan and rubbed his eyes.

The last time he got on his bad side, he ended with a black eye. That time he’d stepped on the back of his sneakers by accident but this time, he tried to invite his crush on a date. Even if it was an attempt that failed ridiculously, it meant Peter was vying for his head now.

“You depressed about the rejection?” asked Simon after he put away his fake smile, now a poker face on his face. He was one of those people that had droopy eyelids, giving him a holier-than-thou image due to how similar it looked to a half-lidded stare.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“I’m not,” said Rowan and rose to a sitting position, and with gritted teeth, he turned to Simon, “I just… had enough of this nonsense. I’m not keeping my head down anymore. Not today. Not ever.”

“That was a bad move. Keeping your head down is factually better,” said Simon and tilted his head slightly, his absent-minded gaze focused on something behind him, “You’ll survive high school and college that way. Possibly real life as well.”

“I don’t want to survive. I want to live,” said Rowan and smacked his lips once.

“That’s not like you,” stated Simon —it was a fact.

“Look, I’m tired of being a loser,” said Rowan and clenched his teeth. Slowly, he closed his eyes and rubbed them through his eyelids, and after he’d recovered enough, he turned to Simon, “I’m at the end of the rope.”

“You’re right. You don’t look like a loser now,” said Simon and just as the first signs of relief started to rise within Rowan’s chest, Simon finished his statement, promptly bringing him down to the earth, “You look like an asshole instead. Worse than Peter.”

“Worse than him? How?” snarled Rowan.

Simon didn’t answer.

“Fine. You’re leaving me alone as well. I’m really alone now, I guess,” said Rowan and collapsed onto his desk. He was too tired for this nonsense, and not a moment sooner, the bell buzzed and the teacher walked in with the hastiest pace.

***

Rowan couldn’t see out of one eye. The skin around it had swollen enough to cover his eyes and the top of his left ear was torn. There were too many bruises to count on his body and he could swear one of his hands was broken after missing a punch. It wasn’t a punch that hit thin air either. It hit a brick building and that didn’t bode well for his hand.

Peter never played fair.

It was one against five. One of them held Rowan after he lost his advantage and that was the end of it. Stomps, punches, and kicks landed on him all the while he couldn’t do anything. Struggling against Minion Number 1, otherwise known as Jason, was impossible. At least for Rowan. The difference in their builds was enormous.

With a pained gasp, Rowan managed to tap on the doorbell of his own home. It was a blessing in disguise that his mother was out of town for the better part of the month. She’d have fainted if she’d seen him like that.

The door snapped open and barely able to stand on his legs, Rowan walked in and pushed right past his older sister.

She was four years older than him and had managed to get her Bachelor’s in three years. Most of the time, he’d be home long before her and would be waiting with an almost-done meal on the stove but today wasn’t one of those days.

Today, he fought back.

Rowan let out a soft chuckle and collapsed on the sofa. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes, lest he collapse and not get up for the day. Liz couldn’t carry him to the sofa, after all.

“What happened?” whispered Liz, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” mumbled Rowan and let out a deep sigh —it was a sigh of satisfaction.

“Who did this?” she asked, baring her fangs. Her voice was shaky and she was visibly fuming. They had a love-hate relationship that was common to siblings and today, only the love showed.

“Don’t mind me. I’m fine,” he said.

“Go to your room,” she said and Rowan couldn’t let out but chuckle. Getting up was impossible. His entire abdomen ached and using his hands for support didn’t feel like a proper option either, “I dare you. Here, I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can.”

“Just call in sick for a week and I’ll be as good as new. Trust me,” said Rowan.

“You’re afraid,” said Liz. Often, her guesses were spot-on but this wasn’t one of those times. It was a total miss, “It’s fine. I’ll call in some friends and-”

“Stop it, sis,” interrupted Rowan. He stared into her eyes, or at least tried to, but ended up staring into only one of them, “I’m fine.”

“No, no, no. I’m calling in my friends, then I’m fucking crippling whoever did that to you,” said Liz, her insistence too strong. Not telling her the truth wasn’t an option. Not now, at least. She’d go looking whether he told her or not.

“I fought back,” said Rowan and a giggle left his mouth. He couldn’t control it. He felt giddy despite the state of his body, “I don’t regret it a tiny bit and you shouldn’t be taking revenge for me. I have something called pride, you know?”

“Fuck your pride,” said Liz and promptly turned around. She snatched her phone from the kitchen table and Rowan heard her typing numbers into it, ready to call whatever boogieman she knew.

It was time to pull out the trump card.

“I’ll massage your back for a month. Every single day,” yelled Rowan and that let her pause for a second.

“No,” said Liz, as if hurt by the statement.

Rowan rolled off the sofa and managed to stand upright. It wasn’t quite straight, as his back was slightly arched. His back muscles hurt so either slumped forward or leaning back were his only options.

“No,” parroted Rowan, “I promise, sis. Everything will get better.”

“You might even be held back a year and you’re about to graduate!” she shouted, and afterward, she whispered, “Then they did this.”

“One week of school. It’s not much. I learn better from books anyway,” said Rowan and climbed onto the second floor. Twice, he almost tumbled to the ground but leaning onto the wall helped immensely. Just before he ascended the final stair, Rowan turned around and gave her a cheeky smile, “Hundred bucks. A promise is a promise.”

There was only silence.

Rowan stepped into his room at the end of the hall and leaned on the door to close it. He couldn’t get up again. The exhaustion and the pain made it impossible to muster any more willpower to stand up. For some absurd reason, Rowan let out a maniacal laugh after he collapsed onto the ground.

“That was shitty,” mumbled Rowan and his eyelids started to grow heavier.

It was already dark and the time was past eleven. The beatdown ended around four hours ago but crawling back home took several hours. Without his wallet, phone or bag, and clothes that were covered by a thick layer of dirt, he looked every part of the homeless beggar that had been beaten by the others on the street.

“In pain, aren’t you?” asked a deep, mocking voice of a woman. It wasn’t Liz’s. She couldn’t sound so playful. It was all business with her and this one didn’t come from behind the door.

“No, not at all,” said Rowan and after a slight pause, he added far louder, “Obviously I’m in pain.”

“You want another chance at life, don’t you?” asked the same voice, this one almost next to his ears.

“Great, now I’m hearing things,” mumbled Rowan and closed his eyes. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to put a method to go to sleep fast to the test.

He was so tired of this messed up, boring world. If it was only boring or only messed up, he’d live with it. When it was both…

“I assure you I’m everything but an illusion,” said the voice, this one aimed into his ears.

The room was completely dark and while Rowan would be wetting his pants had it been a few years earlier, he’d stopped being afraid of the darkness a long time ago. He embraced the darkness and ignored anything that went bump in the night. If they ran into him, his life would end and perhaps that was good.

“So what are you?” asked Rowan, his voice nothing more than a mumble.

“An Immortal,” said the voice.

“Well, no shit. Ghosts are immortal, I guess. Oh, hey, can I arrange for a proper end of the line instead of an eternity in the afterlife?” he asked and collapsed onto the ground to lie down. His shoulder ached, hinting at the extent of his damage.

“I can heal you,” said the voice.

“Oh, a demon. Makes sense,” said Rowan and yawned slowly. It wasn’t out of boredom but necessity, even if it gave the wrong image.

“Call me what you will, but I heard your prayer, child,” said the voice and that’s when the shadows coalesced to form the visage of a specter. It leaned close to him, its cold breath washing over his face like it was a sapient air conditioner, “I can give you what you desire.”

Rowan almost jumped when he saw the creature but he calmed himself.

Worst case scenario, he was seeing things. Best case scenario, this was an unorthodox genie that wanted to grant his wishes. Just to see how hard his delusions could lead him, he asked the creature that he didn’t even think was real.

“What prayer?” asked Rowan.

“You wished for a more adventurous world, no?” asked the specter and tilted its head. Its soulless eyeholes that looked like an abyss met his own and from within, burning embers formed what looked like eyes, “I can grant your wish.”

“You’ll change the entire world just for me? Oh, I’m flattered,” said Rowan and let out the deepest sigh he’d let out in his life. If this truly was real, then he’d accept it without a doubt. Even if wasn’t real, he’d accept it as well, if only to see how far his imagination could go.

“Think of it as you will. Do you wish for that?” asked the specter and stood back, as if telling him there was no pressure to agree but there was no need to pressure him. The situation he found himself in was enough reason to dip out. This technically wasn’t suicide… right?

Rowan took a deep breath, let it out, and nodded his head intently, only to wince a moment after that.

“Ah, excellent,” said the specter, and the world went blank.