I always tried to be a good person. I kept to myself and lived my life with respect and consideration for those around me. However, in a world filled with injustice and selfishness, I found myself growing tired of being overlooked and stepped on. It seemed I could ignore it most of the time and continue with my day. Sometimes it would anger me, but I would remember that it wasn’t worth losing everything I had worked for just to give some asshole what was coming to him. Today—or yesterday; I wasn’t sure how long I had been dead—I let my anger get the better of me, and my thirst for justice had been too much to ignore. As I floated in the vast empty void of nothingness, I reflected on my final day alive, replaying the events of how I spiraled toward my death.

My alarm screamed, interrupting the peacefulness of my sleep. I rolled over to face the clock and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings. "5:00," the clock read. I fumbled with the buttons, trying to silence the alarm. Rolling back onto my back, I stared at the darkness, searching for the motivation to get out of bed and repeat the same day I had become accustomed to over the past eight years.

After a few minutes, I looked at the clock again, and it read "5:06." I sighed, rolled over, and got to my feet. I made my way to the bathroom, turned on the light, and was temporarily blinded before fumbling my way to the toilet. As I peed, I remembered that today was the day we had our performance reviews at the office. Anxiety washed over me as I exhaled heavily, knowing I would be judged by three of my bosses in a small room and have to explain why I should be allowed to continue working there.

I took off my pajamas and started the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. With my hand outstretched under the showerhead, I fantasized about how the performance review would go.

"Good morning, Mr. Lane," my boss would say as I entered his office, with his two superiors standing behind him, observing his management skills. "Good morning," I would reply, walking in and sitting down in the chair in front of his desk, ignoring his outstretched hand and denying him the respect of a handshake. I saw him clear his throat and slowly retract his hand as he regained his train of thought. Meanwhile, I would sit there, leaned back, with my hands behind my head as if I were relaxing on a Friday night. "So, Mr. Lane, you've been with our team for quite some time now, I see," he would say, and I would respond with an eye roll and say, "Yes, sir, too long if you ask me." I smiled as I pictured all three of them exchanging glances, trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

My daydream was interrupted when the water started burning my hand. I turned it down and proceeded with my shower. Afterward, I brushed my teeth and started putting on my slacks and dress shirt while glancing over to check the time. "5:36." I hurried, knowing I needed to leave by 6:00 to make it to work by 6:30. I didn’t officially start work until 7, but I liked being early so I could hang out in the smoking area and not feel rushed to start my day. I went to the kitchen and started my coffeemaker, as I waited for it to brew, I slipped back into my daydream.

My boss would clear his throat again and fiddle with his paperwork in an attempt to regain his composure. "So, Mr. Lane, your numbers have been pretty steady over the last quarter, and we do appreciate your hard work and dedication." "Then give me a raise," I would say, interrupting him. He would probably sit back in his chair at this point and cross his arms in a defensive posture, since the review was going completely differently than what he was used to. In an attempt to remain professional, he would probably say something like, "Well, Mr. Lane, that could be discussed at a different time. However, that is not the purpose of this meeting." To which I would respond, "There is no purpose to this meeting other than you three trying to intimidate into your employees. You want to maintain control over us and keep us scared of losing our income and our livelihood, all while you continue to pat each other on the back and rake in the profit at our expense."

At this point, I picture him standing up and saying, "You need to calm down, Mr. Lane, or this meeting will result in disciplinary action." At which point, I would yell." Go fuck yourself, I quit!"

The coffeemaker beeped, signaling that it was done, pulling me back to reality. I felt good, as if it had actually happened, but the small high of endorphins quickly retreated as reality set in: I would only be guaranteeing that I’d lose everything I own and quickly find myself homeless if I ever tried something like that. Though, it was nice to dream. 

I poured my coffee into my thermos and took one last glance at the clock before exiting: "5:42." I made my way to the elevator and pressed the button for down. It dinged, and as the door opened, I noticed another man in a suit waiting. I walked inside, and he gave me a look, clearly annoyed that the elevator stopping at my floor delayed him by a couple of seconds. I stood in the opposite corner from him and watched as he started mashing the door close button in a hurry. I felt anger starting to brew inside me. "What's this guy’s problem?" I thought as the elevator descended. I quickly tried to correct my thinking to a more positive note. "Stop taking stuff personally. He's probably just in a hurry, and it has nothing to do with you," I told myself as I sipped my coffee.

The elevator stopped at the ground floor, and I waited as the man exited through the doors, which had barely opened enough for him to fit. "Good riddance," I thought as I watched him exit the building and turn left down the street. I exited the building and turned right, starting my walk to the first crosswalk of my morning commute to work.

I pressed the button and waited for the light to change when I noticed someone walking up to me in my peripherals. I took a quick glance and saw it was a very shady-looking man who seemed like he'd been up all night. Probably A drug addict who was about to ask me for spare change. As he made his way toward me, I hoped the light would turn so I could start walking and avoid the situation altogether.

"Hey, man," he said as he approached my right side. I took a sip of my coffee and tried to act like I didn’t hear him, hoping he would stop talking to me. I knew this wouldn’t work—it never did.

"Hey, bro," he said, this time right next to me. I turned my head toward him and replied, "What's up?"

He continued, "You got a dollar or something, man? I haven't eaten anything in three days, man. Please." I hated these situations because I had a strong feeling this guy did this every day.

"No, man. I don't," I said, turning my gaze back to the crosswalk light, which seemed to refuse to let me cross until the situation was resolved.

"Come on, bro," he continued. "I just need something. Can you buy me a bag of chips?" At this point, I started to get angry again, knowing he wasn’t going to stop asking.

"I don't have anything," I said again in a more stern tone, without taking my eyes off the crosswalk light.

He tisked and began walking backward, muttering profanities at me. "This is the type of stuff I've been talking about, bro. All I asked for was a dollar, and people can't even do that." I took another sip of my coffee as I felt anger once again start surging through my veins. The man continued, "Maybe next time I won't ask. I'll just take it from you, and you won't do anything about it."

Now, my adrenaline started pumping, and I turned my gaze toward him. He was about 10 feet from me at this point, still walking backward and yelling. "Yeah, next time I see you, bro, I'll just take what I need. I won't even ask; I'll just take it, and you won't do anything."

He then turned around and continued walking, and I could no longer hear what he was saying, but he was still holding the conversation as if I could hear him.

The crosswalk light changed to green, and I started walking across the street, my hands shaking from the adrenaline and anger flowing through my veins. I took some deep breaths, trying to calm down, but the thoughts kept flooding in. "I can't believe that guy, I probably should've beat his ass. He wants to get mad and talk to me like that? It's not my responsibility to give him money."

I caught myself spiraling into negative thoughts, and as I walked, I tried to shift my thinking to a more positive note. "Don’t worry about it. Don’t take it personally. You did the right thing. If you fought that guy, you would’ve probably ended up in jail. Your the bigger man."

I took some deep breaths and found myself at the front doors of my office building. I pulled my phone out and checked the time: "6:28." Perfect, I thought as I made my way to the side of the building and took a seat in the designated smoking area. I pulled a cigarette from my pack, lit it, and took a long drag.

I sat there, taking drag after drag of my cigarette, feeling myself calm down as the adrenaline and anger slowly started to recede. Soon, another man walked up and sat down next to me.

"Sup, Ryke the Dyke," the man said, and I immediately knew it was Andy, making his usual attempt at what he thought was comedy. I turned my gaze toward him.

"Don’t call me that," I said, feeling my temper start to once again elevate. I think he picked up on my mood, and his smile shifted into a more serious expression.

"I was just kidding, Ryker. You good?"

I realized how tense and guarded I was and immediately relaxed my face, sitting back in a more laid-back posture.

"Yeah, I’m good," I said, as Andy pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it.

"So, you ready for these performance reviews?" he asked. I took another drag of my cigarette before answering.

"I’m ready to get it over with," I said, exhaling smoke.

"I hear that," he replied, then started browsing on his phone.

I started thinking about the performance reviews and decided to ask Andy his opinion on them.

"What’s the deal with these?" I said. "They give us these reviews in an attempt to make us feel like we have to impress them or something? We show up at this place and work sometimes 60 hours a week, making phone calls, trying to sell these shitty insurance plans, making them enough money to give themselves $100,000 bonuses every year—and yet, we’re rewarded with barely enough to live on and a performance review every quarter where all they do is basically tell us we need to do better."

Andy just chuckled and said, "Yeah, the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer." Never looking up from his phone.

"How old are you again?" I asked. This seemed to catch his attention, and he turned his gaze toward me.

"47," he replied.

I turned my gaze to the concrete ground, wondering if tomorrow I would wake up with most of my life behind me.

"How old are you again?" he asked, breaking my train of thought.

"Just turned 30," I replied.

"You're still young; you've got plenty of time to figure things out," he said as he put his cigarette out and headed into the building.

His words lingered with me. I knew he meant it as a good thing, but to me, it felt heavy—knowing that I still had a lot more time left to try to figure things out and survive, only to ultimately die and be forgotten.

"What's the point?" I thought, looking down at my phone and realizing it was time to head inside.

"6:45," my phone read.

I stood up, walked into the building, scanned my badge to get through security, and made my way to my small cubicle. My old computer barely functioned, and the phone I spent 90% of my day on was sitting next it, waiting for me to try and sell insurance to people who didn’t need it.

My day was pretty standard up until lunchtime. I checked my emails and replied to all the questions and new updated sales tactics we were supposed to use. I made a few calls to people and was immediately hung up on, at least I didn't waste too much time. As I was getting up and ready to clock out for lunch, my boss opened his door and yelled from his office. 

"Ryker, you're next. Come in here."

I pulled out my phone and checked the time: "10:56." I put it away and looked up to see him just staring at me from his doorway. This asshole couldn't wait until after lunch for this? I thought as I slowly started making my way to his office. When he saw I was coming, he left his door cracked and went back inside. 

When I arrived, he was seated behind his desk with two of his bosses standing behind him, just like in my daydream. I couldn't help but smirk a little as I entered and closed the door behind me.

"Have a seat, Ryker," he said, pointing toward the chair opposite his desk. I nodded and sat down, crossing my arms. I really hated this, and in a way, I wanted my body language to say what I didn’t directly tell him. Plus, with him and his two bosses standing there, ready to cast judgment, I couldn’t help but feel my fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. I hated that they had this power over me.

"I’d like to start off by asking you how you think you did this quarter," he said, looking at me with an expression that made it clear he wasn’t impressed. My anxiety spiked, and I cleared my throat before answering.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I think my numbers were pretty solid, sir. I sold one more insurance plan than I did last quarter."

He continued staring at me for several seconds before looking down at some papers he had in front of him.

"How about your attendance, Ryker? Do you think that has been... solid?"

I immediately felt anger rising inside me again and knew where this was going. On average, I call out one day every 2 or 3 weeks, just to gain some sense of freedom and have a day to relax and clear my head. This guy was going to use it against me to keep me down so they could justify paying me the barely livable salary they’ve been paying me for the last eight years.

"I do," I answered, my tone stern and rebellious.

He stared at me for a few seconds, which felt like an attempt to make me uncomfortable—and it was working.

"I’m going to give it to you straight," he said, leaning back in his seat. "Your performance is satisfactory, but your attendance needs work. I want you to be proud of the work you do, and I want you to *want* to be here."

His two bosses behind him nodded their heads as he continued.

"I expect to see your attendance improve and your sales go up by more than just one. You’ve been here for a long time now, and I expect you to set an example for the new hires and less experienced salespeople."

I felt my fists ball up under my arms as he kept using the word *expect.*

"If this company is going to succeed, we need everyone doing their part and making the sacrifices necessary to get us there."

This time, I was the one who didn’t break eye contact. I wanted to tell him that I already spent most of my time at work and wasn’t about to work myself to death just so he could line his pockets and get a bigger bonus. I wanted to tell him right then and there that I quit—and not only that, but I was going to call each and every person I sold this scam insurance to and educate them on how it was designed so that the company never had to pay out anything.

But I didn’t. Instead, I replied, "Yes, sir."

He smiled and nodded, then motioned his hand toward the door. I got up and saw myself out, hearing him call someone else’s name for their quarterly review.

I pulled my phone out again. It read: "11:20."

I only had 10 minutes left for lunch before I needed to be back at work.

I sat there, contemplating whether I had enough time to run to the sandwich shop down the street or if I should just take my 30 minutes now and come back later than everyone else. I knew that if I did that, it would look like I came back late from lunch. Even if I explained why, it would still leave a negative impression on the people in the office who mattered. 

Fuck it, I thought to myself. I'm taking the rest of the day off.

I took the elevator down to the lobby and headed out the doors, my thoughts spiraling again.

"I wish I could’ve told that guy off. Why does life have to be so hard? Why can’t people just do their job and make a decent enough wage to live on?"

My anger rose, and I felt  upset with the way the world was. People weren’t interested in fixing society’s problems. They just wanted to step on others until their circumstances were good enough that the problems no longer applied to them. They’d do whatever it took to get to the top, and when they got there, they’d kick anyone else trying to climb up.

I tried to take deep breaths to calm myself down. Just go home, relax, and sleep on it, I thought as I approached the crosswalk. I pressed the button and waited for the light to change.

As I stood there, trying to calm myself, I heard a woman behind me say, "Please, sir, I don’t have anything."

I turned around to see a young girl in her early twenties walking hastily toward the crosswalk where I was standing. She was noticeably distressed, with a serious look of concern on her face. I looked behind her and saw the man who had asked me for money that morning, following her and trying to catch up.

"I wasn’t asking," he said, continuing toward her. "I said, give me your money before I take it."

He looked much worse than he had this morning—shaking all over. He must be on something, I thought, as I watched the woman press the button, as if it were a life-or-death situation. The man caught up to her and grabbed her arm. She gasped in fear, and in that moment, something snapped inside me.

A strong rage built up within me, and it exploded. I didn’t black out—I knew exactly what I was doing, but in that moment, there seemed to be no other option.

I grabbed the man’s wrist and squeezed it as hard as I could.

"Hey!" I yelled as I shoved him with my other arm. He stumbled back letting go of the woman and focused his attention on me.

"What’s up?!" he yelled, lunging at me. He grabbed me by the shirt collar and we both fell to the ground. We rolled around a bit in a struggle but I was ultimately stronger and angrier than him and was able to roll myself on top of him.

I started punching him, letting all my anger and rage pour out.

"She said, leave her alone!" I screamed, throwing punch after punch into his face.

He struggled, grabbing at my face and then pulling his hands back down out of my sight. I continued punching and putting every bit of energy I had into punishing this man and showing him what happens when you try to bully and take from others. I felt a sharp pain in my stomach which started spreading and becoming more intense.  I stopped for a moment, and the man bloody and coughing scrambled out from underneath me, running in the opposite direction.

I felt a sense of relief—almost pride—like I had finally delivered justice to someone who deserved it. I looked down at my stomach and noticed a lot of blood staining my white dress shirt. It seemed to cover every inch of it, dripping to the ground.

I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and saw several deep stab wounds and gashes across my stomach and lower chest. Then the pain hit me in waves, intense and overwhelming.

"Sir, we called an ambulance. Stay calm," I heard a man say.

I sank back onto my butt, and as the realization of what just happened began to dawn on me, everything around me started to dim. It became hard to see. I lay down, closed my eyes, and felt a sensation of falling. Then, after a few moments the falling stopped and the pain ceased. I opened my eyes to find myself staring into a black endless void.

"Is anyone there?" I yelled, waiting for a response. The silence was disheartening, so I yelled again, "Am I dead?"

A man's voice responded, so close to my ear that I jolted and spun around. "What do you think?"

I waited, scanning the darkness, trying to find the person who had spoken, but all I saw was nothing—just darkness.

"I'm either dead, or in a coma and this is some weird dream," I said, hoping it was the latter.

"No, sorry to break it to you, but you're dead," the voice responded.

It was hard to process. Other than only being able to see darkness, I didn’t feel dead. I felt like I always felt—except maybe lighter. I waited for a few moments, hoping the voice would speak again, but nothing was said.

"So, where am I now?" I asked, hoping the voice wasn't gone.

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain," the voice replied. "You're not anywhere, really. You're in the space in between."I tried to process this for a moment before speaking again. 

"So, is this like purgatory, where I await my judgment?" I responded.

The voice  laughed, then continued. "No, there's no judgment here—other than the judgment you cast on yourself."

I waited, trying to understand what that meant.

"So, are you God?" I asked, still trying to grasp what the hell was going on.

The voice laughed again, then responded, "I can see how you’d think that, given your current perspective, but no, I am not God. I'm just here to reassign you."

Reassign me? What the hell does that mean? I thought, feeling completely lost and confused.

The voice continued, "If you're done asking questions, I can continue on with this. Or you can just sit here, floating, for a few more days until you're ready."

"Ready for what? What am I getting ready for?" I asked, really not liking how cryptic this voice was being.

"Ready for your reassignment," it said.

I let out a sigh, realizing I was getting nowhere. "Okay, I'm ready for my reassignment," I said, now curious about what this was all about.

"Alright, I'll get on with it then."

It was quiet for a few moments, then the voice continued.

"Ryker Lane, you spent your life in the shadows of others. You fought against the hands that held you back, but in doing so, you never saw the invisible threads you tied yourself to. You were so focused on the injustices you felt you suffered that you failed to see the choices you made which bound you in place. You became your own cage, and in that cage, you forgot that freedom was never about what others did to you—it was always about what you allowed yourself to become. Your anger built walls, not bridges. You were blinded by resentment, and in your blindness, you attacked what you feared most—your own chance at peace. You could have let go, but instead, you clenched your fists until they turned to dust."

"Hold on a minute!" I interrupted. The voice stopped, and I waited a few moments before continuing. "I did my best. I tried to make something of myself. I got tired of constantly being ignored and stepped on. I was tired of the injustice that I and countless others faced every day. In the end, I stood up to a bully who tried to take from someone they thought was weaker than them." I paused, briefly reliving that last moment. Then, I continued, "And I paid for it with my life."

"May I continue?" the voice asked. I didn’t respond; I just remained silent, and after a few moments, it began to speak again.

"I’ve seen your struggle, and I’ve watched as you clung to bitterness, believing it was the only strength you had left. But I offer you a chance for something different. You will be reborn into a world where you will have power—power to shape your own path, power to influence the course of those around you. But know this: Power does not erase the truth of your heart. In this new life, you will face the same choices, the same tests. Will you use your strength to build, or will you use it to destroy? This time, you will not be a pawn in others' hands—you will be the one who decides what kind of person you become. I will watch, and you will know whether you have learned or merely escaped."

"Reborn?" I said. "So, I’m going to live again?"

"Indeed, if you so choose," the voice responded.

I wanted to say yes immediately, but decided to think on it for a moment and ask a few more questions. "You said I’ll be born into a life where I have power. Does that mean I’ll be born into a royal family or something?"

"No," the voice said.

I waited for clarification, but none came. I sighed. "So, what does being born with power mean, exactly?" I finally asked.

The voice responded, "It means you’ll have the ability to gain power with much less effort than it took when you were on Earth. And once you gain that power, you’ll keep it—it will never diminish."

I thought about this for a moment, but it still didn’t make sense to me. "So, I’ll be on Earth as a superhero?" I asked, kind of just guessing at this point.

"No, you won’t be a superhero, and you won’t be on Earth," the voice said.

I was shocked when I heard this. "If I won’t be on Earth, then where will I be?" I asked.

"You’ll be on another planet in another star system. Thats all you can know."

I paused for a moment, trying to let this sink in. I floated in silence, just me and the infinite void before me. I was being offered the chance at another life—a fresh start where I would have the power to change my circumstances. I would stand up for what is right and deliver justice to those who deserved it. If I played my cards right, I could help create a world I’d be proud to live in and be a part of.

The voice interrupted my thoughts. "What you see as justice may be perceived as injustice by another. The world is not so simple, nor is right and wrong so clear-cut. The actions you take may have consequences you cannot foresee, and what you deem 'right' might cause harm to those you never intended to hurt. Tread carefully, for perspective shapes all things."

I was shocked for a moment by these words. Was this voice reading my thoughts? I decided to move on. "I'm ready," I said. "I accept your offer."

Just then, I saw a distant light—faint but almost as if it were calling to me. I waited a while for something to happen, but nothing. "What do I do?" I asked.

The voice responded, "I can only show you the door. You must walk through it."

I stared at the light for a moment and began willing myself toward it. At first, it was slow, but the light grew brighter and seemed to draw closer. The more I focused, the faster I seemed to move, and suddenly I was thrust forward at a speed I thought impossible. The light consumed me, enveloping me from all sides. It felt warm and inviting.

Soon, I began to regain feeling in my body, and within seconds, the light was gone. I found myself staring at a beautiful starry night sky