The days in the hospital blurred together, melting into a tedious routine of nurses, doctors, and the slow, relentless march of recovery.

I’d wake up, get poked with needles, choked by the bitter taste of pills, and then drift back to sleep.

It was a miserable existence, but one I had no choice but to endure.

My body was broken in more places than I cared to count.

Every movement was agony. Even lifting a finger felt like it took all the energy I had. I lost track of how long I had been there—days? Weeks? Time didn’t matter anymore.

I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for. Maybe I was hoping that one day I’d wake up, and this whole nightmare would be over. Maybe I’d finally die in my sleep and get that reincarnation I’d been dreaming about. Or maybe, deep down, I was just too stubborn to give up entirely.

One afternoon, I managed to prop myself up on my elbows.

It was the first time I’d tried to move in what felt like forever, and my muscles screamed in protest.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. The pain was unbearable, but the urge to do something—anything—was stronger.

The nurse, a young woman with a perpetually tired look on her face, walked in just as I managed to sit up.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting me to be conscious, let alone mobile.

“Careful”

She said, hurrying over.

“You shouldn’t be moving yet.”

“I’m fine”

I grunted, though my whole body disagreed. The truth was, I had no idea why I was doing this.

Maybe it was just the frustration of lying in bed, feeling utterly useless. Or maybe, it was because for the first time in weeks, I felt like I had some control, however small, over my situation.

The nurse sighed but didn’t argue. She helped adjust the pillows behind my back, and after a few moments, I could finally breathe without feeling like I was being crushed by my own weight.

Small victories.

“You’ve made a lot of progress”

She said, though I could tell she was just trying to be nice.

“But you still have a long way to go.”

I nodded absentmindedly, not really listening. My mind was elsewhere—focused on one thing: getting out of this bed.

For days, I’d been lying here, drowning in my own thoughts.

But I couldn’t stand it anymore. If I was stuck in this world, then I had to do something. Even if it was small, even if it was pointless.

By the time the nurse left, I was already plotting my next move. It wasn’t much—just getting up. But for me, that was monumental.

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I had to know if I could still stand, if my body could still obey me.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold air hit my skin, and my legs trembled as they dangled.

I took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable wave of pain that would follow. Slowly, I lowered my feet to the floor, wincing as they touched the cool tiles.

One deep breath. Two. Then, with all the strength I could muster, I pushed myself off the bed. My legs wobbled, threatening to give out beneath me, but I locked my knees and held my ground.

I was standing. Barely.

The rush of accomplishment was quickly drowned out by the searing pain shooting up my spine, but I didn’t care. I was up. I was on my feet.

I took a shaky step forward, gripping the bed’s railing for support. My vision swam, and for a second, I thought I might pass out, but I held on.

One step.

Then another.

Slowly, painfully, I moved toward the door.

I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find out there. But I needed to move.

I needed to see something other than the four walls of my hospital room. I had to remind myself that the world still existed outside this tiny, suffocating space.

With each step, the pain became sharper, but I kept going.

My hands shook as I gripped the door handle, and for a moment, I hesitated. But then, I pulled the door open and stumbled out into the hallway.

It was quiet, almost eerily so.

The hospital seemed deserted, though I knew that wasn’t the case. I limped down the corridor, passing empty rooms and dimly lit nurses’ stations.

My body was screaming at me to stop, but my mind was already too far gone to listen.

Eventually, I found myself standing in front of the large window at the end of the hall.

Outside, the world carried on, oblivious to my struggle. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the city. Cars moved lazily down the streets, people going about their lives as if nothing had changed.

I pressed my hand against the glass, feeling the cool surface under my palm. My reflection stared back at me—pale, gaunt, with dark circles under my eyes. Even if i got used to compare my face with trash, I barely recognized myself.

I stood there for a long time, watching the world outside. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something.

Down in the hospital parking lot, a woman was struggling to get her child out of the car.

The kid, maybe two or three, was throwing a tantrum, screaming and kicking, making it impossible for her to buckle him into his stroller.

I watched them for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. Something about the scene tugged at me—an echo of the day I had thrown myself in front of that truck.

No. Maybe was even before. By the time i was 4 or something. I didn't remember much but i got the feeling that something happened.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was moving again, hobbling toward the elevator.

I had no idea why I cared, but something inside me told me I had to go.

I had to do... something.

The elevator ride was excruciatingly slow, every jolt sending waves of pain through my battered body.

By the time I reached the ground floor, I was drenched in sweat, but I didn’t stop.

I pushed open the door to the parking lot and made my way toward the woman. She hadn’t noticed me yet, too busy wrestling with the screaming toddler.

“Need a hand?”

I croaked, my voice barely audible.

The woman looked up, startled, her eyes wide with surprise.

I must’ve looked like a ghost, standing there, pale and trembling, but she nodded, clearly too exhausted to question me.

I crouched down—painfully—and gently helped guide the child into the stroller, clicking the buckle into place.

The kid was still fussing, but at least he was secure now.

The woman let out a long sigh of relief.

“Thank you”

She said, her voice full of gratitude.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

My legs were about to give out, and I needed to sit down before I collapsed.

She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t pry. She just gave me a tired smile and wheeled her kid toward the entrance of the hospital.

As I watched them go, I felt something strange stir inside me. It wasn’t much—just a small flicker of warmth in the cold emptiness I’d been living in. But it was something.

Why did i get up? Was it my fate to help this woman? Nah, i guess it was the bed. I couldn't stand another day layed on that thing.

It was time to go back to my room so i got up.

I took a step, then another, but my legs gave out beneath me.

The world spun, and before I could catch myself, I collapsed onto the pavement.

The pain rushed in all at once, my body screaming in protest as I hit the ground.

My vision blurred, and the last thing I saw before everything went dark was the fading sunlight, slipping away between the buildings.