What makes a person unique?

His personality?

His perspective?

His appearance?

His ideals?

His choices?

If so.. aren't everyone unique?

Unique in genes, thoughts, actions, emotions and existence in its whole.

So what makes one different from a bunch of unique people?

Being extraordinarily unique so that you overshadow the normal uniques? Does this even have tiers?

Isn't uniqueness evolving as time passes by? What was once unique would become ordinary if more do the same or better.

So being a differently unique being shining among the clusters like a supernova bursting extravagantly birthing new stars along its demise or like a black hole that arrogantly revolves sucking in the surrounding stars as its fuel can be an inherent blessing or an achievement against painful hurdles regardless of its nature.

Humans are such unique beings regardless of their nature they evolve into but first born purely a curious child in awe of wonders of the world. Its heart, a pure canvas ready to be painted helplessly by the people and places around him.

One such curious child was I, among the billions.

It was a night when the sky was unusually clear with stars glistening like sprinkled gold dust on black inkwell. The shock and fascination felt by the child who witnessed his first starry night was words beyond. It was one of those days when I sneaked away from the raging father and a crying mother with curses and shouts thrown in between about a conflict a child's mind couldn't comprehend. I learned to ignore and distract myself from the things I didn't like. Either sneaked into a room and shut myself in when shouts of father increased in decibels or numbly listened to the wailings and complaints of the poor mother whose only solace to vent was the pleasing child who comforts you back with clumsy made up words antagonizing his own father.

The pure overwhelming emotions felt at that fascinating sight was like an oasis for a child who learned to fake his words and unconsciously numb his emotions as defense in the face of adversities. The child moved his small head dizzily and rolled his sparkling eyes wide to catch the entire sky in his small pupils. Those mysterious stars, so distant and beyond, felt very tempting to reach for the small hands of a child bored of his uninteresting reality and parched of unfelt warmth of a loving pat, a whispered good night, reassuring words of love or just a simple hug he never received. He thought to himself, blankly watching the twinkling wonders through the gaps of fingers, I wanna go there. Whenever a pointless argument passed by his ear, he thought to himself, I wanna escape. What are these people fighting for? Don't their problems feel so insignificant against the majestic universe?

Being the ignored child I was, I felt so insignificant when compared to the whole universe that I feared dying without making my existence known. I even thought I'd definitely get out of earth someday and explore the space. I had such big thoughts. I even scoffed at the possibility of dying without making it out to space. Those stars fascinated me. I wondered how people can still move about leading boring lives everyday without being charmed by the mysteries of the universe and stay within the confines of this pathetic planet and die like dust. So miserable. I felt better than them. I felt the desire to do something big. I wanted to make my presence known and etched. At Least I wanted to reach outer space. An Astronaut. It was my dream, my goal and my passion.

Then I grew up.

Little by little I forgot that dream. My days became blurred so when I looked back at some point, I didn't have any worthy memories. Just insignificant days. Days of past that's still repeating yesterday, today and will most definitely tomorrow. I cried some days mourning my wretched existence. I raged some days blaming everyone else. I laughed some days, just a silly time spent singing, ugly dancing and gorging on food within the confines of my little room. But most of the days I didn't feel anything. I loathed those days the most. So I constantly chased for stimulation, distraction or anything that made me forget reality. A reality that I was so passionate about once.

On one of those bland days, I lamented scribbling rants on torn pages of a dusty notebook:

Everything feels so boring and meaningless. This earth, these people, my own reflection and the heart beating beneath. Why? What's the point? I hate it. But I'm too scared to end it. I like it now. Just without any care for the past or the future or the people. I want to just continue drowning myself in these fantasies and dreams that are now far beyond the realm I live. Less tangible than the stars I see. And lies that make me happy. Can't I have that? Please?

But I know this can't go on any longer. The reality keeps knocking on my fragile walls that I confined myself in and shouts the forthcoming storm that I had to face. Money and my responsibilities because I was birthed and provided necessities by people called parents. Deep emotions that are inevitably attached due to long relationships are drowning me in guilt, helplessness, anxiety and all kinds of emotions that slowly chip away my walls that made me feel secure and foolishly giggle to myself and most of all forget the existence called I. It felt so cozy inside. So I stayed inside a little bit longer. A bit more and more and more....

Now I don't know when I stopped dreading staying inside these walls however long I desired.

Once, I dreamed so big.

Desired for things so vast.

But now I douse even small desires like eating better food or changing my cheap clothes. Because I know, once I pursue them I would want more. A good motivation, one might say. But I already feel disgusted about my leech-like existence that still lives off of the worn out backs of my parents. So I don't wanna waste their effort anymore. It felt very wrong.

Like how wrong my existence is.

My age, a shameful number that I wanna race so fast that skin shreds and leaves blood trails from the momentum to catch up with the world.

But I'm here.

Still here. With a throat clogged in angst. A life I don't look forward to. A heart that doesn't want to hurt them anymore by racing its beat from desires or stopping its rhythm altogether. An existence, I want everyone to forget its presence. How good would that be? Just me without any care floating in my fantasies and burning out the last embers of life until it lasts.

Happy?

I don't care about that fleeting emotion.

Sad?

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

I always am, but it doesn't bother me anymore.

Just wanna exist, pure, numb and unfettered in a cozy little place away from everything, with food that makes me look forward to waking up with sunshine streaming through the swaying foliage of leaves waving against window panes or sleeping every night covered in cozy blankets banning the winter chill.

That is all.

Maybe a bit too much desire for the pathetic self?

If so I wanna be a little greedy.

A little selfish.

Whatever…

I don't care.

Just take me away from here. I don't know how long I can last anymore.

.

.

.

.

Oh…

Someone really took me away.

To a distant world. Away from everything, even my body.

How would you feel if your fantasy comes true? Though the things I experienced weren't exactly pleasant, it may be the price I had to pay. I don't hate whoever made me go through that traumatic pain and death. Rather, I feel overwhelmingly grateful for this life.

Ah, I feel so Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

I grinned looking at the pale boy in the mirror who copied back the curve of lips. As if those facial muscles were never used before, the happy grin I made looked like a sinister grin of a mad killer ready to pounce on its prey in the mirror. I flinched at my own reflection. But I still grinned again without a care as I was alone now drenched once in a blue moon ecstasy. The grin didn't last long as it soon turned into a grimace when the reflection showed the disastrous room behind that looked straight out of a horror movie and my own bloody appearance that looked like the protagonist of such a movie.

The icky feeling of sticky blood brought up unpleasant memories of being covered in my own blood with spilled guts, cut limbs, gauged organs, the crawling feeling of sizzling fire against flesh, the overwhelming pain…. Stop it! I don't wanna recall anymore.

I controlled my unstable breathing and the light trembling of my body, and looked for the washroom. I wanted to remove the unpleasant sight of red blood as soon as possible. Only then I can slowly assess my situation and where I am.

The whole room felt like a studio apartment with how large it was. I passed by things forcibly reigning in my curiosity and finally found a lavish bathroom in one corner. After going in, I stood there dumbstruck by the luxury I had only seen through digital screens. It had everything one can expect from a luxurious bathroom. A childish part of me expected floating magical globes of water and cleansing fairy dusts.

Guess this world doesn't have magic huh?

I sighed in disappointment and stripped of my bloodied clothes.

Wait…

Then what are those magical things I saw before? Be it the purple mists, sealing stones, strange mirrors and black barriers.

So this place does have magic!

My disappointed heart soon jumped in erratic anticipation but frowned in mystery about this magicless room.

Maybe magic here is concealed to the common folk at this period of time.

Maybe this magic free mansion, though lavish, is what's considered to be 'backward' and low here.

Whatever.

I shrugged in carefree wonder and scrubbed my body vigorously until the pale skin became an unhealthy red. When I felt satisfied that the blood had been completely washed off, I stepped out of the warm shower smelling of the pleasant fragrance of shampoo. I dried myself with a fluffy white towel and got dressed in a bathrobe hanging inside an intricately carved cabinet behind a large mirror.

With water dripping from ends of undried hair, I bent down and searched for a gauze in the cabinet below to dress my wounds.

Wow, why are there so many bandages, medicinal potions and pills here? Does this person often get sick?

I grabbed some gauze and potions labeled as disinfectants and ointments, and placed it on the sink. I removed my clumsily made drenched up sleeves-cum-bandages and threw it aside. Now that I see it, these gashes are definitely suicide marks. But Ezlian couldn't have died here, as he clearly lived up to his execution time. So someone came in and saved him. So why didn't no-one come in now?

Did my arrival change something?

Tch, who cares. It would be a pleasant change if it somehow causes a butterfly effect and evades that terrible future.

I don't have energy to worry about that distant future now as even my present proves to be an ongoing mystery.

I cleaned and disinfected my wrists and neck, applied medicine and bandaged it nicely. After finishing everything and cleaning up the blood, I looked up my reflection. Now I look like a depressed emo kid.

I laughed, shaking my head and stepped out of the bathroom. I went back to the bedroom to get some dress but froze when I saw the bloody room.

Shit, don't fantasy genres have maids at beck and call? Why has no one even knocked after all this commotion?

I didn't have the courage to raise unnecessary suspicion to whoever was beyond that door by letting them see this terror of a room. So I avoided stepping out the door and trudged back to get some cleaning supplies. I removed the glass fragments, unfortunately after tiny cuts on my fingers, and carefully cleaned every blood drop on the carpet, cabinet, walls and mirror.

Where can you see such a diligent reincarnator who works on the first day of his epic fantasy journey?

While I was moping sadly, I was suddenly struck by a realization.

The pain!

Why didn't I feel any?

Though the wrists were tingling a bit, it wasn't the degree of pain such deep gashes should have. I didn't even flinch when cleaning and disinfecting the wounds or when the glass fragments cut me.

I pinched my cheeks hard just in case to check again.

Ow!

It hurts.

What's this strange situation?

I rubbed my aching cheeks. Even in the dungeon back then, I didn't feel any pain from injuries but just some headaches and hunger pangs.

So anything that involves blood doesn't hurt?!

But I clearly felt the overwhelming pain when they skewered me to my second death.

What a mystery…

Once again shrugging and bolting away those thoughts for later investigation, I focused on cleaning. After stuffing the bloody blankets and clothes in some hidden corner and draping a fresh velvet blanket over the bed, I sighed in satisfaction at the now clean room.

After washing away the sweat, I got dressed in a simple full sleeved white shirt with a black turtleneck beneath hiding the bandaged neck and black pants with suspenders. I roughly dried my hair and rechecked my appearance in the mirror.

I fear I'd turn narcissistic if I stare at this face everyday. The dark circles and pale skin creates a slight decadent beauty.

Now I look like a teen teetering on edge between cute and handsome straight out of a romantic fantasy, a big contrast to the horror genre I saw before.

Though I'd say this expressionless face suits much better for the latter one.

I pulled up my cheeks to induce a smile.

Gosh! I almost punched the mirror in reflex.

I sadly vowed myself to practice the creaking facial muscles later when I'm alone.

I sighed and walked away from the mirror.

After taking some deep breaths, I stood before the door and nervously adjusted my clothes. Steeling myself, I slowly opened the door and peeked out.

Save for a lone food cart, the corridor was deathly quiet.

I gulped in nervous tension and stepped outside.