There's this feeling I get sometimes—a nagging sensation tugging at my heart, pulling me. Imagine the feeling you get when you're really excited, but stronger. It happens every now and then, sometimes gentle and other times crushing, depending on what it's leading me to.

This phrase I've heard, "Follow your heart," relates to this feeling. Firstly, don’t, but what I've figured out in my short 15 years is that this feeling looks out for me. Following my "pull" guides me to things that usually end up in my favor. It's how I got my part-time job, ended up fostering my cat, Coconut, and found a running car for under two grand. It's also how I managed to survive high school without ki… er–losing my mind.

Sometimes it leads me to random places for no apparent reason. Yesterday, on my way to work, the feeling told me to pull off the highway. I veered off, only for nothing to happen—nothing at all. I waited in anticipation for something cool, watching the clock tell me I was late, then continued on my way to work. Yes, I was driving without a license, but why bother about the small details?

Disappointed, I pulled up to work 10 minutes late. “Seriously, Michael, this is the third time this month. I'm going to have to fire you if you pull this shit again. And don’t you dare say it was because of whatever divine intervention bullshit you follow around,” said my very angry assistant manager.

I reply with a simple shrug and say, "It won't happen again." It was the same line I'd used the last two times. I don’t know why it pulls me with no end goal sometimes, but it’s something I can deal with as long as it generally continues to help me.

If my parents knew about this, they would freak out. Not in a good way either; after all, it’s a mysterious feeling that leads me towards better things, which would always mean it would be away from them. If they think I’m in some sort of rebellious stage, it's the belt for me.

So, when I get this familiar nag one night, with an urgency that feels like life or death, I’m forced to follow it. Grabbing my wallet and putting on my shoes, I leave, slipping through my apartment hallway, trying my damndest not to wake my parents. The old carpet mutes my footsteps, making it a little easier to sneak out while my dad is fast asleep on the couch, liquor bottle still in his bloodied hand.

I weave through alleys and trespass through a construction site, only to end up at a corner store. Sighing, as nothing had happened yet, I walk in and wander the aisles. I buy some chips and a drink, not wanting this dumb midnight excursion to come to waste. I paid for my things and started to head back, munching away on chips that were probably way past their expiration. Though the further I walked away, the feeling grew stronger. Far, far stronger.

Hand over my chest, I reluctantly turn around and follow the pull. I wander across roads, past silent and empty buildings, the occasional lonesome person out doing who knows what, and office workers getting hammered after their night shift. The city is eerily quiet, and my footsteps echo loudly around me.

Eventually, I found myself at the end of a dark, smelly alleyway. The place was a dump, filled with open trash bags and an even old couch. The air was filled with an indescribable thickness. A shiver runs down my spine, but I push forward, ignoring my survival instincts. Usually the pull feels like a secret ally of mine, but tonight it feels as if it’s forcing me to do something. The ambiance is pretty alarming at this point, but my pull wouldn’t lead me astray, right?

Scratching my stubble, I look around and lay eyes on what seemed to be a lone dagger, resting on a wet cardboard box. I move closer and notice the otherwise plain dagger is adorned with an emblem of intertwining serpents forming the guard of a planted sword. My heart jumps as I notice what looks like—is that blood?

What am I supposed to do with this? I reached out, fingers trembling, and I managed to grasp the handle, picking up the heavy blade. Does my pull want me to kill someone?

Before I could turn around, a sharp, strange pain spread from my back. Shocked, I stumbled forward, my hands instinctively reaching for the source of the pain. Blood seeped through my fingers as I felt the blade of a sword pierce my stomach. A coppery taste filled my mouth, and the pain intensified as I realized what had happened.

Did I just get stabbed? There's no way. Why would I get stabbed? Damn this vague desire...

Blood pumped out with every push of my lungs, and I fell to my knees. Collapsing to the ground, the world seemingly spinning around me.

“W-who… are… you?” I managed to croak as I turned around to see my assailant. A long, blood-soaked robe clung to their form, masking their features. The only thing I could discern from them was a shining silver bracelet. A suffocating pressure radiated from them, not helping my wound.

The figure said nothing, only silently watching as my strength began to fade. A mountain of thoughts filled my head. “How am I going to get to work?” “Who's going to feed Coconut?” “I want someone here with me.”

My vision blurs as I feel my consciousness slip. “Shit, am I dying?” Before the darkness claimed me, I heard a faint whisper from my attacker, "Not yet."

——————————————

I gasp as my eyes snap open, my lungs filling with clear air. My hands fly to my stomach, searching for the wound that had ended my life. There’s nothing, the once gaping hole in my stomach gone, replaced with the lingering memory of death.

Before confusion could settle in, horror gripped me, and tears welled in my eyes. “I can’t believe I died, just like that.” My voice trembled. A rising panic started clawing at my throat, and my lungs burned with each gasp of air.

“What about my parents?” I needed someone here, anyone. “What about Coconut? How am I going to see him again? This isn’t real, right? It’s all a dream.” Desperate prayers spilled from my lips, cursing to an indifferent universe. I started feeling nauseous.

“I was supposed to live until I was old; I was supposed to find my true love; I was supposed to have a family; I was supposed to..." I choked on the words, each syllable a bitter reminder of my shattered goals and empty dreams.

I curled up, desperately trying to cling onto anything that would support me. But there was nothing, only the empty void that yawned before me.

——————————————

After what seemed like hours, I calmed down enough to observe my surroundings. There wasn’t much to see; I was floating in some void, my body feeling light, almost weightless. I tried to swim around, but nothing happened. Despite that, I could walk—on what? I didn’t know. If this was the afterlife, it sucked. I didn’t want to stay here.

Before I could reflect further, a blinding flash of light overwhelmed me. Pressure surrounded me, then a sudden release. I started crying again—or more like whining; I couldn’t breathe! I struggled to cough out whatever clogged my lungs. As soon as I did, air flooded in.

“pgeht noeite rhyu y hua as wueti n dsonrn otno.”

What did he say?

Before I could open my eyes, a pungent odor invaded my nostrils. It was a horrid mix of blood, feces, and death. Gagging, I weakly opened my eyes and immediately ejected what little food was in my stomach.

“hpsi iisesau r eoso c tmawl’ aea ihuknhe gyndtp r utti,” a furious voice shouted, followed by a loud kick against the bars imprisoning me.

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What is he saying? Where the hell am I?

I was leaning against a cold, rough brick wall, with large iron bars enclosing me and many other poor souls. All around me, people sat in their own filth, devoid of hope. Blood pooled around unmoving bodies, and a painful sting radiated from my back and legs. When I tried to touch it, my wrists convulsed in pain. My hands were tied to the wall behind me, each movement sending waves of suffering through me. My mouth tasted metallic and swollen with blood, and a couple of my front teeth were freshly missing. My lips, severely cracked and dry.

Shock is the only word to describe my emotions at this moment—utter shock. There's nothing to take in, no sights to see, and no guide to show me the way. I was simply reborn and shoved into the body of some unfortunate no-name slave. How could I be reincarnated, only to be thrown right back into a world that fucking hates me? This is such bullshit.

By now, I had realized I was a slave, simple as that. My fellow prisoners had long, open gashes on their backs, just like me. They all bore the same disheveled appearance that I could only imagine was plastered on myself.

Just then, a loud clanging echoed throughout the hall, just beyond the bars, making everyone flinch or curl up into an even smaller ball. Heavy footsteps approached us, and a group of guards armed with swords and clad with heavy metal armor stopped in front of our cell. What seemed to be their leader, a burly man with thick scars running down his ugly face, smiled at us, exposing his yellow, crooked teeth.

“Tusg ym uep ouc,” he barked. “Egtiucei 't mo y ’yoh o tstil d ot utrtnea lescootm?” His gruff voice reverberated throughout the chamber. No one moved.

His smile quickly faded as he noticed no one moving. “Gnlr syutghkol y soen epf’oa e op y ad wshwnu uyrh wtonsyowr ohtmied?” The cell door creaked open, and a guard yanked a person to their feet. He looked like a kid, though he was most likely very malnourished, more so than me. Everyone quickly turned their heads away, anticipating what was going to happen next. "OOKL!” the leader shouted. Some began crying as they turned back, only to see the kid headless.

I had seen everything. The guard that grabbed him forced him to stand against the wall, gripping his head with one palm until it began to disintegrate, turning into mush with the blood. It was a quick, but gory death, I threw up again.

What is this place, hell? I began to think back to my previous life; nothing but bad hands dealt to me. Though, not once did I ever do something deserving of this damnation. After that performance, the guards on standby brought in what looked like pink and wet mashed potatoes. They then untied our bonds and set us free, like untamed dogs off a leash. This was to be our food, as displayed by my hungry roommates, who were fiendishly pushing away others for the slop. I stayed back, watching the pile of food slowly diminish as my own stomach growled louder. Not only are they treating us like animals, we were acting like it.

A handful of others did the same as I, staying back instead of participating in the free-for-all. In a matter of moments, even the tiniest of morsels left behind were gone, and the guards roughly tied our hands back together and left, the echoes of footsteps trailing away from the room. For the rest of the day, nobody came back, not even the sound of a person anywhere near us.

——————————————

Five meals had passed, and I only grew weaker. What seemed to be each day, one large scoop of slop was put on the ground for us to share. Through a small window, rainwater dripped off the disgusting walls for us to lick up as our only source of survival. In a puddle on the ground, I caught sight of my new body’s appearance: long gray hair, brown eyes, and a face only a mother could love. Though I shouldn’t be too harsh on myself considering my predicament. I was on the cusp of being a teenager, maybe eleven or twelve? In the time I've been here, I've discovered some things: who was the strongest amongst us, slave and guard alike, and how cruel this damn world was.

Many of the weak have already died, rotting from a plethora of things in here. Myself and others held on to a weak thread of hope that one day we would escape. The strong here could use some sort of power, either gaining the strength of many men or somehow pushing people away telekinetically every time a meal came around. Those were the ones I had to look out for and stay away from. Despite that, the strong never dared attack the guards. I don't know their power, but if they stayed away from the guards, I should too.

My body did next to nothing to heal my wounds, no doubt because of my malnourishment. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, depending on how you see it, I didn’t bleed out. Not once were we untied or separated to use the bathroom, forcing us to defecate in the only thing we wore, our own torn smocks. No shoes or even underwear, just one long, dirty garb.

Today was different, with the ugly and imposing leader coming back during our allotted meal time. He shouted something, and the guards came in, untied us once more, and everyone who could stand on their own stood. The guards were dragging them out if they couldn’t. When it was my turn, a guard grabbed my arm, his grip strong enough to take a chunk out of it. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled under me, and I collapsed to the ground. The guard muttered and hauled me up, half-dragging me out of the cell.

We were led through a labyrinth of corridors, the air growing thicker with the stench of decay I could never get used to. My head pounded with each step, and my vision blurred. I stumbled, and the guard shoved me forward, making me fall to my knees.

“emvkn opieg!” he snarled.

We emerged into a vast courtyard, open to the night sky. Rain was pouring down nearly sideways, and every available space was filled with wooden wagons. Even more people in an equally unfortunate predicament were all huddled outside being pushed into these wagons. Around us were the watchful eyes of guards. Those who acted out, or for no reason at all, were subject to beatings; the sound of people groaning in pain filled the air. We appeared to be the insignificant slaves, comparing ourselves to others of different groups who didn’t look nearly as terrible as we did.

Despite my pain, I began to hyperventilate. Only when I got lashed did I stop. We were herded along in single-file lines to specific wagons. I was shoved onto one of the dirty transport wagons along with many others from my same cell. People were packed like sardines, causing the spread of blood and dirt from one person to the next. Those who didn’t share their bodily fluids coughed all over each other instead.

With a crack of the reins we set off to whatever horror awaits us. The ride was harsh; not only did the people make the smell horrendous, but the bumps and sways of the wagon cut my already large wounds even more. If I could see my back, I would be horrified at the ooze and color of the wounds. After what felt like an hour, the cart abruptly stopped, and I heard the same indecipherable yelling as before. A loud boom shook around us as something slammed into the wagon with considerable force. This is my chance! I can use this to get free! I frantically searched for something—anything that could cut the rope—while everyone else stayed in their spots.

Finally, I managed to peel up a piece of rotten wood with my leg and started to saw at the rope. The yelling outside continued, and the wagon shook once again, causing me to drop my wood. Dammit. I went to pick it up until the yelling abruptly stopped, turning into calmer chatter. Shit shit shit shit, I have to cut this. I quickly snatched the wood and sawed faster. Finally, the rope frayed in half, setting me free. I quickly looked around at everyone with me, but their faces returned a sad, almost pitiful look. I tilt my head and give a confused look before shrugging. With that, I ungracefully jumped out of the cart.

I looked back, and thankfully, due to the night, nobody seemed to have spotted me. I tried to see what caused the commotion: large wolf-like creatures with tusks three feet long lay on the ground, while men dug through their dead bodies, grabbing light green orbs from them and eating them. I shivered in disgust and coldness as I slowly made my way through the dark forest leaves crunching beneath my bare feet.

Barely visible through the canopy of trees, I can see two moons: one blue and the other red. The forest is much louder than anytime I’ve ever been in one, and every tree looks to be the same size as redwoods. I manage to make it to what I think is pretty far from the trail we were on, before I trip on some root sticking out of the ground. I add another wound to my collection and carry on.

Unfortunately my pull persists in this world, and this time drawing me in a presumably random direction. I don’t follow it, I mean look how I ended up last time I did. I continue to hobble, barely staying afoot due to the adrenaline, and find myself in a shallow cave, a shelter. I couldn’t quite call it a home, but being protected from the elements is a great priority.

Lady Luck was on my side now, as I noticed moss growing along the sides of the cave and up onto the wall. Hungrily, I rush over, grab a fistful of the stuff, and shove it into my mouth. In my past life, I remember something about moss being edible in dire situations, and if this isn’t a dire situation, I don’t know what it is.

My pull continued to lure me off in the direction stronger than before, a crushing feeling radiating from my chest, but I continued to ignore the damned tug for my newly found shelter and food.

After filling my stomach with some more chunks of the wonderful, damp moss, my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the ground, my exhaustion finally catching up with me. Just as I drift off to sleep, I hear the patter of rain start to fall, causing me to curl up and shiver.

The only thing I can focus on now is survival. I need to survive to spite that damned person who stabbed me. The slavers, however, deserve more than spite; they deserve death, death a thousand times over, and that's what I will do. I will kill every last one of those sick fucking people. I will get my revenge.