Under the warm sun, painting the sky its usual blue, it was an ordinary day, no different from countless others.
Among the bustling crowd heading to various destinations, a group gathered at the busy crossroads. The red traffic light created a pause for quiet conversations among waiting pedestrians.
As the light turned green, the crowd moved forward like a river to cross the road. At the back walked a young schoolboy in a neat uniform, carrying his backpack. He glanced nervously at his watch, knowing he was late again. His steps quickened to keep up with the crowd.
The peaceful routine of the busy crossroads shattered in an instant.
Honk!
Honk!
A loud blast - the ear-splitting blare of a truck horn - cut through the air.
Time seemed to stop as the massive truck roared through the intersection, its huge front grill emerging from the blaring horn like the mouth of a hungry beast.
The schoolboy turned just in time to face the nightmarish sight. In that instant, terrifying details flashed in his mind - the truck's immense size, unstoppable speed, thick black tires churning, and the metallic gleam of its chrome bumper showing no mercy.
HIT!
He barely registered the upcoming impact before an explosive force struck his body.
CRACK!
SCREEEEEECH!
CRASH!
As the truck crushed everything in its path, the sickening crunch of bones and tearing flesh mixed with screeching brakes and twisting metal.
The boy's world exploded into blinding pain, fear, and shock as his body launched skyward like a ragdoll, spinning unnaturally.
SLAM!
Then, as he hit the hard ground, his reality shattered again. The world seemed to spin out of control.
'What's happening?'
'Did I get hit by the truck?'
His mind raced as he tried to make sense of the confusing sights and sounds.
In an instant, he found himself lying on his back, staring at the sky. His body ached, and warm blood seeped from his wounds. The blood trickled across his face, blurring his vision with red.
"Call an ambulance,"
"A truck ran over a student,"
"Call the police,"
The accident threw the scene into chaos. Panic gripped the bystanders, and a mad rush followed.
As someone rushed to help the boy,
"Hey, kid, can you hear me,"
"Keep your eyes open,"
The stranger gently slapped his cheek as the boy struggled to stay conscious.
"Ambulance is coming,"
"Don't give up,"
A wave of sensations and questions flew through the boy's mind.
'What is he saying?'
'Why is everything red and blurry?'
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'Am I dying?'
The uncertainty cast a chilling shadow over his fading consciousness.
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Numbness crept through his body; he felt detached.
'I can't feel my hands and legs,'
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The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
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Slowly, his connection to the physical world began to fade away.
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'So this is how my tale ends, huh?'
The thought carried bittersweet resignation mixed with regret and relief.
'I can be free from this life,'
'But I couldn't keep my promise to Mom,'
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'Well, I can be selfish just as she was when...'
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As life's curtain slowly closed, he silently wished for the next.
'I want to be born in a normal house next time,'
The light in his eyes dimmed as the universe pulled him into eternal sleep. His thoughts faded like whispers in the night.
All the events that unfolded, including the terrifying experience of the young boy, who was none other than me. And this was how my life ended.
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STAMP!
STAMP!
'What's that noise?'
The sharp, rhythmic sound of someone stamping on a wooden table woke me from sleep. I slowly opened my eyes to look around.
I saw an astonishing sight. Before me stood a semi-transparent figure, allowing me to see through it. It seemed to exist between the tangible and intangible.
This semi-transparent figure wasn't alone. There were more, each with the same supernatural trait standing in order. The line stretched into the distance, as far as I could see, before stopping at a wooden table.
A man in a formal suit sat at the table amidst this ghostly line. He held a stamp, pressing it onto papers, one by one. This simple task contrasted with the extraordinary surroundings.
What made this scene bizarre was the strange outcome after each stamp. As the man stamped the paper, the figure in front vanished. At the same time, the stamped paper flew through the air before disappearing into a box like a letterbox.
'Where am I?'
'Is this the afterlife people talk about?'
I looked around, but my surroundings were endless white, without any features. The unreal nature of this place left me mystified and disoriented, as if in a different realm where reality's laws had changed.
Uneasy, I tried to move, but a strange force held my legs in place.
'Why are my legs like this?'
I looked at myself and found that I was the same as the semi-transparent before me.
'Did I become a ghost?'
No matter how hard I tried, my legs wouldn't move.
The following figure appeared as one vanished before the man. Strangely, as the line moved forward, my body moved automatically with them.
I no longer controlled my actions; the events defied explanation.
'Where am I?'
'What is this place? A ghost house or what?'
Helplessness washed over me, leaving me with more questions than answers about this strange place.
As time passed, the line shortened. With each step, the paper pile decreased, and minutes stretched into an hour.
An hour later, I had moved considerably, now a few meters from the man.
A few minutes later, I was within arm's reach. Standing directly before him, I had a clear view of the objects on the wooden table.
While not particularly large, the wooden table was covered with various objects. What stood out as truly remarkable was that despite the table being entirely occupied by these items, the arrangement had a strange sense of order and symmetry.
The once-ample paper pile was reduced to one, placed to the man's left. Next to it was an hourglass, its slender neck holding only a tiny amount of sand left to trickle through.
To the right of his table lay an ink bottle with a peacock feather dipped in it, an empty tea cup, and a miniature model of a tower-like building
As the man was about to stamp the last paper, I asked,
"What is this place?"
My words hung in the air, and unsurprisingly, the man's hand froze. He slowly lifted his head for the first time.
As he raised his head, I looked at his face.
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His messy black hair partly covered deep blue eyes that had lost their sparkle. He had dark circles and uneven facial hair, though traces of former attractiveness remained. The signs of fatigue and weariness etched into his features only added to the tension surrounding him.
Surprise washed over his face as he looked at me. I remained silent, waiting for him to explain.
But instead of talking to me, he seemed lost in thought. I overheard him mumbling, his voice weary and frustrated.
"Sigh, it seems like this work is taking a toll on me. I'm hearing the voice of a soul which can't speak,"
The man's gaze returned to the last paper, his hand poised to stamp it. Then, my voice broke the silence,
"Voice of a soul?"
He responded immediately, looking at me with wide eyes.
"You just spoke, didn't you?"
He exclaimed, pointing a trembling finger at me.
"Yup,"
My words jolted him from his seat, and he leapt up in disbelief and amazement.
"Impossible!"
"How are you talking?"
The man's reaction to my voice was even more astonishing than my shock at finding myself in this unknown space.
A few seconds passed, and the man seemed to realise what he'd done.
"Ahem, sorry about that,"
After clearing his throat, astonishment turned to embarrassment, and he quickly composed himself.
With the paper in hand, he read aloud:
[
Soul No.: 5412H4648
Age: 55
Soul State: Young/Child
Number of Reincarnations: 03
Average Life: 18
Karma: 1,50,000
Karmic: +98%↑
]
Neither the words nor the reading made sense to me.
"You're quite an unlucky child," The man remarked,
"Dying three times at the beginning of adulthood, unable to live a proper life."