The room was silent… except for the sound of a slow, uneven breath.
The air smelled of rust and medicine — a mixture of pain and hopelessness.
On the cracked wooden bed lay a man in his late forties, bones showing beneath his skin, his eyes staring at the ceiling as if searching for an answer he'd never found.
He whispered to himself,
> "If only I had chosen better… if I had stayed away from the people who destroyed me… maybe I wouldn't be here today."
His fingers trembled.
He coughed, hard — and red stained the floor.
Blood.
Warm, sticky, and final.
> "Ah… it's too late now,"
he murmured, as his chest tightened,
"Whatever I was meant to be… it's gone."
The clock ticked louder. His world blurred.
The ceiling began to dissolve into white light — not bright, but peaceful.
And then, everything went silent.
…
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in the same room.
The smell was different — no medicine, no decay.
He blinked. There was color everywhere — sunlight spilling through the curtains, dust floating gently in the air.
He slowly sat up and looked around.
His heart stopped for a moment when he saw the calendar on the wall.
> "1999…?" he whispered.
He touched his face — smooth skin, not wrinkled.
His hands — strong again.
He could feel pain when he pinched himself.
> "This… this isn't a dream."
Tears filled his eyes. He laughed and cried at the same time.
He had died — and yet, he was alive again.
This was his second breath.
His second chance.
> "This time… I'll live right," he said under his breath.
"No more regrets."
He stood up, breathing deeply, feeling the life inside his chest.
A weak smile crossed his lips.
> "Let's start again."