Sirens pulled him out of sleep.
Not all at once, just enough to drag him halfway back to consciousness. The sound was distant at first, tangled with a half-formed dream, then sharp enough to be annoying. He groaned, rolled onto his side, and buried his face in the pillow.
Too loud.
The sirens didn't fade. They grew closer, overlapping, echoing between buildings. An ambulance. Maybe more than one. He opened one eye and glanced at the clock.
Too early for this.
He lay there for a few seconds, listening. Somewhere below, voices carried upward—muffled, indistinct. A door slammed. Someone swore. The city was awake in that ugly, inefficient way it always was when something went wrong.
With a sigh, he pushed himself out of bed and walked to the window.
The street below was partially blocked. An ambulance stood at an angle, its lights flashing red and blue against the concrete walls. Above it all, the moon hung low in the sky, full, bright, and calm.
He found himself focusing on it instead of the scene below. He always liked the moon. It never rushed, never changed for anyone. No matter what happened beneath it, it remained quietly beautiful.
A small crowd had gathered, not large, just enough people to pretend they weren't staring. Someone was crying. Someone else was filming with their phone.
He didn't see the body at first.
Then he leaned forward slightly and caught a glimpse of something covered in white near the pavement.
Oh.
He watched for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Not shocked. Not particularly curious.
Things like this happened here. More often than people liked to admit.
The city had a reputation, gangs, drug deals in narrow alleys, occasional murders that made the news for a day before being buried under the next headline. Sirens were part of the nightly soundscape, as common as traffic or distant music.
He had grown up around it without ever truly touching it. He had never joined a gang, never dealt, never fought. He went to school, his parents paid his rent, and someday he would slide neatly into a good job.
The city's ugliness brushed past him close enough to be felt, but never close enough to leave a mark.
Tonight was no different.
He fell asleep again.
-------
Sunlight woke him the second time.
Not harsh. Just warm enough to slip through the curtains and settle on his face. He squinted, rolled onto his back, and stretched, joints cracking softly. His phone buzzed again—this time with something actually worth checking.
No early class.
That alone made the morning feel generous.
He smiled, a small thing, barely conscious, and stayed in bed a little longer. The city outside had returned to its usual rhythm. Traffic. Voices. Construction somewhere far away. The sirens were gone, replaced by noise that meant nothing.
He eventually got up, shuffled into the kitchen, and made coffee that tasted slightly burnt but familiar enough to be comforting. Bread, milk. Nothing fancy. Enough.
Standing by the counter, he scrolled through his phone, half-reading messages from friends, half-watching the street below. The ambulance was gone. The crowd too. Someone had already taken the place where it had happened.
Life didn't leave gaps for long.
He showered, got dressed, and grabbed his bag on the way out. As he locked the door, he hesitated for a second.
Fuck, I forgot my phone.
He went back inside, checked the big three, keys, wallet, phone, and took the stairs.
As he was going out of the building he noticed somthing on the pavement.
A coin.
He frowned, then shrugged and picked it up. It was old, slightly worn, but oddly clean. It caught the light for a brief moment, shining faintly in a way that felt… nice. Pleasant, even.
Did I lock the door? He dind't remenber, like every morning.
Lucky, maybe.
He slipped it into his pocket and went on his way.
The walk to the university was one of his favorite parts of the day.
The city was rough, sure, but it was alive. People argued at cafés. Street vendors shouted prices. A group of students laughed too loudly near a bus stop. He liked watching it all, anonymous, untouched.
At campus, everything felt lighter.
He met up with friends near the entrance, exchanged lazy greetings, complained about deadlines they all knew they'd meet anyway. Someone brought up a party planned for the weekend. Someone else mentioned a movie they wanted to see.
Normal things.
He liked that.
The lecture was boring in the specific way lectures often were, not painful, just dull enough to let his mind wander. He took notes when it seemed important, doodled in the margins when it didn't. Outside, the sky was clear. Bright. Unconcerned.
At lunch, they sat on the grass, sharing food and jokes. He laughed easily, genuinely. For a while, he forgot about the sirens entirely.
This was his life.
Simple. Uneventful. Good.
In the afternoon, he studied at the library, half-focused, half-daydreaming. Later, he walked home as the sun dipped lower, painting the buildings in warm colors that made everything look softer than it really was.
When he passed the street from that morning, there was no sign anything had happened.
No blood. No mark. No memory.
Just pavement.
That night, he lay in bed, scrolling through his phone, absentmindedly rubbing the coin in his pocket.
He didn't know why he'd kept it. He didn't question it.
Watching Trump do fucked-up things was simply more interesting.
Outside, the moon was rising.
Full. Bright. Beautiful. Almost vibrating.
He smiled to himself, turned off the light, and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow would probably be the same.
And that was fine.
----------
Today was another beautiful day, like any other.
Weeks had passed since someone had decided that the road below was a good place to die. The memory had faded, for him, and for everyone else. The city was good at swallowing things like that.
As usual, he woke up staring at the warm light slipping through the curtains, quietly happy to see another day pass by.Breakfast. A good shower. His phone in his hand.
Normal.
And yet, as he stood there, scrolling without really reading, a strange feeling crept in.
Something was missing.
He frowned slightly, patting his pockets. Wallet, there. Keys, still in the door. Phone—in his hand.The holy trinity.
What more could a man possibly need?
The unease lingered, faint but stubborn, like an itch he couldn't quite reach.
Then he felt it.
He had forgotten about it, completely. A single coin, resting in his pocket. Slightly shiny. Ordinary. And yet… he was certain it would bring him great luck.He didn't know why he was so sure.
The coin felt heavy in his hand. He turned it over once, then twice.
Must be in my head.
He slipped it back into his pocket and moved on with his day.
He met up with some friends later. There was a party tonight, but that could wait. First came the exams, those wonderful moments where he had to learn an entire semester in a single day.
Like always.
They shared notes, complained, laughed, and pretended they had everything under control. The hours passed easily, almost too easily.
By six in the evening, he was done. Everything he could possibly cram into his head was already there.
So, naturally, he decided to go to the party.
After all, what was better than a hangover right before an exam?
As he left his apartment, he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the door. He wondered whether he'd sleep at home or crash at a friend's place. Knowing himself, there was a decent chance he'd end up on a couch, or the street.
He smiled faintly.
Goodbye, sweet and lovely apartment.
The party was already alive when he arrived.
Music. Laughter. The familiar chaos of bodies pressed together, drinks spilling, conversations overlapping. At the beginning of the night, he noticed a girl who caught his interest. So he did what people did, talked to her, complimented her, tried to learn more.
He wasn't handsome. Not ugly either. Just… average. The kind of man who could blend anywhere.
Tonight wasn't his night.
She declined politely. He apologized just as politely and walked away without pushing it.If it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't meant to be.
The idea of fate always amused him. A convenient explanation for everything. A way to stay at peace.
Still a little flustered, he made a perfectly logical decision.
Vodka.
Ah. Sweet old liquor. Lover of potatoes.
Warmth spread through his body. His thoughts grew pleasantly foggy. He laughed a bit louder than usual. Then, sensing the limit approaching, he stopped.
He had an exam tomorrow, after all.
Responsible.
At some point during the night, he drifted toward the balcony, drink in hand.
The music was muffled there, replaced by the low hum of the city. He leaned against the railing and looked up.
The moon was visible between the buildings, full, bright, almost comforting.
He smiled.
Without really thinking about it, he slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the coin. His fingers closed around it, grounding him.
His gaze dropped.
The street below seemed far away. Too far. Cars passed like toys. People looked unreal from up there.
For a brief moment, a stupid, fleeting one, he wondered what it would feel like to jump.
The thought came and went so quickly it barely registered. No weight to it. No emotion attached.
He laughed softly at himself.
"Yeah, no," he muttered.
Later, outside, he found himself staring at the moon.
Drunk.
It was full. Brighter than he remembered. He smiled at it like an idiot, standing there longer than necessary, feeling a strange vibration in his chest. The moon seemed closer somehow. Larger.Alive.
He laughed softly and shook his head.
Yeah. Definitely drank too much.
He turned to head home.
That's when something felt… off.
Not wrong. Not dangerous.
Just wrong enough to notice.
His stomach twisted. A sudden wave of nausea rolled through him. His skin crawled, as if something moved beneath it. He reached into his pocket without thinking.
The coin.
The moment his fingers closed around it, pain bloomed behind his eyes. The street tilted. The moon above him began to twist, spinning slowly, unnaturally.
"What the fuck…" he muttered, breathing hard. "Damn it. I really drank too much."
The world stretched.
Folded.
And under the silent gaze of the moon, he vanished, leaving behind a not-so-shiny coin.