Mika’s footsteps echoed through the empty street as she walked home after her late shift at the diner. It had been another long night of serving greasy plates of food to tired customers who barely looked up to say thank you. Her legs ached, her back throbbed, and her stomach growled, but she didn’t have the energy to eat. She just wanted to get home.

after reaching home

It wasn’t much. A small, run-down apartment above a laundromat. The walls were peeling, the windows drafty, and the floorboards creaked under her every step. It was barely a place to call home, but it was all she could afford. Ever since her parents kicked her out when she was 16, she’d been forced to figure out how to survive on her own.

She remembered that night all too clearly—the shouting, the harsh words, and then the door slamming behind her. “You need to grow up,” they had said. “We’re done with you.”

Mika didn’t know where to go or what to do. All she knew was that she had to keep moving forward, even when it felt like she was drowning. Now, at 19, she was working two part-time jobs just to scrape by. The diner was her main job, where she spent long hours waiting tables for tips that barely covered her bills. The second job, cleaning offices, was even worse. She hated it, but she needed the money.

She walked slower now, her tired legs dragging, her thoughts a blur of exhaustion. The streetlights flickered above her, casting a weak yellow glow on the sidewalk. She could barely keep her eyes open, but she kept going. What else could she do?

When she reached her apartment building, she dragged herself up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. Her head was pounding, her body aching for rest. She finally reached her door and fumbled with the keys. The door creaked open, and she stepped into the dim, musty space she called home.

The smell of mildew and stale air hit her immediately, but she barely noticed it anymore. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag onto the counter. It wasn’t much, this place. There was a single chair at the kitchen table, a small fridge humming in the corner, and a bed in the other room with a thin blanket barely covering the mattress.

Mika collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to change out of her work clothes. She was too tired to care. Her phone buzzed with a new message, and she groggily reached for it. It was from an old friend: “Hope you’re okay. Call me when you can.”

Mika smiled weakly, her fingers hovering over the screen. She didn’t have the energy to reply, to reach out to anyone. She hadn’t had the strength for much of anything lately.

She set the phone down beside her and closed her eyes, letting the dark silence of the room swallow her. Her chest felt tight, but she figured it was just from the stress. It was a feeling she had gotten used to, the weight on her chest that never seemed to lift.

But this time, something felt different. Her breathing grew shallow, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to sit up, but her body wouldn’t move. The room spun, the edges of her vision darkening. Panic surged through her, but she was too weak to fight it.

Mika gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. She crumpled to the floor, the coldness of the hardwood floor pressing against her skin. She tried to call out, but no sound escaped her lips. The room grew quieter, and the darkness around her deepened.

And then… there was nothing.