They called me useless again today.

I’ve gotten used to it— the laughter, the whispers, the way they look at me like I’m a joke that never gets old.

Sometimes, I wonder if they even remember my real name.

Jack.

That’s me.

Just Jack

My days start the same way they end — quietly. I sit by the back window of the classroom, where the glass is cracked in one corner, and the wind sneaks through. The teacher’s voice fades into background noise as I trace the crack with my fingertip, pretending it’s a road leading somewhere far away. Somewhere, no one knows me.

When the bell rings, I pack my books fast, hoping to leave before they notice me. But they always do. They always do.

“Hey, Jack the Jinx,” one of them calls out. “You hiding again?”

The others laugh. I keep my head down. If I don’t meet their eyes, maybe they’ll lose interest.

They don’t.

Someone shoves my shoulder; my bag falls open, spilling books onto the floor. Another foot kicks one across the hall. My chest tightens, but I force myself to kneel and pick it up. If I speak, it’ll get worse. If I cry, they’ll never stop.

So I stay quiet.

They lose interest eventually, like cats that get bored by a broken toy. When they walk away, I count to ten before standing up. My palms sting where I clenched them too tight.

After school, I go to the alley behind the convenience store. That’s where she waits — a little gray kitten with a torn ear and mismatched eyes. She meows the moment she sees me, tail flicking like she’s been waiting all day.

“Hey there,” I whisper, crouching down. “Missed me?”

She nudges my fingers, purring like I’m her whole world.

It’s funny — I’m invisible to everyone else, but to her, I exist.

I open a small can of tuna I saved from lunch. Watching her eat makes the ache in my chest loosen just a bit. Sometimes, I talk to her, telling her about my day. She doesn’t answer, but I like to pretend she understands.

The sky starts to darken, bruised clouds rolling in. I stay longer than usual because home isn’t much better — silence, shadows, and a father who’s always too tired to notice when I flinch.

When the rain begins to fall, the kitten curls beside my leg, and I pull my jacket over her. The world feels softer when it rains — like it’s crying with me.

I don’t know why people are cruel. Maybe they need someone weaker to feel strong. Maybe I was born to be that someone.

Still, there are moments — tiny, fragile ones — when I feel something close to peace. Like now, holding this small, warm life in my hands

The streetlights hum to life. My reflection stares back at me from a puddle: tired eyes, cracked lips, bruises fading yellow. I almost laugh. I look like a ghost who forgot how to disappear.

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” I whisper. “Maybe they won’t notice me.”

The kitten meows softly, as if saying I’m lying.

She’s right. They always notice.

But tonight, under the rain, it’s just me and her.

For once, that’s enough.

The rain doesn’t stop that night.

It falls heavier, the kind that blurs the world and drowns out sound. Streetlights turn into halos in the mist, and my breath comes out in soft clouds. The kitten follows me as I walk down the narrow road home, her paws splashing in the puddles.

“Hey, go back,” I whisper, bending down. “You’ll get sick out here.”

She meows in protest, tail flicking stubbornly. A tiny rebel — the only one who ever refuses to leave me.

I smile a little. “Fine. Five more minutes.”

The streets are almost empty now. Cars rush by with long streaks of light, their tires whispering against the wet asphalt. I pull my jacket tighter. My shoes are soaked, my socks cold. But somehow, I don’t mind. The rain hides everything — my face, my tears, my shaking hands. In the rain, no one can tell the difference between crying and surviving.

When I pass the crosswalk, I spot the kitten again — except she’s no longer behind me. She’s in the middle of the road, pawing at something shiny that’s caught her attention.

“Hey—! No!”

I run before I can think.

My heartbeat drowns out the rain.

The light turns green.

“Kitty!” I shout, my voice cracking. She looks up, startled. The headlights hit my eyes — bright, white, blinding.

For one second, time stretches.

The world turns silent except for my pulse.

I push forward, scooping her up. Her fur is warm, trembling against my chest. I don’t even feel the impact right away — just the cold, the light, and a sharp sound that splits the night.

Then pain.

It’s everywhere. My body feels heavy, wrong, like it’s no longer mine. The rain keeps falling on my face, mixing with something warmer. My fingers twitch weakly, still curled around the kitten. She’s safe. She’s okay. That’s all that matters.

Someone’s shouting. A woman’s voice, scared.

I can’t move enough to look at her. The lights spin and fade in and out like a broken movie reel. My vision flickers between dark and colour, sound, and silence.

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a whisper.

“Don’t… cry. I’m fine.”

But I’m not.

I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel anything except the small heartbeat pressed against my palm.

The kitten mews softly, curling into me as if to say she’s still here. I want to tell her I’m sorry — for leaving her alone in this world, for being too weak, too slow, too scared all the time.

My chest feels tight. My breaths come shorter, shallow. Somewhere, I hear sirens. Footsteps. A phone ringing. Distant, distant, fading.

“I guess this is it…” I mumble, barely able to hear my own voice.

There’s no one around to say goodbye to.

Just me, the rain, and a stray cat who never stopped waiting.

I used to think the world wouldn’t notice if I had disappeared. Maybe it won’t. But somehow, that doesn’t scare me now. The fear, the loneliness, even the pain — it all starts to blur.

The rain feels softer. The lights dim. My heartbeat slows until it’s almost peaceful.

My last thought drifts out like a sigh.

“All I wanted was… peace.”

The kitten purrs, small and steady.

Then everything fades into quiet

Silence.

That’s what I notice first.

No rain. No cars. No pain. Just… quiet.

The kind of quiet that feels too still to be real.

Am I dead?

I try to open my eyes, but there’s nothing to open. No eyelids, no light. Just blackness stretching endlessly, soft and cold. My body — or whatever’s left of it — floats weightlessly. For the first time in my life, nothing hurts. I should feel relief, but instead, I feel small.

Is this what peace feels like?

It’s strange. Empty. Lonely.

Then I hear it — faint at first, like a whisper through fog.

“Did you hear about the kind heroine?”

A girl’s voice. Young, cheerful. I turn — or think I do — toward the sound.

“The one who saved the kingdom from the dark curse!” another voice chimes in, bright with awe

Their words echo strangely, bouncing around the dark. It’s like standing in a dream where the world builds itself from someone else’s story.

“They said she was just a commoner,” the first voice giggles.

“But she became the Golden Mage after saving the royal twins! Isn’t that amazing?”

Golden Mage.

Kingdom.

Royal twins.

It sounds like the kind of story my classmates used to talk about — the kind I’d never fit into. They’d always gather in circles, chatting excitedly about fantasy novels and games, while I sat in the corner pretending not to listen

I recognize the words now. This is that story.

The one they mentioned the day I…

The day I died.

“The heroine was so kind,” someone says, softer this time.

“She saved everyone, even the ones who hated her.”

Kind.

The word hits me somewhere deep. Kind people were always far away from me — like stars in the sky. Pretty to look at, impossible to reach.

I wonder what it’s like… to be someone who saves others.

To matter. Even once.

The voices shift, like waves moving through the dark. More people join in, their tones a mix of awe and gossip.

“She was the only one with a Golden Rank since the war.”

“They say the slave she owned disappeared after the coronation.”

“Maybe he betrayed her.”

“Or maybe she killed him. You know how nobles are.”

Slave? Betrayal? Death?

The tone changes, turning colder, heavier.

Their laughter sounds distant, cruel — too much like the ones that used to echo down my school hallway.

My chest tightens — even here, where I shouldn’t have a chest.

I thought dying would erase fear. But fear, it seems, follows everywhere.

Then the light comes

At first, it’s faint — a soft shimmer at the edge of the darkness. Warm, golden. Like sunlight bleeding through curtains after a long night. The voices fade as it grows brighter, too bright to look at, too heavy to escape.

I don’t understand.

Am I being reborn?

Or punished?

My breath — or what feels like breath — catches in my throat as the light swallows everything. It’s not peaceful anymore. It’s pulling me, dragging me forward. My thoughts scatter. The only sound left is my own heartbeat, weak but present.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump

It’s so fast. Too real

The light burns hotter, until I can’t tell if I’m falling or flying.

And somewhere through the noise, I hear something faint — a voice, trembling and soft:

“S–Samuel… please wake up…”

The world tilts. The light shatters into color.

Pain rushes back into my limbs, too sharp, too sudden.

Something cold and rough digs into my wrists. Metal?

Chains.

I gasp — a real sound, raw and broken — as my eyes finally open to blinding daylight