The sun cast a soft orange hue across the suburban streets as the final school bell echoed in the air. Laughter and chatter filled the sidewalks, students pouring out from hallways, talking about homework, basketball games, and what they were going to eat when they got home. Among them walked Alex.
Alex's backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, his head slightly tilted downward as he strolled alongside his two closest friends, Jamal and Eric. Their banter danced around him like static electricity, never quite pulling him in.
"Bro, you seen that new gameplay trailer?" Jamal asked.
"I swear, if they delay it one more time, I'm switching to PC," Eric muttered.
Alex chuckled quietly. "You say that every time."
"Yeah, but this time I mean it," Eric replied.
As they neared the intersection, Jamal peeled off toward his house, slapping Alex on the back. "Later, man. Don't forget, Saturday, 2K tournament. I'm not losing again."
"We'll see," Alex said with a smirk that barely touched his eyes.
A few blocks later, Eric left as well, leaving Alex alone under a sky that was slowly bleeding into twilight. He moved on autopilot, his sneakers brushing fallen leaves, the world dimming around him in sync with his thoughts.
His neighborhood stood still, as usual. Perfect green lawns, parked cars, porches with the same old wind chimes—nothing ever changed. Not the people. Not the weather. Not his life.
He stepped into the house and was immediately hit with silence. No TV. No cooking smells. No music from his sister's room. The lights were off.
"Mom?" he called out. "Dad? Lana?"
Nothing.
Frowning, Alex dropped his bag by the door and walked to the kitchen. No note. No text. The house felt...hollow.
He climbed the stairs slowly and entered his room. Everything was in its place—the same posters, the same books he hadn't touched in months. He walked to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. There, nestled between some old notebooks, was his diary.
Alex didn't write every day, but when he did, it was when the silence got too loud.
He opened the worn leather-bound book and flipped through its pages, reading entries from middle school, last year, last month. All with the same undertone: still waiting. Still watching life happen around him.
September 5th
They picked teams today in gym. I stepped back before they even looked at me. Not like anyone was going to pick me first. Or second.
November 12th
Someone got jumped at the bus stop. I crossed the street. I don't even know if they're okay. I just...didn't want to be part of it.
March 8th
Lana said I'm too passive. She's probably right. I always move out of the way before things get bad. It's like I'm allergic to being in the center of anything.
Alex exhaled sharply, fingers brushing the pages.
Why did everything feel so flat?
Why did he never fight back?
Why did he never matter?
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"God," he muttered. "I don't care what it is... just give me something. Anything. I don't want to keep living like I'm not even part of the world. I want something real. I want to feel like I'm... alive."
He closed the diary slowly and slipped it back into the drawer. The house still felt wrong. Too quiet. Too empty.
He walked downstairs and outside, the breeze catching his hoodie as he scanned the street. Still no sign of them. He frowned and started down the block.
His parents' workplace wasn't far—just ten minutes if he cut through the alley behind the gas station.
Halfway there, the air changed.
A low boom echoed in the distance. Then came the smell—thick, chemical, choking. Smoke curled above the rooftops like fingers clawing at the sky.
Alex broke into a jog.
By the time he reached the corner, flames had swallowed the front of the building. People were screaming. Firefighters shouted directions. The sound of sirens, shattering glass, and heat filled the air like a warzone.
Then, he saw it.
A black sedan, mangled and overturned near the front entrance. His heart dropped. It looked just like his dad's car. Same dent on the back fender. Same sticker on the bumper.
No. No no no.
He didn't even think. He ducked under the caution tape, slipping past distracted officers and panicked civilians. Smoke stung his eyes as he pushed closer.
"Kid! Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" an officer shouted behind him.
But Alex kept running.
The heat became unbearable. He stopped a few feet away from the wreckage. Bodies lay scattered near the car, burned beyond recognition. The smell made his stomach twist violently.
He turned and vomited on the sidewalk.
"It's not them. It's not them," he whispered to himself, wiping his mouth. "It can't be..."
But then he saw it. On the cracked pavement beside one of the bodies.
A bracelet.
Pi56nk, plastic, with a tiny sunflower charm.
His sister's.
"No... No! NO!" he screamed, his voice ripping from his throat like a wounded animal.
The world blurred around him. He stumbled backward, dizzy, lost in the static in his brain.
"GASOLINE!" a firefighter shouted.
An officer turned, eyes wide as he spotted the trail of liquid crawling toward the fire—and Alex standing in the middle of it.
"RUN, KID! IT'S ABOUT TO BLOW!"
Alex didn't move at first.
Then his legs moved on their own.
He sprinted, faster than he'd ever moved in his life, heart pounding, lungs screaming.
Is this it? he thought.
Is this how I die? Not fighting, not saving anyone... just running away again?
I don't want to die... not like this... not before I become something more...
GOD, SAVE ME!
The explosion tore through the air like thunder. A wave of heat, light, and force swallowed him whole.
Then—
Nothing.
No pain. No sound.
Just darkness.
And then...
Light.
Warm and golden, washing over him like sunlight underwater. His body floated, weightless. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Yet he was alive.
Hands reached through the glow.
Soft voices echoed all around him.
Then—
"Congratulations! It's a boy!"
His eyes snapped open.
Cries filled the air. Cold air touched his skin. Everything was wrong.
He couldn't move his limbs right. Everything was too small. The lights above him were too bright.
He looked up to see two unfamiliar faces smiling down at him.
A woman. A man.
Who... who are you?
The man leaned down. "You're our little miracle. Welcome to the world, Alex."
Alex wanted to scream, but all that came out was a newborn cry.
His memories surged like a wave—his house, his friends, the fire, the explosion.
He had died.
But now...
He was here.
Reborn.
Somewhere else.
Somewhere new.
And inside him, something stirred.
A pulse.
A spark.