Chapter One
(Lucid POV)
I lay on the hospital bed, the cold stiffness of the mattress already molded into my skin after so many years. The soft, steady beeping of the heart monitor had become part of my daily lullaby—like the rhythm of a life that refused to fade, but no longer fought to live. The smell of antiseptic, once sharp and foreign, now clung to my nostrils like a second scent. I had become one with this place.
My back ached from lying in one position for so long, but I couldn't move even if I wanted to. I hadn't felt my legs or hands in what felt like eternity. It was like I had been erased from the waist down. Paralyzed. Powerless. Forgotten.
I turned my head—slowly, painfully—toward the only thing that ever brought me comfort: the window. That square-shaped portal into the world I never got to touch. I've been here since I was three months old. Imagine that—a whole lifetime—twenty-five years—spent in a hospital room. I've never touched grass. I've never stepped into the ocean. I've never fallen in love, never been kissed. Never even held someone's hand, except the latex-covered ones of nurses.
As I looked outside, my heart ached more than my body. I wanted so much—so much—to just live. To breathe without tubes. To walk down the street, pick up girls, party till morning, mess around, laugh over spilled drinks and forgotten names. I wanted to study, to argue with classmates, to be late to work, to miss deadlines, to dance in the rain like I had no care in the world. I wanted to live life in its rawest form—with all its flaws, all its chaos. But all I had were these four white walls and the silence of a life unlived.
"Lucid Colossi! Lucid Colossi! Patient 43 in Male Ward 4!" A nurse's loud, sharp voice pierced through the dullness of the room.
Lucid Colossi? That name echoed like a stranger's voice in my head. Was that my name?
I turned my head weakly and locked eyes with the unfamiliar nurse standing in the doorway. Her eyes were full of irritation. I didn't blame her. Even I had forgotten my name. Everyone here called me Patient 43. That's who I was. That's who I became. Lucid Colossi felt like a character in a book—foreign, fictional, distant.
She walked over and began the usual diagnosis: blood pressure, oxygen level, murmuring codes to herself that I didn't bother understanding. I just watched silently. What was the point of this? I was already halfway to the other side.
"Colossi…" I muttered to myself as she jotted down some notes. My family name felt bitter on my tongue. Who were they? Where were they? No one ever visited. Not a single soul. Not once in twenty-five years. At first, I thought they'd come. I believed that if I behaved well, if I tried hard enough, they'd come back with smiles on their faces, proud of me. But no one ever did. They didn't even leave behind a face to remember. Nothing.
I tried searching for them online, but there was no trace. No photo. No clues to link to. And I didn't have money to hire someone to investigate. I was penniless. Just a patient on a hospital bed with nothing to offer and nothing left to lose.
I turned back to the window. Outside, I saw couples—both gay and straight—walking hand-in-hand past the hospital gates. Laughing. Smiling. Living. I didn't hate them. Not at all. I admired them. It wasn't about gender or attraction. I was straight, sure—I got aroused by women, I had my fantasies. But what got to me was the love. That kind of love that holds your hand through life. That word felt like fiction to me—"Love." How can something so simple be so unreachable?
I had yearned for it so much, the mere thought now left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was like chasing a dream that the universe kept dangling in front of me just out of reach. Still, I silently prayed that those outside lived long and never ended up in my shoes.
My gaze shifted back to the nurse. She was finishing up, her expression unreadable, distant. I noticed the ring on her finger. A silver band with a small diamond.
"I wish I could get married too," I whispered, closing my eyes and imagining my dream girl—someone soft-spoken, yet fierce in love. Someone who would lie next to me, hold my hand, and say, "You're not alone." Just that simple sentence. That alone would have made life worth the pain. But the moment I whispered that wish, sharp pain stabbed my head like hot needles.
"Your food will be delivered any moment now," she announced, emotionless, walking toward the door.
My eyes drifted to the plastic cup of water on the side table. My throat was dry, parched, but I couldn't reach it. Still, I tried. I forced my hand to move, willed my fingers to stretch. Nothing. With every ounce of strength I had, I twisted my body, tried to push myself toward the edge.
Then it happened.
I fell.
Hard.
Head-first.
The world spun.
Pain exploded behind my eyes, then vanished just as quickly. Everything turned white—then black—then nothing. Was this it? Was this how my story ends? Just like that?
I could hear the emergency beeping go off. Everything felt distant and muffled, like I was underwater. I could feel something wet beneath me—my blood? My body was numb. I felt nothing. No pain. Not even fear. Just peace. That terrifying kind of peace that only death could bring.
My chest heaved, trying to suck in air, but the room had turned into a vacuum. I couldn't breathe. My heart was beating slowly. My vision was fading.
So this is how I go.
I thought dying would hurt more. But this... this was oddly gentle.
Somewhere in the blur, I heard voices shouting. Maybe the nurse returned. Maybe the food delivery person saw me and screamed. Maybe they were trying to revive me.
But it was too late.
I had already let go.
In that final moment, as everything slipped away, I whispered the only thing I had left in me:
"Just a second life… please… give me a second life… I don't care if I'm poor or broken, just let me be strong… and healthy… just this once…"
And then—
Darkness.