Some people wake up feeling like they've lived a life before.
I wake up knowing I've died before. Twenty-six times, to be exact.
And if I die again… that's it. No do-overs. No next life. Just black.
[Scene Begins]
The dream always starts the same.
A burning field. The smell of ash and roses. And me—running. Barefoot. Bleeding. A silver blade flashes behind me, catching moonlight like a signal.
Then I see the eyes.
Black, endless, and smiling.
I scream, but no sound comes out. Just the echo of one word whispered by something I never see:
"Twenty-seven."
That's when I wake up.
I bolt upright, gasping. My room's dark, but I'm sweating like I ran a marathon.
I grab my wrist out of habit. The mark is there small, circular, faintly glowing in the moonlight spilling through my window.
It looks like a coin. But no one else can see it. Not even in pictures.
At school, I keep my head down. Same routine. No one looks at me twice. I like it that way.
Until third period.
That's when he walks in.
Black hoodie. Cold stare. Jaw like something out of a sketchbook. He doesn't smile when the teacher introduces him. He doesn't even look around.
Except at me.
His eyes lock on mine like he's found something he lost.
And he whispers just loud enough for me to hear:
"Found you."