Is life fair?Haha… does that question even need an answer?
You and I both know, my friend: life isn't fair.It's uncertain, ambiguous… so fragile that in a single second, it can vanish without ever looking back.
It's like clouds: drifting in, drifting out.It can be as bitter as aloe, or as sweet as honey.
Every day, people complain about their lives.Because they have nothing.Because they have everything.Out of boredom. Out of regret.
They rage because they don't understand.Many wish to return—correct their mistakes, rewrite their history.
They complain about the world simply because it didn't unfold as they expected.But things don't happen just because you wish for them to.Push, and if it doesn't work… push again.And if it still resists—then change direction.
Do you want change? Then believe in it.Do you want to return to the past? Stop staring at it.Fix your eyes on the future.
Does the state of the world bother you?Then tell me: what are you doing to change it?Are you truly doing anything?Or are you just talking, hoping everything will fall neatly into place?
If you truly want change… start with yourself.And you'll see how, little by little, everything else begins to shift.
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In the desolate streets of the night, a lone wage earner walked along the hard pavement, guided only by the dim glow of weary street lamps.
That faint light revealed his black hair—dark as the depths of space: cold, empty, devoid of life. His eyes, like polished jade, might once have been beautiful… if not for the absence of light within them. They no longer reflected hope, and so they had lost their true worth.
Each step carried him deeper into silence. No one awaited him. No voice called his name. It was only him… and a city that pretended he did not exist. Even the moon abandoned him; its rays failed to reach where he walked. Solitude was his only companion. Silence, his creed.
After a long walk through the biting chill of the night, he reached a worn-down neighborhood, where the shadows thickened like heavy curtains. Without a glance behind, he pressed on until stopping before a cheap wooden house, aged and weary with time.
He pushed the door open; it groaned at the slightest touch. He entered without removing his shoes and collapsed onto a sofa scarred by years of use. His body sank deeply into it, as though the full weight of his burdens dragged him down.
He didn't look up. He didn't laugh. He didn't cry. He didn't expect anything.
Only a small pile of papers awaited him on the table—bills, debts, threats of dismissal.They stared back at him like silent specters, refusing to let him live in peace.To him, they were enemies.Not just his own enemies—enemies of society itself.
"These damn taxes won't even let me have a decent dinner…" he muttered, clutching his head with both hands. Anger boiled within him, swelling like Sparta's rage against Troy.
"Damn it! It's barely enough to survive, you damn sons of bi—"
He cut himself short. Not out of fear, but out of habit. The hateful neighbors were already asleep, and he had no desire to give them more reasons to gossip about him in the morning.
Inside his mind, he cursed everything: the prices, the corruption, the system, his job…
But above all, he cursed his own life.
The one that never seemed to change. The one that never got better.
And sometimes, in the depths of that silence, he found himself whispering:
"Karma… where the hell are you?"
While sorting through those "enemies" that only made his life more miserable, he spent the little money he had left.Exhausted and broken, he stepped into a room that held little more than a bed and a battered nightstand.
His eyes lingered on the bed—a poor man's refuge, almost maternal in its embrace.But its pitiful state only reminded him how pathetic his life had become, how cast aside he truly was.
He tilted his head back, sighed, and let out a weary groan. Part of the ceiling had caved in, but his fatigue crushed any will to care. He simply resigned himself to the sight of the stars and moon peeking through—though even they seemed dimmer than usual.
And so, staring at that sky from the prison of his room, wrapped in darkness and torment, he whispered weakly:
"Why… why me?" he murmured, his voice heavy with defeat.
The exhaustion from endless work, the weight of loneliness, and the anger he had bottled up inside… it was like a balloon swelling with problems, ready to burst.
Just before closing his eyes, he noticed the moon glowing a little brighter, its light finally touching his face—as if responding to his cry of defeat.
A faint smile formed on his lips. For a brief moment, he believed he was being heard. That maybe, at last, he wasn't alone.
"Just one wish…" he whispered through trembling lips. "I want something… please, I just want… a second chance. Far away from here. If you're listening… please… help me. Give me what I want."
Tears slid down his cheeks with the words.
But then, the moon's glow faded, dimming once again—as if turning its back on his plea.
He laughed bitterly at himself.Did he really think anyone was listening?
"I'm such a damn fool…" he muttered.
Between that bitter laugh, despair overwhelmed him—and at last, the bomb of emotions inside him exploded.
He shot to his feet, fists clenched, and screamed:
"THIS IS ALL CRAP! WHY THE HELL IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! I'VE BEEN GOOD ALL MY LIFE! I TRIED TO BE THE BEST! I STUDIED, I WORKED, I FOUGHT TO AVOID THIS MISERY—BUT LOOK WHERE I AM! DAMN KARMA! DO YOU HATE ME?! WHY THE HELL WON'T YOU ANSWER?!"
His voice echoed, but quickly faded into the night—as if even the wind refused to carry his pain.
Outside, the wind stirred softly.A cold breeze slipped through the window, brushing against his face like a fleeting gesture of comfort.
His voice, almost smothered by sleep, carried his final plea:
"I just wish… for a second chance. Somewhere else… where I can be happy. Where I can finally live a good life. I wouldn't waste it like before… I would cherish it. Is that really too much to ask?"
And with a faint smile—gentle, sincere, like a flower blooming in winter—he closed his eyes and surrendered to the embrace of dreams.
Hours slipped by as he slept.The air wrapped around him like a fragile comfort, while rain trickled through the cracks in the ceiling, as if trying to soothe his pain and wash it away.
But in the midst of that fragile tranquility… something changed.
The walls groaned.The roof split and rained down fragments.The ground trembled violently—like a bartender shaking his mixer—turning his small, broken refuge into a cage about to collapse.
He jolted upright and shouted:
"DAMN IT! WHY THE HELL NOW?!"
His heart thundered in his chest.
Without a second thought, he threw himself into a corner, desperate to shield his body from the ceiling's falling debris.
But fate mocked him yet again. The wall beside him gave way, collapsing onto his left shoulder and forcing a cry of pain from his throat.
Staggering, gasping for breath, his body trembling more from fear than from the cold, he somehow managed to escape the collapsing house.
Outside, the streets were pure chaos. The ground shook violently beneath his feet. One by one, the old houses of the neighborhood crumbled as if they were nothing more than paper toys, collapsing into clouds of dust and ruin.
The air was thick with dust.Screams rose all around him, blending into a symphony of despair.
It was hell.A nightmare drowned in rain.
After eight endless seconds of chaos, the shaking finally ceased.What had once been his neighborhood was now nothing more than a graveyard of rubble, as if a tornado had torn it apart.
Blood still ran from his wounded shoulder, each step heavier than the last, yet Fares staggered forward, desperate to find survivors among the ruins.
Then—he froze.
A small figure stood ahead. A little girl. His best friend's sister.She was sobbing, paralyzed in fear… unaware of the streetlight above her, its foundation broken, swaying and ready to fall.
"Move!" Fares shouted.
And without a second thought, he sprinted toward her—ignoring the agony tearing through his body, ignoring the blood, ignoring everything but the desperate need to reach her.
With one last effort, he shoved her out of harm's way.
But as if fate demanded its price…
The pole crashed down onto his right leg.
A scream, raw and broken, choked in his throat as the cold metal pinned him against the asphalt.Blood poured freely, the fracture obvious, and agony consumed him completely.
"A man cannot receive something without giving something in return…"
The phrase echoed through his mind like a cruel, relentless whisper, as darkness began to swallow him once again.
The little girl's eyes were wide with horror, brimming with tears.
"Fares!" she screamed, desperate.
He was on the edge of losing consciousness, yet in a final act of will, he held her close, shielding her with his own body—ignoring the pain that wracked him, focused only on keeping her safe.
The pole had shattered her leg, but he refused to let go…He wouldn't lose someone important to him… not again.
Seeing the little girl in pain, he tried to comfort her in a faint, almost muffled voice:
"Everything will be okay… don't cry," he whispered, unsure whether he was speaking to her or to himself.
But before he could hear her reply, he lost consciousness, still shielding her from the falling debris.
An hour passed before rescuers arrived.To their astonishment, both were still alive. They were immediately rushed to a clinic.
Due to the severity of his injuries, Fares was admitted to the hospital.
Days slipped by.No one came to visit him.
Days passed.No one came to visit him.
The doctors called it a miracle: his shattered shoulder, fractured leg, and multiple other injuries had left him on the brink of death.Yet still… he was breathing.
But what came next was even harsher.He was fired from his job for "physical incapacity."The job he had sacrificed his health for, the one he had endured even while sick and exhausted…They let him go, giving him nothing in return.
Depression loomed over him like an unrelenting shadow.A tiny spark of hope remained in Bela… his best friend, the one who had claimed to care for him.
But that spark was quickly snuffed out.No thank-you message arrived.She blocked him.And, as the final blow, she posted a photo with someone else.
That was the last straw.
Alone, in that sterile white hospital room, surrounded by four cold walls…Fares realized that he hadn't just broken his shoulder and leg.
His spirit had been shattered too.
He didn't scream. He didn't cry.He simply… shut down.
His body could take no more; the blood loss did the rest.
The official cause of death would be listed as trauma, physical injuries, and emotional strain.But the truth? He died from abandonment, disappointment… and the agony of never being truly valued.
In his final moments, as his soul slipped from his body, only one thought lingered:
"Could I really have been that lucky?" he whispered, a stifled laugh escaping his lips.
But in the end, only one word echoed through the void, following him into the darkness:
"I just… wish… for a second chance."
Wow…Life is full of surprises, isn't it?
So short. So random…
Yet even in the face of death…
A wish.
A longing that could no longer be silenced.
It screamed from the depths of his soul, like a fire that refused to die.
It was so strong, so pure, that not even death could ignore it.
And in that abyss between the end and the beginning, when everything seemed lost…
The wish endured.
A single word, as clear as the moon that once shone upon him:
"Second chance."
The end…
Next chapter: Where the hell am I?