The winter this year was unforgiving, a merciless grip that had already driven most folks indoors, seeking refuge from the biting chill. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the leaden sky, blanketing the streets in a pristine white shroud, while the wind howled like a vengeful spirit, slicing through coats and flesh alike. Cars rumbled past in sporadic bursts, their headlights cutting fleeting paths through the gloom, indifferent to the lone figure staggering along the sidewalk.
In his trembling hand, the man clutched a half-empty bottle of potent liquor, tilting it back with desperate gulps as if it were the elixir of life itself. The burn in his throat was a fleeting distraction from the deeper ache in his soul.
"Rejected... I'll show you rejected, you idiots! My work-rejected! I poured my entire life into writing, and you dare to reject me!" His voice erupted in a slurred roar, echoing off the empty buildings and startling a nearby stray cat. The feline arched its back, hissed once, and bolted into the shadows, leaving the man alone with his fury. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, the world tilting like a ship in a storm, but he pressed on, one faltering step after another.
Fate, however, had other plans. His boot caught on a slick patch of ice a frozen puddle hidden beneath the fresh snow and he slipped. "Damn it!" he bellowed as he tumbled forward, the bottle slipping from his grasp and shattering against the pavement in a spray of glass and amber liquid. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones, but he made no move to rise. His body craved rest, the alcohol weaving a numb veil over his thoughts, blurring the edges of his vision. He clenched his fist weakly against the cold earth, a final spark of defiance flickering. "I just wanted to become a writer... like you, Mo—"
The words died unspoken as the snow intensified, swirling around him in a frenzied dance. The wind grew sharper, nipping at his exposed skin and sending shivers through his frame. Yet, even as his body succumbed to the exhaustion, he barely registered the dull thud when his head struck the edge of a nearby bench during the fall. A strange calm washed over him, pulling him into an inky slumber, as if the world itself had decided to grant him mercy.
Then, chaos shattered the peace.
A deafening crack rang out, like glass fracturing under immense pressure, followed by the thunderous impact of something heavy colliding with unyielding force. It echoed unbearably in his ears, mingling with a piercing shriek that seemed to resonate from deep within his very being. And just like that it happened.
He forced his eyes open, yanked from the void by a throbbing agony that exploded in his skull out of nowhere. But what greeted him was not the familiar snow-swept street, nor the indifferent night. His vision swam, unfocused and hazy, yet one thing stood out starkly: a towering figure with a thick, unkempt beard, his face twisted in raw fury. The man loomed close too close and his massive hand was balled into a fist, knuckles white with tension.
'That's where the pain's coming from,' he realized dimly, his mind racing to catch up. But how? He'd only tripped moments ago, alone on that desolate street. There hadn't been anyone around to provoke, no soul he'd crossed paths with to ignite such wrath. What madness was this?
"What? Had enough already? You were all talk, weren't you?" the bearded man snarled, his voice dripping with contempt as he strode toward me, each step heavy and deliberate.
Before I could even process the words, let alone react, his massive fist twisted forward like a battering ram, slamming into my gut with brutal force. Pain exploded through my abdomen, as if my internal organs had been set ablaze. I crumpled to the ground, clutching my stomach, feeling it swell under my hands. My cheeks puffed out involuntarily.
*Bleurgh!*
A vile mixture of what must have been my breakfast and possibly lunch spewed from my mouth in a wretched heave, splattering onto the cold stone beneath me. Instinct kicked in; I raised my arms protectively over my head, like a frightened child begging for the assault to end. But mercy was a foreign concept to this brute. His boot, broad and unforgiving, smashed through my feeble guard with ease, the sheer power behind it connecting squarely with my skull. The impact sent me sprawling backward, forcing me flat onto my back.
'I feel something warm trickling down my face... that has to be blood, right?' The thought flickered dimly in my mind as I weakly curled into a fetal position, hoping against hope that he'd tire of this or show some shred of pity.
"What a pathetic, whining piece of shit you are. Try talking back to someone with actual reputation next time, you fucking coward," the man spat, his words laced with venom. He turned on his heel, the sound of a door creaking open echoing in the distance. He bellowed something indistinct perhaps a final insult or command before slamming it shut behind him, the thud reverberating like a judge's gavel.
I remained curled up like a child for what felt like an eternity, the chill of the air seeping into my bones, gnawing at my exposed skin. But survival urged me onward. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up, my mouth, cheeks, and chin smeared with the remnants of my vomit, my nose still oozing blood in warm rivulets. As I glanced around, wiping at my face with a trembling hand, the surroundings struck me like a revelation from a forgotten textbook.
This architecture... it was unmistakably Gothic, the kind I'd only read about in school towering arches, intricate stonework, and shadowed vaults that whispered of centuries past. But there was more to it, something elusive I couldn't quite pinpoint, a blend of styles or an otherworldly aura that tugged at the edges of my mind. No time to gawk like a tourist, though. Panic surged through me, overriding the pain. I bolted, feet pounding against the uneven ground as I fled toward what I hoped was home, the world a blur of shadows and uncertainty.
Guided by an inexplicable instinct, my body urged me onward, craving rest, sustenance, and healing above all else. A strange, almost primal sensation tugged at me, leading me toward some elusive sanctuary amidst the unfamiliar streets. As I trudged along, I passed towering buildings that loomed like silent sentinels, their facades etched with the same Gothic flair I'd glimpsed earlier. People hurried by, their gazes flicking over me with fleeting indifference or was it disdain? *Do they know me? Are they friends? Or does this city despise me? Why?* The questions swirled in my mind like a gathering storm, fueling my unease. I quickened my pace, transforming my sluggish drag into a hurried shuffle, desperate to escape the weight of those unspoken judgments.
My feet carried me into a narrow alleyway, the path narrowing as shadows deepened around me. Deeper and deeper I ventured, the world outside fading into a distant hum, until my eyes locked onto it: a set of rusty doors tucked away in the gloom. Without conscious thought, my hand dipped into my pocket, fingers closing around a key that felt oddly familiar. I inserted it into the lock, turned it with a grating click, and pushed the door open.
Inside awaited a cramped room, sparse yet functional a humble abode that screamed of solitude. A simple bed occupied one corner, its sheets rumpled and inviting. Nearby stood a closet brimming with clothes, their styles outdated but serviceable. A modest stove hunkered against the wall, accompanied by basic necessities: a small pantry for food storage and a lone table with a single chair, as if designed for a life of isolation. "Is this truly where I live?" I murmured to myself, the words hanging heavy in the stale air. My gaze wandered further, settling on another door at the far end. Curiosity propelled me forward; I grasped the handle and swung it open.
The adjoining space was even more rudimentary: a tarnished mirror hung above an ancient sink that looked like it hadn't seen proper maintenance in years. Compelled by a need to cleanse myself, I twisted the faucet. Water sputtered out in erratic bursts—not a torrent, but enough to work with. At first, the thought of touching the remnants of my earlier sickness repulsed me, but I steeled myself, splashing the cool liquid over my face until the grime and residue washed away. Clean at last, I slowly raised my head, peering into the dusty, unkempt mirror.
My face drained of color as I stumbled back, my spine colliding with the doorframe. "Wh-what is this!" My voice cracked, choked by shock, as I stared at the reflection once more. Gazing back was a young man no older than seventeen or eighteen with short, tousled blond hair and eyes like shimmering crystals, clear and piercing.
"What on earth... happened to me?"