Platinum SMP | A DreamSMP / MCYT Platinum End AU

chapter one | reborn

❝ The clock is ticking, and the world is spinning, and we simply do not have time anymore to think so small. ❞

— Elizabeth Gilbert

°»｡ ∾･⁙･ ღ ➵ ⁘ ➵ ღ ･⁙･∾ ｡«°

This is it. This is the end of your life, Clay.

He can't take it anymore. He can't take living anymore. He's tried to die, over and over again, but death is a scary thought. Death is death — death is the end of life, of everything. When you die, it's over. You don't get another chance.

It's hard to die. But over time, he's come to face the horrifying realisation that nobody wants to come to terms with — that living is a hell of a lot harder.

But the overwhelming burdens of guilt, regret, self-hatred — these burdens that he's been carrying alone over his shoulders have grown too heavy for him to carry any longer.

His stomach churns, anxiety and dread tangling his gut. He feels it — his self-condemnation eating him up, alive. An endless spiral of thoughts rush around inside his head over and over again, deciphering all the possibilities of what could have been happening right now instead if he had just done things differently. If he didn't do all those horrible things to people. If he wasn't such an asshole, such a heartless fucking douchebag. If he was just a better person. Just a better person, given one more chance . . .

He shakes the thoughts. What use is there to pitying himself now, of all times? Stalling isn't going to make the pain go away.

He takes a deep breath, biting his tongue as he takes one step to the very ledge of the skyscraper he's standing on top of. He peers over, swallowing the growing lump sitting in his throat as he observes the height he's jumping from.

Down below, the city prospers, oblivious to his existence. He's going to die alone. He's going to die and nobody will care; he's going to die and the world will still continue to keep moving. The cars will continue the drive and the people will continue to walk and the lights will continue to stay lit and the restaurants will continue to serve food and the world will continue to still turn and—

Stop it.

He stops thinking. No more stalling. This death of loneliness and despair is the rightful punishment he is getting. He deserves this pain. He deserves every bit of it.

He screws his eyes shut, holding his breath. He feels his heart pounding like a hammer inside his ribcage. He feels something wet roll down his cheeks, dripping onto his shirt.

"God," he pleads. "If I'm reborn again, in another life, make me a better person. Make me a stronger person. Make all the people I've hurt in my past heal. I want to repent. I want to be forgiven. Will my death make you forgive me?"

He stops, knowing saying any more would be useless as he already feels his throat choking up. He takes his final step forward; this time, his feet not landing on anything.

Before he knows it, he feels his body lurch forward and topple over. He feels light — weightless — as he falls like a feather through the sky. His eyes are shut, but he can only imagine the world around him is moving at a blur, as sounds of reality are muffled in his hearing. 

Yet . . . that relief he was wishing to feel as he took that step off. . .

Why is he not feeling it?

Why is he still miserable? He's crying, for God's sake. Why can't he feel relieved — why is he still miserable? He doesn't want to be miserable as he dies. Why can't God just fix that? Do one thing for him? Can't God just—