Alternate Allure

CHAPTER 1: I'D RATHER 0V3RDOS3

All you wanna do is sleep. Sleep and ditch the hectic schedule, the neverending stress, and all the messed-up things your mom's drilled into your head; not to mention all the routine and your boring and ordinary life.

First year at college's been a real pain, juggling your senior year of high school AND being an early admittee at med school is way more of a grind than you bargained for. Panic attacks ain't making it any easier, and the insomnia's just the cherry on top. Out of sheer desperation, you started taking sleeping pills. You weren't entirely sure if it was a smart move, but you were sick of carrying the weight of your mom's expectations like a lead vest, every single goddamned day.

It wasn't cuz she wanted you to get into med school, nah, you picked that yourself. From when you were just a little kid, you got obsessed with what those health whiz folks can do – saved your life once, even. You've always been blown away by how skilled they are, making a difference when people are at their worst moments.

But then there's your mom... a real tough pill to swallow. She's got expectations so high they would give Mount Everest a run for its money, especially about you: always forced to bend over backward to become the "perfect child" she always dreamed of. No room for errors, not even accidental ones. This turned your entire life into a methodical routine: School, home, sleep, school, home, sleep. It's the only thing you know, nothing more outside of the dreaded circle of your life.

So, here you are again, popping sleeping pills like candy, just so you can drift off into dreamland and shake off your sad reality, if only for a bit. Despite the whole Mom debacle, there are still classes on the agenda tomorrow... another boring day in your boring life.

As you gulp down a bunch of pills, trying to make sure you're knocked out 'til tomorrow, a weird pressure pops up in your head. Then, it hits you like a freight train – HARD. Your limbs go all numb, your head turns into a foggy mess, your eyesight becomes a blur and your breath escapes your lungs uncontrollably. You're gasping for air, attempting to produce some kind of noise, praying that maybe, just maybe, your mom would listen to you for once, and swoop in to save the day. But no luck, it turns out, as your rebellious lips ignore your demands, and all that comes out are some incoherent, babbling, pathetic, inarticulate noises.

Scared as fuck, limbs feeling like they're not even there, you realize what's happening: You're dying. And not only that, you are dying alone, a sad overdose in your little sad room.

Unexpectedly serene and peaceful, you're ready to peace out from all the crap you've dealt with. No more cold emptiness, no more hopeful rises and devastating drops from the emotional rollercoaster, and certainly no more crying yourself to sleep alone. It's time to rest, for real this time... maybe even catch up with your old man.

As your weak lungs wheeze their last, shallow breaths, you're thinking of the love he showered you with until the very end. Those countless nights reading you textbooks, the long hospital stays where he tried to lift your spirits – good times in the middle of a life-changing event.

He never treated you differently. He didn't care about your limitations. Tears roll down your numb and cold cheeks as you remember how he stood up to your mom, when she wouldn't let you join martial arts classes after finding out you were being bullied at school. Your throat emits a muffled whimper as you recall his proud mug when you turned out to be a prodigy. But what is it that you're feeling now? Grief, even still, after so long? But then again, he left too soon. If he'd stuck around, maybe you wouldn't be in this mess – he'd never let you do this to yourself.

Gazing at the beautiful night lights of Manhattan coming in from your open window, a gentle breeze brushes your face, as you embrace death's sweet hug...

... That is, until you unexpectedly wake up.