ETERNAL RETURN

Chapter 1: Beggining

---

Chapter 1:

What is death?
Is it a human's eternal rest after its work on the universe? Or is it a punishment—a final reckoning for one's purpose in existence?

Some say humans die because we were meant to. We are creatures bound by time, destined to decay, for nature dictates that all things come to an end. As intelligent life forms, we are cursed with the knowledge of our own mortality. We live under its shadow, knowing that at some point, we will die—whether by accident or design.

We fear death not because it is an ending, but because it is unknown. Is it painful? Does the suffering we experience in life pale in comparison to the agony awaiting us in death? Worse yet, what if we still have dreams unfulfilled, paths untaken, secrets untold? The thought gnaws at us, even as we try to live each day as if death is far away, as if the world will go on without us.

We wonder:
What if... you could be reborn again?

Some say reincarnation is a second chance—a new beginning in another world filled with unknown possibilities and untold wonders. A place where the limitations of our current existence are no longer shackles, where we could live without the burden of fear, regret, or pain.

They whisper promises of a better life, a grander life in another world. Perhaps, there, we would be greater than we are now—free of the chains that bind us to mediocrity, to suffering. Foolish humans, always seeking what lies beyond, forever unsatisfied with the present.

But what if reincarnation is not a blessing?
What if the cycle of life and death is a curse?

Imagine waking up after death, not in a new world filled with wonder, but in a prison of familiarity—forced to relive the pain, the loss, the endless struggle. What if rebirth was nothing more than an eternal loop, a repetition of suffering, over and over again?

No one warns you of that.
No one speaks of the torment that comes with living and dying... and living again. Each time you return, something inside you breaks a little more, until all that's left is an empty shell, haunted by memories of pain.

What if death is not the end, but the beginning of something far worse?

_________________________________________

The sound of glass shattering echoes in the silence.

Daniel Pierce slams the bottle of whiskey against the wall, watching it splinter into jagged shards that scatter across the hardwood floor. His hands tremble, a mixture of rage and helplessness coursing through his veins. He can't even feel the cuts on his knuckles anymore-pain has become too familiar.

"Fuck... what the hell is the point of any of this?" he mutters, his voice cracking. His face is twisted in a sneer, lips curled into a bitter smile as he looks down at the mess he's made, not just the broken glass, but his entire life.

Once, Daniel had been on top of the world. A successful lawyer with a reputation for being ruthless in court. A man who had built his life brick by brick, carving out a career, a marriage, a house in the suburbs. And now? All of it was crumbling to ash.

The legal troubles started first. A lawsuit from a former client, false accusations of misconduct. It spiraled from there. The firm he had given his life to turned its back on him, his colleagues all too eager to distance themselves. They didn't even give him the courtesy of a warning before the papers were served. His accounts were frozen, debts piled up, and his once-stellar reputation was dragged through the mud.

And then, the final blow: Amanda. His wife. His everything. He found out about the affair by accident, scrolling through her phone one night after a fight. There it was-texts, photos, the truth staring him in the face. She wasn't just cheating. She was fucking some other guy right in their bed, while Daniel worked himself to the bone trying to fix their lives.

The betrayal had twisted in his gut, a knife wound that wouldn't heal. It wasn't just the infidelity. It was the lies, the years of pretending, of smiling, and holding her close while she was miles away in her head. Daniel had always suspected something was wrong, but he told himself it was stress, or work, or the slow grind of marriage.

But no. It was none of those things. It was that she didn't love him anymore, and she hadn't for years.

Now, here he was. Alone in the house they once shared, staring at the divorce papers on the kitchen counter. The ink on her signature seemed to taunt him, as if mocking how easily she could discard him after everything.

"Fucking bitch," he spat, kicking over the chair as the frustration boiled over.

He couldn't escape the thoughts that buzzed in his head like gnats. The legal mess, the financial ruin, the affair-it was all too much. He could feel his grip slipping, the walls closing in.

What was left for him? His career was over. His marriage-done. The man he thought he was had vanished, replaced by this hollow version, a bitter shell.

Daniel reached into the drawer and pulled out the pistol. It was cold and heavy in his hand, a stark reminder of the finality that lay just a trigger pull away. He sat down in the corner of the room, bottle in one hand, gun in the other, the weight of it all pressing down on him.

"Maybe death is the only way out," he muttered to himself. "Maybe it's all bullshit, and there's nothing after. No pain. No more fucking disappointment."

The darkness seemed inviting. There, he wouldn't have to feel the shame of his failures or the betrayal of the woman he had once loved. He wouldn't have to see the pitying looks from his so-called friends, or the smug faces of those who'd stabbed him in the back.

"I hope you all burn," he whispered. Tears stung his eyes, but he wiped them away angrily. "I fucking hope you rot in hell for what you've done."

He raised the gun to his temple. The cold metal sent a shiver down his spine. It was a terrifying comfort- knowing that with one twitch of his finger, it would all end.

But in the back of his mind, something nagged at him. What if death wasn't the end? What if he would wake up after pulling the trigger, back in this hellhole, trapped in the same fucked-up life, doomed to repeat the misery?

His finger hovered over the trigger.

What if death was just the beginning of something worse?

His breath hitched.

--But then, he squeezed his eyes shut, bit down on his lip, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

___

End.