Black Ice ✓ | Deathsworn #1

Chapter 34 ∞ Dream

Life worked, not just mysteriously, but unpredictably as well—like taking a turn down an intersection, only to realize it was a dead-end. Setbacks happened every step of the way. One mishap after another would trickle down the lane like an annoying bump on the road. I was used to enduring the rough paths in my past life even though, in this one, I was very blessed—spoiled, really. I used to tell myself; if I couldn't find that well-paved path that everyone else had the privilege of having, then I would fly. Because...why settle for the ground?

Then again, life worked, not just mysteriously, but unpredictably as well.

These thoughts occurred to me in a rewind as I appeared in that bright and white room with that antiseptic smell once more. A rhythmic beeping sang beside me in chorus along with pained respiring. Nevertheless, contrary to my expectations, I wasn't exactly lying in the bed. Instead, I was standing in the corner of the room, watching my old self breathing through tubes I probably couldn't afford. I remembered feeling like dying instead. Living was already expensive to begin with. Surviving? That was another story.

I moved closer to my bedside, watching my old self, waiting calmly for the second of my death. If this was a long time ago, I probably would have had a break down, but being able to see it all like this in retrospect and taking my new life into account, I was able to handle it better.

It would be a lie to say I felt better though.

I stepped back when the stranger appeared, my bringer of death—my grim reaper. He wasn't Amber. Amber, as far as I knew, served only as a guide to souls who've already left their bodies. This guy was human, made of flesh and bones. His hands, I would assume, worked to serve another.

And, today, it was asked to take my life.

I was now able to see clearer what he did. He had no needles. I probably would've died more peacefully if he injected something—but no. He began pinching my throat, fingers positioned just right to restrict my airways. However, he did it in a way that he would leave no bruises behind. My arms were broken so I couldn't fight him off, settling with helplessly suffocating until everything went dark.

I saw how my body went limp, followed by the man hastily making his leave. My life went out with him. The heart followed. The monitor shrieked as though panicked at the sight of me dead—or dying. The nurses poured in through the door and the doctor prepared to revive me. They shouted and yelled in codes, their voices flat with calmness yet ironically commanding of urgency.

I sort of expected this sight, but I didn't expect my mother to come crashing through as well.

So, she did come.

"Tragic ending, huh?" a voice cued from behind me. "That's a cliché way to die, isn't it? Were you starring in a drama somewhere? This can't possibly be your life?"

"It happens."

I turned to see Amber walking over with his arms crossed.

"My mother thought you were my father," I told him. "I got three mothers, technically. I'm talking about number three."

"Yeah. I heard. Funny. I can't really have children."

"Really?" I found my gaze dropping to that area. "So, it doesn't work? I remember throwing a kick. It wasn't because of me, right?"

He looked at me scornfully. "You think you can break me?"

"Didn't I?"

"I'm surprised you can be sarcastic at this point," he told me.

"Did I sound sarcastic?"

Amber glared at me. "I don't need you commenting on my fertility, nevertheless. It's not like we're alive at all."