An unbroken cycle-where life and death blur like lines of a forgotten memory. And in many of such iterations, his eyes would readjust to the same grim scenery.
Yet, this time, something was different. He saw a shadow other than his own-another man, lying in the rain-soaked alley, barely alive, close to death. He didn't know why he stopped. Why his feet moved toward the man, why he left the umbrella beside the slumped figure, or why he placed his clean shoes on the bloodied feet of a stranger.
It was a subconscious will-one he didn't know would bloom into an unforeseen future, with that same stranger, a variation he had yet to experience.
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