It was supposed to be just another quiet afternoon.
John strolled along the sidewalk, earbuds tucked in, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone. The faint sounds of the Pokémon anime echoed in his ears, the familiar voice of Pikachu bringing a soft smile to his lips. A small break from school, stress, and the dull routine of life. Just a quick trip to the corner store—maybe some chips, maybe a soda. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Then he looked up.
A child—no older than seven—darted into the street after a loose ball, laughter on his lips and joy in his steps. The boy didn't see the truck.
But John did.
He didn't think. He didn't calculate. He didn't hesitate.
He moved.
The phone slipped from his fingers as he sprinted forward, arms pumping, instincts taking over. The truck horn blared, tires screamed against asphalt, but there wasn't enough time. Not for the driver. Not for the boy.
But there was just enough time for John.
With one final push, he shoved the child out of the truck's path. The world seemed to slow as he caught a final glimpse of the child tumbling safely onto the sidewalk, eyes wide in confusion and fear. Then John turned midair, facing the oncoming vehicle with a calm heart and closed eyes.
I've lived a good life, he thought, letting go of all regrets.
Maybe not perfect. Maybe not loved the way I wanted. But... it was enough.
And as the headlights engulfed him and the impact stole the air from his lungs, he saw the mother rush to her son, cradling him, whispering reassurances.
The last thing John heard was the child's sobbing voice, and the image that remained burned into his vision—of a mother's embrace.
What I would've given... to feel what that child is feeling. The love of family...
⸻
Then silence.
No pain. No weight. No light.
Just an endless stretch of nothing.
John opened his eyes, and all that greeted him was an expanse of pure void. Black. Still. Infinite.
He didn't panic.
He didn't scream.
He just... sat.
Cross-legged on the floor—or what he imagined was a floor—he took a deep breath. The air didn't exist, but he still breathed. The space around him didn't move, but his heartbeat was steady.
"I guess... I really did die," he said aloud, voice echoing into the abyss.
But there was no fear. No torment. No white light, no judgment, no heaven or hell. Just this. Emptiness.
"So this is what comes after," he murmured. "I thought it'd be more... dramatic."
He smiled faintly, shaking his head. "No point in freaking out."
In life, when things had gone wrong—when the stress of homework, the loneliness at school, or the weight of his own expectations threatened to crush him—John had always done one thing.
He meditated.
He cleared his mind, steadied his breath, and found peace inside himself.
So that's what he did now.
He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, even if his lungs didn't need the air. The stillness of the void seemed to respond, wrapping around him like a cold blanket.
Time passed—or maybe it didn't. Here, there was no way to tell.
But eventually, he opened his eyes again, not with confusion, but with curiosity.
"Maybe... since I'm dead, I can create something here," he whispered. "A mind palace. Like in those anime or manga..."
The thought brought him a small spark of excitement.
This is my mind. My space. I didn't shape the void, but maybe I can shape myself within it.
With a wave of his hand—or the idea of it—John imagined a room.
Not just any room, but a cozy one. Wooden floors, soft cushions, a window that looked out into stars, even if the view was imaginary. A giant screen on the wall with shelves of games and Pokémon memorabilia from his memories. Plushies, action figures, posters—all reconstructed from fragments of a life well-loved, even if he'd never felt love himself.
He stepped inside, barefoot, the warmth of the room replacing the chill of the void.
"Nice," he said to himself, settling down on a beanbag. "Let's see... where did I leave off?"
The screen flickered to life, replaying one of his favorite Pokémon episodes—Ash saying goodbye to Butterfree.
It still hit hard.
He let the memories play as he rested, soaking in the comfort of familiarity. Here, in this mental domain, he wasn't alone. He had himself, his thoughts, and the stories he loved.
"I wonder if this is all there is," he said quietly. "Just... floating forever in this space."
But even as he spoke the words, something deep in the void stirred.
He didn't notice it yet—too focused on creating, imagining, and building. His calm had become his anchor, his meditation a lifeline.
But the void was listening.
And something had heard him.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.