Died? Me?

Amid the intricate weave of human lives, I, Alex, carved my own path—one fraught with yearning and compromise. Everyone finds solace in their pleasures, and I was no exception. The memory is hazy, but a company once dangled wealth in front of me, tempting me to relinquish my dreams.

Critics might say I surrendered too easily, that I let go of my aspirations for mere monetary gain. But let's be honest, if every dream was attainable, this world wouldn't be an arena of challenge, but a paradise. The clash of reality and ambition becomes deafening when your steps echo in the hollow corridors of isolation, and each turn reveals a cul-de-sac.

Yet, who am I fooling? I strive to avoid the quagmire of self-pity. After all, it's not like I didn't give it my all. I fought, pushed, and reached for my dreams, only to find them elusive. Can I be blamed for that? Yes? No?

Regardless, I'm back to my desk, facing a multitude of cells on a spreadsheet.

[Tap, Tap]

"Alex, have you finished reconciling the statements?" The imposing figure of Richard, blonde and muscular, hovers beside me.

"I-I'm still working on it," I stammer, cursing myself for this irrational anxiety around him.

The inner turmoil surges—self-esteem crumbling in the shadow of his confidence. I can't help but contrast his polished looks with my own perceived inadequacies. Those moments of comparison nibble at my psyche, leaving traces of melancholy.

Women, even from different floors, vie for his attention.

"Alex, this is the third time I've asked. If you're incapable, I'll assign it to someone more competent."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Keep your apologies. I need that sheet by 5."

He departs, his presence lingering like an echo in the room. But Richard, I won't comply. Your precious spreadsheet will remain with me. I'm leaving this soul-draining company for greener pastures.

...

As planned, I exit without submitting the work.

Now what? I've quit, but the vacuum of joblessness envelopes me. Can I dare to call myself an entrepreneur? It's a fanciful thought.

A piercing scream breaks my reverie across the street. My gaze follows the distraught mother's line of sight, landing on a little girl chasing a wayward balloon.

[HORN]

"Lisa!!" Her mother's frantic shout resonates, the anguish etched on her face. Panic courses through her veins, eyes locked onto her child who stands in the path of an oncoming cargo truck.

Should I intervene? Could I become a hero? Could my life story pivot on this one act?

I should help the child. It's the humane thing to do. It's noble, selfless. The right choice.

But why?

Do I know her? No.

Will society reward me? Probably not.

Do I really have a stake in this? Not really. My life would remain mundane, jobless, and bleak.

[Screech]

CRASH

...

"What's happening?" My voice reverberates.

"..."

"I was on the road. An accident. Why's it dark here?"

"Alex, you're dead."

"What? Who's speaking?"

"Alex, you died."