Welcome To Hell

I jumped, scared out of my wits. Closing my eyes felt like the right call, hoping things would improve.

"I just wish my next life's gonna be better."

My entire life played in my mind, like a wild rollercoaster of feelings.

Falling faster and faster, I hit something. Turns out, it was a net. Glancing down, I realized I dropped four stories.

Curiosity struck as I wondered who set up this net. Then, a tearing noise filled the air—the net beneath me giving way.

I thought about screaming, but why bother? I came here to end it all anyway.

The net tore, and I fell again, landing on another, tougher net.

I took a deep breath, thinking of jumping once more.

"Maybe God wants me to keep going," I thought, looking at the sky.

Who really believes in God? If he's out there, a little help wouldn't hurt.

Overwhelmed by everything, I resolved to embrace the end. With a deep breath, I stepped back, determined to evade those net-like obstacles. Channeling all my energy into my legs, I closed my eyes and braced myself.

As I prepared to sprint, a mysterious figure abruptly yanked me backward, disrupting my desperate escape.

I glanced back in fear, only to find a construction worker, likely in his late 30s, with a beard and long hair. Surprisingly good-looking.

"Suicide, huh?" he remarked.

"Yeah. Any problem?" I retorted.

"You've got guts, kid."

"Why'd you stop me?" I questioned.

I spilled my story, hoping he'd leave me be, but he persisted.

"Isn't it better to die than live this pathetic life?" I mumbled sadly.

"You don't have the right to end your life," he asserted.

"Why do I have the right to live, then?" I countered.

"Kid, others suffer more. Some, like you contemplating death, persevere and succeed."

"What's wrong with ending my life?"

"Hard work can make it better. You don't know what to do? Live with me, finish your studies, and learn to love yourself," he suggested.

"Isn't it dangerous for you?" I questioned.

He pulled out a red thread, thicker than usual, matching the lines on my palm. Tying it to my right hand, he said, "It'll protect you from harm."

Grateful, he led me away to a new chapter in my life.

As I looked at the man who had intervened in my attempt to end it all, a sense of curiosity compelled me to inquire, "What's your name?"

With a faint smile, he responded, "Well, my name is James. You can call me Dad, by the way. And what about you?"

A heavy silence lingered as I hesitated before confessing, "I don't have any name."

Without missing a beat, he proposed, "How about I name you? From now on, your name is Milo."

"Milo?" I repeated, testing the sound of the unfamiliar name. "Sounds great. Thank you, Dad."

It was a peculiar moment – the first time I had addressed someone as "Dad." James, or rather, Dad, nodded in acknowledgment and guided me towards the ground floor.

"Stay here until I finish my work," he instructed, his gaze carrying a hint of suspicion.

"Sure thing," I replied, sensing his concern. "Don't worry too much about me. I won't entertain thoughts of that nature again," I reassured him, hoping to convey a sense of stability and gratitude for his unexpected intervention.

He came back many hours later.

"Let's head home" he said. "Okay" I agreed with him. We headed back to home. I was super excited to see my new home.

"Oh! I forgot to give it to you"

My father then handed me something that is wrapped. I opened it as he gave me the permission. Well, they are clothes. 

"Thank you dad" tears went down my eyes. 

It was the first time someone bought me new clothes. During my begging days, no one bought me clothes. During my time with grandma, we barely managed to live properly. Our earned money is enough to maintain that small restaurant and for our basic necessities. There are always no extra money left for enjoying ourself.

"Everything has a first time" he said as if he read my mind. 

"Let's eat something before we go home" he added.

"Okay"

We headed to a nearby restaurant. It was not that big. It was not that small either. There are little amount of customers. We headed in.

My father to me to a corner of the restaurant where there are less people around. The place is beside a window. It is evening. The sky is red like a

ripe peach as the sun bid farewell for the day. The warm glow painted the world in hues of amber.

He handed me the menu, and for a moment, I felt a sense of unfamiliarity. I had rarely been to restaurants, let alone had the luxury of choosing what to eat. 

"Pick whatever you like," he encouraged.

I scanned the menu, my eyes widening at the variety of dishes described in tantalizing detail. It was a stark contrast to the meager meals I was accustomed to.

As we waited for our order, I couldn't help but reflect on the day's turn of events. The newfound warmth from the unexpected paternal figure and the simple gesture of gifting me clothes had stirred emotions I had long suppressed.

The aroma of food filled the air as our plates arrived. Each bite felt like a revelation, a taste of life I hadn't experienced before. My father, noticing my delight, smiled reassuringly.

"This is just the beginning, Milo. There's a lot more waiting for you," he said, his words echoing with promise.

In that small restaurant, beside the window, as the day surrendered to the night, I savored not just the delicious meal but the notion that life, with all its firsts, held the potential for a brighter future.

We reached home after a little walk from the restaurant. He opened the lock of the door and we went inside. It was the first I was in a house that big, eventhough it cannot be compared to neighbors'.

I heard a cry of a baby.

"Your little sister started crying again" he said with a joy in his face.

"Little sister? How old is she?"

"She is three"

I followed the echo of baby cries to only found out that it was the girl from back then. I saw her while going up the 50 storeyed building.

"So they are the pair that I envied before." I thought myself.

She stopped crying after seeing me. Then my

father, with a gentle smile, approached the crib and picked up the little girl, cradling her in his arms.

"Meet your little sister, Milo," he introduced with a prideful glint in his eyes.

"Hi there," I greeted, feeling a mix of surprise and warmth at the sight of the tiny human who shared a connection with me.

As the evening unfolded, I found myself adapting to the new surroundings. The spacious house, the unfamiliar sounds, and the presence of a family – it was an overwhelming contrast to the solitude I had grown accustomed to.

Over dinner, Dad shared stories about his work, the challenges, and the simple joys of family life. I listened intently, feeling a sense of belonging gradually settling in.

Later, as bedtime approached, Dad showed me to my room. It wasn't extravagant, but to me, it felt like a sanctuary. The concept of having a space of my own was a luxury I never thought I'd experience.

As I lay on the bed, the events of the day replayed in my mind. From the brink of desperation to the warmth of family, life had taken an unexpected turn.

Closing my eyes, I whispered a silent gratitude for the newfound connections and the hope that bloomed within me. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a journey filled with discoveries, challenges, and the embrace of a family that defied my earlier notions of loneliness.

The sun started his reign. Everyone woke up. I woke up with a dark circles under my eyes. What kept me from sleeping is the photo that I saw in my room. In that photo there is my dad, my sister and a woman. 

I took that photo with me to my dad and asked

"Dad, is she my mom?"

"Yes" he said while tears rolled down his eyes. 

"She died a year ago" he added.

I felt that it was

like a heavy weight dropped in my chest, and I struggled to comprehend the news. The woman in the photo was my mother, and she was no longer in this world.

"How did she die?" I hesitantly inquired, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dad took a deep breath, as if summoning the strength to revisit a painful memory. "She had an illness. We tried everything to save her, but..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint sounds of the waking household. I clutched the photo, a tangible link to a mother I never knew.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes conveying a mixture of sorrow and regret.

As the reality of my mother's absence sank in, I couldn't help but feel a profound loss. The woman in the picture, smiling and happy, was a distant memory, forever frozen in time.

In that moment, the weight of the past, the challenges of the present, and the uncertain future converged. The sun continued its ascent outside, casting a bittersweet glow on the room, as if nature itself acknowledged the complexities of life.

Several days later, my father enrolled me in a school. The passing years witnessed the completion of my school studies and my subsequent journey into college. Time, however, unfurled a relentless series of hardships.

Fast forward to the present day, and I find myself grappling with unemployment. The shadows of sorrow lengthened when my little sister met a tragic end in an accident three years ago. Adding to the somber symphony, my father battles the relentless grip of cancer.

In an attempt to give shape to the overwhelming tragedies that have befallen me, I penned down every painful episode in a book. To my dismay, the pages of this tome, titled "Ink Stains of Life," stretch beyond 200, each narrating 31 heart-wrenching tales.

Once again, I found myself teetering on the edge of despair. The culmination of my anguish led me to a desperate decision—I set aflame the book bearing the inked testimony of my tormented life. My trembling hands swiftly seized a knife from the kitchen, laying it before me with a haunting resonance.

In a moment of profound despair, I swallowed hard, my thoughts consumed by anger towards my father and the old man who had promised a hopeful future. Regret weighed heavily on my existence.

"My life is rotten," I declared, the words a bitter acknowledgment of my despair. Swiftly, I slashed my throat, ushering in a darkness more intense than I had ever imagined. As consciousness waned, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the abyss.

To my astonishment, I abruptly awoke to a surreal scene. My lifeless body lay before me, a testament to my fleeting mortality. A mysterious sound echoed, drawing two mystical creatures towards me. In an instant, I found myself transported to an infernal entrance, the embodiment of a hellish realm.

A voice resonated, chillingly welcoming me to the abyss, "Welcome to hell."