Why?

Most people live life with an objective, a reason, or just something to keep them afloat in the world.

This motive can change depending on a person's experiences or it won't. Say a man's wife died. He has two options: get over it or try to get revenge. However, there is a darker option too, one people don't like to talk about but is present nonetheless. Suicide.

Soren, a 21-year-old male, had just graduated from college with a bachelor's in environmental science. A basic degree, with a simple outcome, and an easy way forward. 

People in school referred to him as a fake deity, but purely in terms of looks. His hair, a striking shade of white, cascaded in waves down to his neck, framing his face with an ethereal quality. His eyes, a murky brown, showing nothing to whoever met his gaze, almost unsettling. He wasn't the most fit or the biggest person in school. No, all he did was run sometimes to keep his health marginally better.

His eyes deterred many people from approaching him, and the few that did didn't stay for long. His family was always the odd one compared to others because of their outlooks on life, but that didn't matter because they all died when he was young, for one reason or another. Leaving him in an orphanage that was no better than living on the streets. 

Soren wasn't sure he would do anything in his life that would make it special. He had wanted what others had, but he couldn't get it.

Instead of living such a life, fate had other plans for him. 

Walking home from his night job at the convenience store, tired and listless. With no warning, he was shot four times. They shot his head, heart, right foot, and future generations which was completely uncalled for.

That was how his first graceful death played out.

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*Outside of a dimly lit and narrow one-entrance alley*

"Where did he go?!"

"FIND HIM NOW AND BRING HIS HEAD TO ME."

"Yes sir!" The guards echoed back loudly, all heading in the direction they thought the subject went.

Soren woke up and heard yelling from outside the alley.

Immediately pain filled his mind. His legs were shattered.

He hissed in pain quietly thinking, 'Being reborn sucks, every single time.'

He shivered slightly recalling his second, but most previous death.

'I mean that Lord's mistress really should have seen me appear in her room before she started changing, so why did they cut off my head? I was trying to be polite.'

Soren retains his original body through reincarnation. A much-needed benefit after dying gruesomely. The only issue is, it's not always in excellent condition. Like right now, both his legs seemed to have been shattered by a blunt impact.

This situation is unfavorable too.

'More than likely, those guards are after me, but none of them even glanced in this alley while they left looking for me. That's fine though because I don't want to get my head chopped off again anyway.'

'I'll just lie low for a good while. I don't know this world or how people fight here. Each of these worlds seem to be different than the one before it, making it doubly problematic.'

Soren's parents died when he was 13 years old leaving him with no family to speak of. They had a unique philosophy on life that didn't quite make fitting in easy with others. It was fairly simple, you just had to live life the way you wanted. Whether that be making people mad or giving money to the homeless. As long as you were enjoying it, they were happy. This philosophy had rubbed off on Soren more than he may have thought.

'Why can't I be reborn into a rich noble's house as their son or something? No, instead I must wake up with broken legs that won't ever function again. So much for living how I want to.'

"I wish I had magical powers," Soren muttered to himself quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. Pain still flowing through him like a dam that was finally lifted after a thousand years.

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After muttering to himself about his lack of prowess, Soren's thoughts drifted momentarily to his past life on Earth. He recalled the mundane yet comforting routines of his college days. Not worrying about his safety every moment but looking forward to his next meal. 

He wanted to do more in life, but the peace and tranquility he had then, was far to alluring than branching out.

His parents back when he was in middle school, would pack his lunch every school day. His friends would always try to trade for something he had, but he would always get defensive defending his food, and yet he still ended up sharing with them. 

Back then no one cared about looks, or how weird someones family was. It was just based off similar interest people had. 

All these memories felt like a dream he once had even though they were the realest memories he possessed.