Remanescence of Shadows

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. I wish that were true. Instead, I got something messier—not a highlight reel, but scattered fragments. Memories bleeding into each other, half-formed regrets, and a lingering sense that I left something unfinished. Maybe the universe figured I didn't deserve clarity in my final moments.

What's my name? Funny, I used to think it mattered. But when there's no one left to say it, does it really? I was ordinary—no, worse than ordinary. I was invisible. Just another faceless cog in the grand machine of mediocrity. I wasn't smart, handsome, or charismatic. Hell, even "average" would've been a stretch.

I was that guy. You know the type. The one who smiles too much, hoping someone—anyone—will notice, but nobody ever does. I worked a dead-end job I didn't care about, lived in a crappy apartment I couldn't afford, and spent my nights glued to anime and video games because they felt more real than my own life.

Pathetic, huh?

If I had one defining trait, it was that I tried too hard. I'd help anyone who asked, even when I knew they'd never return the favor. I was desperate for approval, but all I ever got was indifference. People only remembered me when they needed something. And when they didn't? I was just background noise.

By the time I died, I'd already faded out of existence long before my heart stopped beating.

"If I could go back," I muttered into the void, "I'd do it differently." Not that I had a throat to say it with. Or lungs. Or a body.

This is the afterlife, I guess. A whole lot of nothing. No golden gates, no burning pits. Just... emptiness.

It's fitting, really. Nothingness for a nobody.

Then it happened.

A pair of doors appeared in the void, like ink spreading across a blank page. Massive, ancient things that looked like they belonged in a museum or a cathedral, if either of those could stretch into infinity. They were carved with intricate patterns, but what caught my eye was the giant mural in the center: a single, unblinking eye.

It wasn't a simple decoration. That eye was alive. Watching. Judging.

Before I could even process the sight, the doors began to move, creaking and groaning like ancient stone grinding against itself. The sound wasn't just loud; it was alive, reverberating through whatever I was now.

The gap between the doors widened, revealing a bluish light that pulsed like a living heartbeat. It wasn't warm or inviting; it was overwhelming. The kind of light that demanded attention and refused to be ignored.

I didn't want to go near it. Every instinct I had screamed to stay put, to remain in the safety of the void. But my soul—this flickering speck of existence—wasn't listening. It drifted toward the light, pulled along by a force I couldn't resist.

I didn't know if I was heading toward salvation or damnation.

But at least something was finally happening.