Highschool Of The Dead: Dead Man’s Tale.

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As the evening sun set across Washington DC, casting a warm glow of orange and gold across the city, the world outside seemed to wind down, soaking in the peaceful twilight. I could hear the distant laughter of children and the rustling of leaves carried by the cool breeze, a soft backdrop to the chaos of my own small apartment.

Here I was, surrounded by a week's worth of takeout containers and random clutter, caught in yet another battle with Malenia Blade of Miquella. The frustrating chime of defeat rang out, and the words "You Died!" flashed mockingly across my screen. A deep sigh escaped me, frustration and resignation mingling in my voice as I muttered to myself, "Ah! Damn it, there was only a little more to go…"

Losing track of time was easy when you were as absorbed in a game as I was. 

The sudden ring of my phone cut through the silence of the room, making me jump a little. Standing up, I kicked aside piles of trash to clear a path. 

'I should really clean this place.'

Seeing 'Mom' on the caller ID, I braced myself, taking a deep breath before answering. Conversations with her often needed a bit of mental preparation.

"Hello," I said, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. I didn't want Mom to catch on that anything was wrong.

"Ah! So, how have you been?" Her voice was warm, filled with that familiar concern that somehow managed to comfort me while also making me feel a bit suffocated.

"Fine."

My voice felt tight, even to my own ears.

"That's good. I have sent you this month's allowance."

"Thanks."

"Is everything at school alright? You sound weak."

"No mom, everything's A-OK," I assured her, putting on a cheery facade that felt as thin as tissue paper.

"That's good. Are you taking care of your health?" 

"Yeah," I responded tersely, not wanting to admit that my diet lately had been more fast food than anything else.

"Don't play around too much, okay?" 

"Okay, mom."

"Study hard, okay, my little pookie bear?" She used the nickname she'd called me since I was five, her voice brimming with affection.

"Thanks, mom," I said quickly, eager to end the call before she could sense my discomfort or dig any deeper into my life. I hung up and set the phone down, running a hand through my hair and letting out a deep breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

Sitting back down, I stared blankly at the paused game screen. 

It was a lie, the kind you tell with a smile, hiding the truth behind a practiced ease. I hadn't set foot in the university for months—no, it had been longer than that.

Three years ago, I'd moved from Silver Spring, MD to Washington DC to start my university life. The city sparkled with promise. New faces and the thrill of beginning anew, even the possibility of love, seemed just around the corner. 

But three months into my first semester, a cold truth settled in: I was completely alone. As I wandered the campus, other students laughed and bonded, their easy friendships a stark contrast to my isolation. 

"Crap, crap, crap," I muttered under my breath, feeling the panic rise. "I'm too slow. What do I do?" Everywhere I looked, it seemed like everyone belonged except me.

For the first year, I pushed through this loneliness, attending every class. I scribbled notes and pretended everything was normal, driven by a fear of failing, of not graduating. But by the second year, I felt an invisible weight anchoring me down, keeping me from what I knew I needed to do. After that, my days at the university just stopped.

Three years vanished into a blur of video games and masturbation. 

"I can't go on like this," I would think, a desperate edge creeping into my thoughts. "I need to do something. But what's the point now?" 

In three years, some people found love, some traveled, some changed for the better. 

What had I done? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The thought of finally confronting my mom about it all loomed over me like a storm cloud. 

"I'm screwed, absolutely screwed," I'd think, the anxiety of that inevitable conversation gnawing at me day and night.

I had no special talents, no clear path to a career. The future felt like a gaping void, terrifying in its emptiness. The more I thought about it, the more paralyzed I felt, trapped in a life of my own making. 

What would happen when my mom discovered the truth? 

Where would I go from there?

I clicked out of Elden Ring, my mood souring by the second. I wasn't in the headspace for gaming anymore. With a heavy sigh, I pulled up X—still couldn't get used to calling Twitter that—and my eyes landed on a video that was blowing up. Some guy had just saved a bunch of kids from a burning building. The comments were filled with praise, everyone calling him a hero.

A pang of jealousy stabbed through me as I watched the hero on my screen. He was everything I wasn't. Brave, decisive, someone who would be remembered. And me? Just a nobody rotting away in a messy apartment. "Probably staged anyway," I muttered to myself, a pathetic attempt to diminish his act. I tapped out those very words and tweeted them out.

Almost immediately, a reply flashed on my screen. Losers like you are the scum of society. What have you ever done?

Anger flared up inside me, hot and fierce. I began typing a furious response, my fingers tapping aggressively. But halfway through, my anger gave way to a hollow feeling of defeat. There was some truth in the stranger's words, and I hated that more than anything. I deleted the draft and slammed my phone down.

Getting up, I went to the fridge, hoping to find something to distract myself with. It was empty. "God, if you are real, spawn in some food for me, please," I said aloud, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips.

With nothing else left to do, I grabbed my wallet and headed out the door. Maybe a walk to get some food or a drink would clear my head, or at least fill the void that seemed to be growing inside me with each passing day.

The chill of the night air bit into my skin as I walked mechanically toward the convenience store.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a small family moving in the opposite direction—a little girl riding gleefully on her father's shoulders, her laughter piercing the cool night air. Her mother trailed a bit behind, smiling at the joyful scene. I paused, a wave of longing washing over me. "Will I ever be able to have a family of my own?" I wondered, the thought surfacing uninvited. 

Almost instantly, I scoffed at myself. 

"Who would want to be with a loser like me?" 

Inside the convenience store, the mundane task of picking out something to eat did little to distract me from the heavy thoughts. As I stepped back into the night, the ding of the store's door echoed behind me, pulling me back into the stillness outside as I continued my walk home when a scream shattered the quiet. 

"Help me!" 

The urgent cry pulled my gaze to an alleyway nearby. Two men were closing in on a trembling woman. From where I stood, I could see the glint of knives in their hands—odd choices given the prevalence of guns in America.

My first instinct was cowardice. 

I wanted to run, to find someone else to handle this. My eyes darted around, seeking another passerby to offload this crisis onto, but the street was deserted. 

A sharp memory cut through my fear—the online taunt from earlier: Losers like you are the scum of society. What have you ever done?

Something in me snapped. For once, I wanted to act, to prove—not to the world, but to myself—that I was not the loser I feared I was. My heart hammered in my chest, my palms were sweaty, but a strange resolve steadied my shaking legs.

I hurled the glass bottle with all the force I could muster. It arced through the air, shattering upon the bodies of the muggers with a satisfying crash. The alcohol soaked their clothes, the sharp scent filling the air.

"Hey!" I managed to yell, my voice shaky as I brandished a lighter. I was terrified, my body flinching at the thought of what could happen next, but a desperate plan formed in my mind.

"Let that lady go or—" I waved the lighter, trying to seem more threatening than I felt. The muggers clicked their tongues in annoyance, stepping back just enough for the woman to dash away. I took a step back, adrenaline surging through me, planning to wave the lighter a bit more and then make a break for it when I thought I was safe.

Suddenly, a punch-like pain exploded on my back. I whirled around, my eyes widening in disbelief as I saw the woman I had just saved stabbing me with a knife. 

Oh, this is a setup!

The realization hit me like a wave as I fell to the ground.

Pain radiated through my body, a numbness spreading down my legs, but the warm sensation of blood soaking my clothes was unmistakable. It felt like hundreds of needles were poking into my skin. My heart raced, panic setting in as I saw my skin grow paler with each passing second.

Then, a sharp kick to my head sent stars exploding across my vision. 

"Psycho bastard," one of the muggers spat out. Rage boiled inside me, a burning hatred for the woman who betrayed me after I tried to help.

What kind of twisted logic was this? I was the one bleeding out here, yet I was the villain in their eyes? As the pain overwhelmed my senses, I saw them rifling through my pockets, taking my wallet. "What the hell? The little shit stain is broke," one of them cursed, throwing my empty wallet aside and spitting on me as they walked away.

The anger I felt was mind-numbing, a deep, seething hatred that seemed to eclipse the pain. Spotting the lighter near my hand, I seized it with the last ounce of strength I had. With a grim smile, I lit it and threw it towards the fleeing muggers. The lighter hit the trail of alcohol, igniting instantly. Flames enveloped them as they ran around frantically, their screams piercing the night.

The woman turned to look at me, her eyes blazing with anger. I managed a weak smirk, my vision blurring, my life seemingly flashing before my eyes. As everything started to go dark, a desperate plea formed in my mind.

"Oh, God, if you are real, give me a second chance. I've realized all the regrets I have. Please, give me a second chance to do better."

And then, everything faded to black.