I Became a Ranker Before Rankers

The Day I Died

I was just the typical product-of-society office worker, living off minimum wage, trapped in a relentless 9-to-5 routine. Eat. Sleep. Work. Repeat. With each new day, I experienced the constant torrent of daily beat downs from my domineering boss and whispers of workplace gossip taking over my entirety. The monotony of my life became insufferable, my will to start the day deteriorating daily. Only upon reaching my wooden apartment door of home did the stress relinquish its hold slightly. 

Yet, amidst the temporal concerns of human existence, I clung to a hope for a fairytale romance. My soulmate–a person only dreams could conjure. As time progressed, my faith in finding that single individual out of 7 billion other individuals faded. With this realization, I sought solace within the comforting pages of novels. With the turning of a new page I ascended to a new reality; a reality much more palatable, a reality were I was not my self. I was something better. It served not only as an escape from my job, but I had felt that it turned me into something that I was not, something better. 

One cold winter evening, as I almost finished my third reading of my favorite novel before the last chapter was released, I met my maker.

Donning my favorite dark-grey jumper, I ventured from my apartment towards the eighty-year-old convenience store, lured by the fragrant, warm memories of instant-ramen before the final chapter. The broken-down complex I occupied and the quaint restaurant adjacent to it marked my well-trodden late night path across the road. There, at the crosswalk, I stood observing each car as they passed by, patiently waiting for the moment the light across from me would change colors and grant me passage. 

Finally, the signal switched, and I began to continue my treacherous journey, gaze cast downwards, in avoidance of the eyes of others. There, on the blackened asphalt, fortune had given me a crisp hundo–hundred dollar bill–beckoning to me like a pirates treasure in this jungle of a metropolitan city. I bent my stiffened knees, quickly grabbing and pocketing the piece of paper, kneeling like a devout follower in front of their creator. It felt as if this gift was an acknowledgement from the universe of my life's constant trials and tribulations, an auspicious stroke of luck. I was wrong. 

Bright white lights, most akin to those they shine during dentist visits, or eye exams, hurled towards me with immense speed. I was a deer in headlights, truly. It was as if I could sense that my existence was about to cease, yet I did not move or even shed a tear. My body shot away from the place I had knelt just seconds before, like a broken puppet kicked to the curb. My soul seemed to lag behind as my bones split into millions of tiny fragments. Only then could I withstand the cold weather. Only then as my warm blood seeped out of every crevice of my body, did it seem my life force had a will to keep on, I needed to escape.

In that tormenting moment, I yearned for salvation, that mysterious vision straight from the novels I had lived for. But alas, no handsome hero appeared to save me, leaving me to bear the excruciating agony of a lonesome death.

As I took my final breaths of city air, I thought in contemplation of my life. I lived with many regrets, but the most prominent was leaving myself with the world's biggest cliffhanger. 

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My consciousness seemed to idle in a world of complete darkness, suspended in a realm in which time held no pretense. It was a void of everything. A void of sound, light, existence. Even as I screamed, begging for someone to release me from the nothingness, nothing would answer. As I tried to peel my eyes open, the void continued to engulf me. As I coped with my death, I found solace. My surroundings were a sanctuary of loneliness, a haven in which my actions had no significance. There was a sense of peace in the air, in the soundless environment, the nothingness was my lullaby.