After that experience, I thought it was mere coincidence. "That could happen to anyone, right? There's no supernatural force preventing me from dying," I reassured myself. The urge to leave this messed-up world still grew inside me, so I decided to try a second time.

It was a cold evening, the chill seeping into my bones. I pulled my jacket tight around me. After what felt like a lifetime of walking, I reached the river. If I was going to try again, why not do something impossible to survive? I hesitated but gradually adapted to the situation. Without further delay, I jumped into the flowing water. The shock of the cold enveloped me, stealing the air from my lungs and numbing my limbs. I fought the instinct to surface, kicking deeper into the darkness, letting the weight of my clothes drag me down.

My vision blurred as the pressure built, the light from above growing dimmer and more distant. I closed my eyes, but just as the darkness began to close in, I felt a rough hand grab my arm, yanking me upwards with surprising strength. My eyes snapped open in disbelief as I was pulled towards the surface. I broke through the water, gasping for air, my vision filled with the concerned face of a fisherman.

"Are you okay? What were you doing in the river in this freezing weather, and you can't even swim?" the fisherman asked. I was so confused that I just stared at the man, unable to respond. Is this real? Can I really not kill myself? Those thoughts ran through my head as the fisherman paddled his boat, taking us to the bank of the river.

After dropping me off and giving me some dry clothes he had with him (for some reason), he paddled off, waving at me. "Be careful, it's dangerous in the river for people who can't swim," he said. If only he knew that this was a deliberate act. After a while of walking and wondering if I could die, I reached my apartment. It was a modest single room in an old building that had seen better days. I sat down in the comfortable, though worn, armchair that I possessed. After some thorough thought, I still wasn't convinced that death was an impossibility for me.

I reached out to the little bottle of poison I had in my room (don't ask me why I have that) and started gulping it down like there was no tomorrow. There should really be no tomorrow for someone who drank a whole bottle of poison, but in my case, it wasn't like that. Instead, I found myself violently ill, vomiting until there was nothing left but bile and regret. Once again, it didn't work. I really can't die. Every attempt was met with an improbable, almost comical twist of fate.

It was 9 AM the next morning when I heard loud banging on my door. It was like it was happening in a dream. Suddenly, I opened my eyes and realized that the banging was reality. "Oh damn, I hope it isn't that old man (Landlord)." Yes, I am in debt to the landlord too. Not only have I not paid my rent for the past six months, but I also haven't contacted him. Wondering how? I have my ways, the landlord wasn't supposed to be here around this time of the month, "oh damn, if I knew I would have not come home today" I horridly said.

Just when I was about to jump through my window, I heard a very familiar voice. "Hey, open up! It's me, you brainless idiot." Yup, it was my one and only friend, Mark.

Mark has been my friend since first grade. His parents were affluent and well-connected, ensuring he had every material comfort. However, their strict upbringing imposed a rigid structure on his life, allowing little freedom beyond academic pursuits. He was often seen in tailored clothes, his demeanor polite and reserved, a testament to his parents' insistence on maintaining appearances. Mark's parents, stern and controlling, kept a close watch on his every move, disapproving of any activities outside their prescribed path. You might wonder how I have such a friend. Even though his parents completely forbade me from interacting with their son because of obvious reasons, Mark and I have been best friends for a very long time. Despite their restrictions, we still hang out, even if it means defying his parents' rigid expectations.

"Hey, what was it you were blabbing about on the phone yesterday? I thought you were about to commit suicide," Mark angrily said.

"Well, you aren't far from wrong," I replied.

"What?" He dropped the bag he was holding, curiosity etched on his face. "What do you mean, 'you aren't far from wrong'?"

I stood up from the little bed I slept on, smirked a little, and said, "I don't think I can die, Mark."

Mark hit his head with his palm and said, "You idiot! I told you not to smoke anymore. You've completely lost your sanity."

"I haven't been smoking much recently, and I'm really not making this up. I tried twice to die, but I couldn't. It's like some kind of god is preventing my death with ridiculous happenings," I tried explaining.

He said, confused, "You tried to kill yourself? Are you crazy? Why would you want to end your own life? Thank God you got lucky. You can't do something so stupid."

He bent down and picked up my jacket that I had left lying on the floor. Then he tossed it to me. "Take this, and let's head out."

It was clear he brushed off what I said about being unable to die, but he was right. It's stupid to try and kill yourself. However, I think the only thing awaiting my future is pain and suffering, so it's best to avoid getting there. But first, I need to find out the reason for my sudden immortality.