I never thought death would come at 3 a.m., under buzzing fluorescent lights and the stench of burnt coffee.

But there I was—face down on a cracked gas station floor, dying alone beside a spilled rack of chewing gum.

The night had started like every other. Quiet. Colorless. Forgotten.

The lights buzzed overhead like they were trying to stay awake. Outside, the world looked half-dead—wet streets, cloudy sky, no sound except the faint growl of a truck far off on the highway and the last gasp of a police siren disappearing into the dark.

Even the drunks had gone home.

Inside, the coolers hummed like they were trying to fill the silence. A clock ticked on the wall. The air smelled like bleach and burnt dust.

And me? I was standing behind the counter, hoodie pulled over a wrinkled uniform. Same spot. Same shift. Same routine. My name tag—DAN—was scratched and faded, like even the letters had given up.

I stared at the security monitors. Front door. Gas pumps. Empty aisles. Nothing happening. Nothing ever did.

Still, I watched.

Not because I expected anything.

Just because I didn’t know what else to do.

I tapped the counter once. Twice. Stopped. Checked my phone.

No messages. No missed calls. No one waiting. No one wondering.

That was my life.

Wake up. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

Every day.

No purpose. No fire. Just… passing time. Waiting for something to change. Knowing it never would.

I looked up at the ceiling. The water stains looked like faces now. I used to count them. Now I didn’t bother.

It had always been like this. Always just barely enough.

In school, I was the kid no one noticed. Not smart enough to be praised. Not reckless enough to be warned. My grades floated somewhere near the bottom—not because I couldn’t do better, but because no one ever expected me to.

And eventually, neither did I.

I didn’t dream big. Didn’t chase anything. I just… coasted.

Same with jobs. Always scraping by. Always disposable. Just another body in a uniform, showing up, clocking out.

Never good. Never bad. Just there.

Some people live loud. Some leave marks.

I barely left footprints.

And the truth is—I don’t even remember when I stopped caring. I just know I woke up one day and realized I hadn’t really lived at all.

And if I died right here, right now?

No one would know. No one would notice. No one would care.

I felt that truth settle in my chest like a weight I’d been carrying for years without realizing.

And that’s when it hit.

The pain.

Sudden. Sharp. Deep.

I gasped. Grabbed at my chest. Stumbled.

Then dropped.

My knees hit tile. The rack beside me clattered down, gum packs bouncing like they were trying to get away.

My heart felt like it was on fire.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. My limbs twitched. My mouth tasted like metal. My vision blurred.

I reached out for something—anything—but there was nothing there.

Just cold.

And silence.

And the sick, crushing certainty that this was it.

No goodbye. No one holding my hand. Just me, dying under a flickering light in a gas station no one remembered.

Is this it?

Is this really how I go?

Alone. Unnoticed. Unimportant.

Forgotten.

And then—

A glow.

Soft. Golden.

Floating just above my chest.

A ticket.

Suspended in the air like it had always been there, waiting.

It didn’t speak. It didn’t shine.

It just was.

Etched across its surface in glowing letters:

CREATION TICKET – ONE USE ONLY

I couldn’t move. Could barely think.

But I saw it.

And in that second, some small, broken part of me believed.

Believed that something… someone… had heard me. That even in my last breath, even in my nothingness—I’d been seen.

That maybe, just maybe…

This wasn’t the end.

And then the world faded.

And so did I.

I was dead.

[END OF CHAPTER 1]