Everyone knows he is different, or at least he fancies so himself. Jalen takes a lot of pride in himself, he doesn't see himself as one to be insecure. As a matter of fact, he feels to himself that he is not insecure about anything. Yet he feels there is no reason for him to express this thought, what good would come of it?
Quite some time has passed now since he's last been home. He keeps in touch with a few friends, surprisingly only the ones that he didn't expect. Jalen isn't sure if this is the right time to finally make that visit, he is afraid of regression. He likes to forget about the past as soon as the present moment demands his attention, the only thing that can ever shake him to the core and make him lose sight, is her.
Jalen tells himself that he really has no interest in visiting his hometown, in his own mind, he can spend his time being productive with the life that he has currently built for himself. Jalen isn't an academic, though once being an athlete, he is more built towards putting his physical abilities into good use. He resents that about himself. He never wished to have finished college, it never interested him, but he wants to be acknowledged for the mind that he knows he has. He isn't very knowledgeable either, to that he could admit to, but when it comes to conversations provoked by passion and the main challenge is to keep composure, he sees himself at the top. He also knows that his vocabulary isn't where he wants it to be and when he reads novels and stumbles across words that he does not understand, he never puts forth the effort to look up the definition. He jocosely believes that he can grasp the meaning of this foreign word simply through the context in which this unfamiliar word is being used. The reality however is that he is simply too lazy to put forth the effort. He is aware of all this.
In no way shape or form is Jalen actually a lazy person, though that is one of his biggest attributes which always drowns him with guilt. A guilt he cannot seem to explain. He sees it as a motivative tool, something to help him be more productive. Yet Jalen is sometimes confused with himself whether or not he is being productive or just distracting himself from a matter that he really needs to confront. There are always rare moments in his life where he believes that he catches a glimpse of an absolute truth, a truth connected directly between the mind and the heart. How can he deny this truth and believe at the same time that there is no such thing as an absolute truth? However, these glimpses make him believe otherwise, or doubt his whole existence in general.
He isn't in love anymore, the way he thought he wanted to be. It all died into wasted nights filled with loose ends that perhaps could've been tied, yet even the thought of 'could've/would've' used to make him grow restless and tired. What good came from any of it? When he last saw her he felt nothing, he tells himself this. He believes it too. Any time he reproaches the matter he knows that this is the self-destructive part that exists inside of him. The love he had for her only brings him memories of self-degradation, him being dragged through the mud, connections created only through his own projections, nothing ever validating his feelings, yet these glimpses have the ability to grip him deep in his soul. Perhaps it's the devil playing his tricks on him through her. He would laugh thinking at what he used to allow her to do. The level of humiliation that only he felt towards himself regarding the matter. How one can become so submissive without knowing why.
Jalen knows he has to go back. It's been years since he has seen his family. Seven years to be exact. That is the driving force, his justifying reason for this trip. Jalen's mother loves him dearly but she smothered him in ways that she will never understand. There are no solutions to the issues between him and his mother. It's a simple game of acceptance. The more he dives into retrospective thought, the more he is drowned by a helplessness that he cannot fully express, which drains him further more. Every word attempted to describe the dysfunction between him and his mother is as equivalent to a movement in quicksand, he only feels further swallowed by this self-created despair. The way Jalen has learned to cope with this issue is to let the quicksand fully absorb and drown him, to give death to the thought itself, allowing life for a fresh new thought, a change of perspective perhaps. "Everything that my mother has done for me, was out of love, regardless of what ground she used to stand on," he soothingly says to himself, as if it's the first time that he has drawn himself to this conclusion.
He can see passed all the fog now. He has managed to learn that when it comes to the matters of the heart, one must never lose sight of the big picture. In Jalen's eyes, getting carried away by minute details is only a sign of undeveloped character and a portrayal of blissful youthfulness. In no way does he think that he's got it all figured out, yet he doesn't shy away at giving himself the credit that he believes that he's earned. To himself, this is important information that no one else needs to be informed of. It's thoughts like these that validate his position on whether or not he is driven by vanity or conviction.
"Damn, 2:30 A.M.? I need to get some sleep," frustrated he says to himself as he checks his phone. He's been laying down trying to sleep for almost two hours now. "If I fall asleep in the next thirty minutes, that would give me about four hours of sleep, that is if I wake up exactly forty five minutes before my shift," he's thinking to himself as he feels each second ruining the morning ahead of him. "Maybe I should just stay up all night?" he starts bargaining with himself.
Nights would present themselves where sleep would never arrive. Most nights he never knew why, but this night he had an idea. Nerves, being excited about his upcoming trip, anticipating all the possibilities that would unfold in front of him. Whether or not he would succumb to his past or maintain focus and build off his present self. What are the chances he runs into her again? "Ahhh I'm so fucking petty, what's wrong with me?" he says to himself as he's agitated at the direction that his thoughts are headed.
He hates how vain he is at times and always tries to reason with his vanity, trying to label it as something natural. Now he is thinking about whether or not all humans suffer this great torment of being conscious of their own vanity. "How can people be so content with being so image-based? But what do I know of their true thoughts, maybe me thinking that people do not suffer the way I do is just proof that I am more vain than them. But who isn't vain? This is nonsense!"
Wondering if he will ever fall asleep, he starts thinking about eternal sleep, death. A common thought that always crosses his mind. He starts fantasising about his final thoughts, who would come to mind at such a final moment. The most grand of all the finales. Life is pointless to him, not in a sense where there is no point in trying anything, quite the opposite actually. The lack of meaning in life, he feels, is another concept that he uses as a motivative tool. "I can do as I please, all my dreams are within reach, I have no regrets, then why can't I fall asleep?" His irritation is growing with a snowball effect. At this point he gave up on the idea that he will catch any sleep.
"But can it be? That my thoughts are taking up my time, regarding matters that consist of other people and their possible thoughts. Do they think about these matters as well? It cannot be. Do I ever cross her mind? How all these seconds that will decompose into nonexistence once I die, will have meant nothing, especially since these thoughts only consist of wondering whether or not she thinks about me. Such a waste of space, dead or alive! The outcome is the same! It's irrelevant, the path I choose! So I may do as I please, since it's all the same?"
Strange and provokingly finding his good humour through his thoughts, he sits up and checks the time. It's nearly 3:00 A.M. Now his baseness creeps up on him, knowing this to be a very familiar thought that always manages to find a way to surface itself. Avoiding it as if only meant to enrich the inevitable rendezvous. "How can such a natural act make one feel so vile?" he grotesquely thinks to himself after the matter has ended. The word 'natural' stuck out to him because this felt far from it. Yet he also doesn't believe in anything to be unnatural. Anything that nature does, whatever act, shape, or form it takes, is natural. Regardless of the belief that he holds, he knows that 'natural' isn't the best way to describe himself giving in to his baseness. He feels defeated by his inability to triumph over this repetitive monster that seems to never change its colour. How can it always be the same?
He recently read that true freedom is achieved when one has been liberated from ones natural passions that are derived from primitive and base desires, this is only to be attained by old age. This didn't comfort his current inner turmoil but only created a space in his heart that made him realise that a time will come where he would yearn for the days to return where he was once a strong and capable man in his prime.
"How fast my mind changes the channel," wondering to himself, thinking of what kind of effects this vile habit can have in the long run, especially if his bachelor days shall last longer than he expects, not having an actual expectation on when his bachelor days will actually end.
He doesn't like the term 'bachelor'. To him the word coincides with an outgoing, shallow, base, and lively persona. He can agree with two of those, but he's neither shallow nor base. "I just gave into my baseness and here I am already creating a platform for me to stand on just so I can feel myself being at a distance, away from 'them'," thinking to himself as he is repulsed by his own hypocrisy.
"Ah! Here I am letting my thoughts find a deep end to sink in while the most crude soul falls asleep as soon as their head hits the pillow, this must be a burden that is only carried by the good!" Justifying to himself and drawing to conclusion that he himself indeed is a good person. Being the way that he is, he immediately tries to find a way to contradict himself. He feels his vanity being the driving force any time he draws a conclusion where it ends with him being morally 'good'. So now he must prove himself wrong.
"So all good people should have trouble sleeping and all bad people can fall asleep right away? My mother, regardless of the backwardness in her character, the deception used to achieve her goals, the lack of awareness of her surrounding, which makes her seem indifferent to those that are simply in her way, regardless of all those traits, the moment she puts her head down, she falls asleep! I mean people aren't perfect. But I know my mother is a good person! So why the hell do I hold myself to such a high standard and make excuses for all of humanity- and my mother! Ah! Alright this isn't going anywhere," Finding himself a bit confused and feeling the lack of sleep affect the velocity of his thoughts, he somehow still finds himself in high spirits in the midst of this sleeping crisis.
He stands up and walks to his bookshelf, grabs "Republic" by Plato. Currently the conversation is about the definition of justice. One side claims that justice is about telling the truth and paying your debts while the other side argues that justice is whatever interests the strong have over the weak. Jalen continues reading for as long as he possibly can and finds himself dozing off. Checking the time he sees that it is almost 3:30 A.M. "Great! Now that I am promised less than three hours of sleep, of course now would be the time that I'll actually fall asleep," he says to himself putting a comedic emphasis on the word actually.
He puts his book on the floor next to his bed, rolls over on his tummy, tucks both hands under the pillow but stops midway, flips both pillows over and stacks them on top each other, tucks his hands under the pillow again, "Ah, nice and cool!" finding that sweet spot where his left leg is slightly bent and his hands position oh so correctly, finding every part of his body positioned heavenly, his limbs growing heavier as his head starts levitating. Then comes that moment where he feels that he is turning with the earth, this is usually his telling point which leads him to believe that he will finally fall asleep, but he cannot get too excited, then his sleep will escape him!
Breathing softly, thinking of her affection, who she is, this time he isn't sure. All he knows that she is heavenly, a woman that will embrace every part of his soul, enjoy his playful short-temper, proudly call his name in a room full of strangers, her imagining that all these strangers will all marvel at his existence the same way that she does because, how could they not? Of course, this lady that has not made her entrance in his life yet, will hold the highest position out of anyone. He knows that each day for her will be a day better than the prior, for each day she will learn more about his true character and realise that her soul has been destined with an exceptionally rare form of existence!
"I will give her my all and nothing short of it!" He says to himself as if he is a man that is currently standing in front of his future father-in-law. This enchanting mademoiselle of course would be the most precious jewel on the planet, him and his future father-in-law both understand this and build a mutual respect for each other right away, through an agreement that is shared without a word even having to be uttered regarding the matter. This future father-in-law of course, being an excellent judge of character, would not only approve of him but also admire him, and be thankful that God has destined such an honourable, noble, and truthful man to be a member of his family and a deserving husband to his daughter. "Oh my God! What am I even thinking about right now! Such fantasies! As if a little boy naive of the tragedies of life!" Laughing to himself, actually giving an out loud chuckle, he truely enjoyed such fantasies.
It wasn't an unusual thing for him to fantasise or look forward to the future, yet it was a rare thing. He knows that these wishful thoughts and fantasies regarding the future are better off for his mental health as opposed to the desecrating thoughts that come from dwelling on the past. He is a classic over-thinker but he knows that those days are on its final countdown. Rolling out of his comfortable position, checking the time again, he sees that it is almost 3:45 A.M.
"All hope is lost, but what is the difference and whatever the difference is, what does it matter," he says to himself as he repositions himself. But first, he flips his pillows over again so that the coolness can be felt by his face and the warmth that his face gave to the other side can be felt by his cool fingertips. He tucks in his hands comfortably but this time he slightly bends his right leg, placing a third pillow under his right thigh. "Now that's comfort!"
He takes in a deep breath, exhales softly. Jalen felt a moment of clarity, yet his thoughts kept gnawing at him, pestering at him, almost mocking him, ridiculing him for thinking he could fall asleep.
The thought crept up again, the meaninglessness of life. How it all is now and how it all means so much to the individual, how it all passes, those that carry on, do not carry any of the past with them. If they did, it would be unbearable, that is why they don't carry it with them?
He started picking up where he left off from earlier, his final moments. Fantasising the heroic thoughts that would run through his mind, his brave words that he would express, the stoic expression that he would have as he embraces the most feared phenomena.
"Will there be something after or will it just be a void? Just as we do not remember anything prior to existence, shall it be just that? How this feeling of life is taken for granted, because, it is! It was granted to us without request! We are forced to live, there was never a choice in the matter, nobody agreed to anything! Here we are, thinking all of this has so much meaning and value, that one must appreciate and be thankful! But to be appreciative and thankful for that which was not asked for? And it turns out that this life happens to be the greatest responsibility in the whole universe! And also burden, yes! A burden indeed! Stress and worry, and worry and stress! Where is my time to rest? Will that be it? My death? That sweet sleep? That sweet eternal sleep? Yes, so why cherish sleep now? That sleep will come.... That sleep will come....." Dozing off to his decrypting thoughts, Jalen finally fell asleep just before 4:00 A.M.
Jalens alarm went off at 6:30 like a bucket of water being splashed on him! The sudden sound of this obnoxious alarm confused Jalen. Not realising where the sound is coming from, and not understanding what is going on, he took a second recollecting his thoughts, realising that he has to be at work in forty-five minutes. "Ah! This is the worst!" Dreading the transition between being asleep and being awake, he gave into his weakness and hit the snooze button. That five extra minutes of sleep is always filled with anxiety and it even goes as far as him having a quick dream. In this snooze nap he had a snooze-mare of him being late for work which triggered in him a terror that made him jump out of sleep, like the time where you feel you are falling in your sleep and you suddenly jump up. He became awake just a minute before the five minute snooze window was up. "Damn it! I could've slept one more minute!" he cried out hotly, ignoring the fact of how stupid and unreasonable he's being. Mad at himself for being in this sleep deprived position, upset at the fact that he needs to get up and get ready, regardless of these facts, he just continues to stubbornly sit at the side of his bed. "What's the point to all of this? I just want to sleep!"
The alarm goes off again and not realising that he dozed off, the alarm came at a surprise. This time he knew he had to get up. "Ah! To hell with it all!" He grunted as he stood up in his loose briefs that have lost their snug and tight fit. He grabs his phone and sees that it is on twenty percent, aggravated that he forgot to put it in charge, he quickly connects it to the charger. As he connects it to the charger, he chooses his morning playlist and also connects his phone to his speaker, which is sitting next to the shower. He loves listening to music in the shower.
The loud music is always a welcoming way for him to wake up, especially when he finds a song that he fancies to be suitable for the moment. But being in the current situation, he knows that if he is hindered by anything, like what song to pick, he is going to be late. Fortunately one of his favourite songs started playing. Swim Good by Frank Ocean.
He steps into the shower, which is not a tub, but a stand up shower with two sliding glass doors. He is standing at the far distance, away from where the shower head is. The water came out as rapid as it needed to be, always synchronising him with the pace of reality. It takes about a good minute for the water to transition from cold to hot so the cold sprinkle itself also had an exhilarating effect on him. He was starting to wake up.
"Ok, one, two, three!" He jumped under the water as it was still cold. "Oh! Oh! Ok. Oh! Brrrr!" Each second under the cold water coming down felt like an eternity, the anticipation of the cold water turning hot made him feel as if it was never going to happen. Wondering if he needed to hop out and wait, he decided to ride out the storm, after all, there was not much time left.
Finally the warmth started to creep its way in, by that time the shampoo was already applied to his full head of thick black hair. He put a couple of squirts of body wash on the loofah and quickly scrubbed down his whole body. Then with one last rinse, he rinsed off both his hair and his body. Less than five minutes and he was out of the shower. Drying himself as quickly as possible, wrapping the towel around his waste, creating a firm knot by overlapping and tucking in the corner edge of the towel then firmly folding it over, he puts on some deodorant and brushes his teeth in a haste.
"Six fifty-five? Shit!" He knows he only has five more minutes before he has to be out of the house. It takes him less than fifteen minutes to get there, so as long as he leaves in the next five minutes, he will be fine.
He runs into his room, feeling foolishly proud seeing that he prepared his work clothe last night before he went to bed. Putting on a fresh and clean pair of briefs, which is one of his favourite feelings, he hurriedly continues dressing and puts on his black pants and then his undershirt. He runs back to the bathroom and takes some conditioner and squeezes some on the palm of his hands. Rubbing both palms together in slow circles gradually turning them into bigger circles, he then applies the conditioner to his hair. Seeing that his hair is at a stage where it's not long enough to have a specific look, and not short enough to be considered clean, he realised that he was due for a haircut. Having no time to waste, he settles on an unfitting comb-over style look, running back to his room, he puts on his thick clean white shirt that is quite aged. Seeing some stains caused by the excessive amount of chlorine that this shirt has taken, he quickly scans his closet to see if there is another shirt. "Whatever, this will do!" He finishes buttoning his shirt and starts searching for clean socks. After a brief unsuccessful moment, he gave up looking and found two old mismatched socks, playfully smiling to himself he says, "It suits my character!"
The clock was at 7:01 A.M. and it is time to leave. He grabs his shoes, tries to force them on, realising that the shoes are tied, he stubbornly tries to force both his feet in. After a short strenuous effort, he gives up and unties his shoes, easily slips in both of his feet. That quick fit annoyed him. It made him feel his own childish stubbornness in a way that his father would always point out. To Jalen his fathers input was always from an unnecessary, hind-sighted, observational stance. Just as he was thinking of his father and how he felt his fathers imaginary input as being 'unnecessary', he felt himself saying this from a spiteful place. His father is a great man.
"Keys, keys, where are my keys!" screaming out loud knowing for sure that he is really running late. The clock reads 7:05 A.M. He finds his keys on his night stand. "Great! I can still make it!"
Sun shining in his face with a low hanging overcast, he is in too much of a hurry to see what an incredible day it is outside. He jumps in his red chevy cavalier, four-door stick-shift, he puts it in reverse and takes off a little faster than he should've, skidding off his front driveway.
"All right, just take it easy, you're gonna get there," he says to himself as if he is comforting a person that was in a similar situation and he's the bystander that is completely indifferent to the situation. As he is enters the main road he started searching his pockets for his phone.
"I just need to call and tell them I'm running about five minutes late, FUCK WHERE IS MY PHONE?"
Then it happened. A sudden impact! A loud crash! A sound as if five thousand soda cans were crunched all once! There was a brief moment of silence, less than a second, then the sound of large tires screeching followed by two more loud crashing sounds, the first crashing sound was as if a thousand plates where shattered all at once and the following sound was as if a hard plastic was being rolled over all the shattered glass. Silence swept the scene of the accident for a still moment. No body moved, all that was heard was leaking from the engines, the slow crackling from the broken glass.
Jalen felt his consciousness being disconnected from what his eyes were telling him. He was wondering if he had just now woken up from a dream. But it cannot be, why would he be here? In his car, trapped as he's feeling squeezed in between two hard objects. The first thing that he started to notice was the loud hissing noise as if something was steaming at a high temperature. He didn't understand, he couldn't understand.
"Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Are you okay?" a bystander was screaming at him. Yet he doesn't know what meaning these words hold. "Am I breathing?" he asked himself, still confused as to what's happening. He tried to breathe through his nose but he he couldn't and didn't understand why he couldn't. Then he tried to take a breath through his mouth, a little air managed to pass, as if a drop of water was given to a person that was dying of thirst, his mouth being so dry that that one drop disappeared before making any impact. The thought of not being able to breathe started making him panic, feeling a sense of clueless confusion, a horrifying fear built up that send a terrifying chill all down his spine when all the sudden....
A deep gasp for air! Everything became alive again! He went from being unable to breathe to hyperventilating. He started to connect that the voice that was talking, was intended for him. "Can you hear me?" He wanted to respond but as he tried to form a sentence, he groaned in agonising pain realising that his jaw was shattered to pieces and that each movement made him feel the true extent of it. All the noise that came out was a low and painful groan, "Awwrghh"
The position he was in finally showed itself, almost mockingly. He felt that this was a sick joke being played on him, still not understanding the gravity of the situation. Trying to understand what position he was in, he made an effort to push or pull himself in a direction, then realising that the car was on its side and that his left arm was trapped under the car and that there was no way he could move.
He looked on the ground which was to his immediate left, closed his eyes and laid his head down on the hard street. His right arm was broken, perfectly snapped with both the radius and ulna piercing through the skin making itself visible. Opening his eyes to look at what made him close his eyes in the first place, his puddle of blood. That deep, dark and enchanting red blood that was soaking in the cement was gushing from his cracked skull. Jalen realised he was dying.
At first he thought of his best friend! "What would he say? But what am I thinking? Is this really it?" Losing sight of his confusion, he was conflicted in whether he should be resistant or allow the force of nature to brutally have its way. He felt nature's indifference, its complete air of disregard. "But why? I.... I have... my life! My sweet life that I..... fair? No point... so there's no point? What shall I make of this?" He was thinking to himself believing that he was speaking out loud, as if he was making a case to God. As if finding out you overpaid for an item seconds after you made the deal, he felt himself bargaining a price as if he already shook God's hand. He felt desperately pathetic, but what else was left for him to do?
"I do not care for her love! I do not care.... for my life! I only.... wish... to live! To.. to be better! I was not better but.... this!?" A heavy weight was pressing itself on him and he felt its cruel intention.
Briefly regaining his sense, he was disturbed at the fact that he thought about 'her love'. "She was never.. there. And I.... But I was... I was an honest person..... wasn't I? Evil never... corrupted my soul.... did it? Is this why? I don't... I don't...." Gasping for air then coughing, blood surfaced from his throat and the cough started shaking his jaw. That sharp pain which was so disdained a moment ago, was the only thing left now that had any worth to him. He knew it was one of the last true feelings that were left for him to feel.
"Spare me.. I don't know.. I never knew.. I..... it cannot be!"
At that moment it was as if he heard and felt a smile, filled with grace and warmth, assuring him, that 'yes it is'. Like seeing a first grader fear the results of their first test, knowing they failed, the teacher smiles knowing that even that failure and the feeling that comes from it, is meaningless. Because this experience is only a platform that needs to be created so the next step can be taken. The teacher smiles because the teacher knows what the first grader is unable to understand, that there is so much left.
Jalen felt this stream of thought, this line of reasoning, all in a flash of a moment, he was worried about embracing this feeling because he was afraid it would be embraced in falsehood, only for the sake of ending the tortured situation that he was forsaken in. Was there actually a God that was smiling at him, a God that was completely indifferent to his now augmented and crushed physical appearance, a God that was caressing the purity of the soul that lay within?
"But those were your choices God! Not mine! You made me, where was my... where was my choice! I know I... but.. this can't... no... but all those that have forsaken.... that you have.. forsaken....?" His head was hit with another callous force, as if intending to say 'I don't have to wait on you, make your peace'.
Jalen thought about his mom, his blessed-cursed-dysfunctional personality that he got from her. His father and his charming broad smile that had such pleasant and polite touch, with a constantly anxious undertone always beneath his teeth, always afraid of upsetting anyone, he simply had a heart of gold. He knew his heart was like his fathers, only his fathers heart was bigger and brighter. It was only up until this moment that he finally allowed the brightness of his fathers love to shine through his own heart. Then he thought of his late grandfather.
"My grandfather..... well... wherever he went... I shall go there too... even if it's nowhere then I shall be.. nowhere with my grandfather...." he thought to himself feeling himself smiling. As if he was joking with God. He felt God let him have his laugh, just as comic relief is needed before serious moments, a moment where both sides pretend that what's about to happen, isn't going to happen.
Then there was a shift, whether it be from God, or from his momentary break from his delirium. He truely felt the gravity of the situation, he was trying to accept his mortality.
He felt tears rush to his eyes, he felt a horror strike its way to the heart, the heart that felt so much bliss just a moment ago. "I don't wanna die! Please... God... I swear... I'll... I'll be better.. I'm sorry! I know.. I could've but.... please I don't... it's not fair!" He felt himself lowering into cowardice, but he didn't care. Just as a young boy seeking for his mothers mercy, he came across as a child simple afraid of punishment.
"But I never believed until now! But how do I know I believe now? Is there? Why should there be? I've been good... haven't I?
He coughed again except this time the sharp pain made him momentarily lose consciousness. In that brief moment he was back home, at his families house. He felt that he was in a place that was both the past and the future, yet he didn't question whether it was a dream or if it was real. He was simply in a blissful state.
The place that he was taken too was a distinct memory of his past. Jalen was a kid, no older than thirteen. Jalen was just getting up for breakfast. He left his room wearing a pair of old basketball shorts and no shirt, he plopped down on a chair located at the side of the table furthest from the head of the table, where his dad sat. Everyone at the breakfast table paused and stared and Jalen.
Jalen never wore shirts around the house, he loved to walk around shirtless. This was forcefully accepted among the family regardless of the father thinking that it was not proper house etiquette. Though the father found a way to accept this habit of Jalen's, one time Jalen felt brave enough to test his limits and decided that for family breakfast, Jalen was going to sit with no shirt. As soon as Jalen sat, everyone turned quiet for a moment, Jalen's father giving him a stern look. Finally, Jalen's father reproachfully said, "I shouldn't have to tell you this because you should already know that on the dining table you must dress appropriately!" So after being scolded, Jalen went to his room and put a shirt on and returned to the dining table and finished his breakfast quietly. This is the real ending.
Now that he is reliving this distinct memory, now that he sat down again at the dining table for breakfast, shirtless, Jalen is curiously looking around wondering if this has happened before? It wasn't quite like deja vu, mainly because of the fact that he wasn't sure if he was awake or not.
His father is staring at him deeply, as if he is trying to surface any guilt that needed to be brought out, but there was none. His fathers deep and pensive stare transitioned from all its seriousness into a mirthful smile, one that he's never seen on his father. His mother was glowing with such a tender smile, staring at her husband, her slim and delicate hands grasping each other, her eyes twinkling with a sense of accomplishment as if to say 'I knew it the whole time!' Jalen didn't understand any of it, but he felt closure, approval, and a reassuring sense that he was indeed a wholesome person. He looked down at himself and he wasn't shirtless anymore, he was now dressed in a black suit, pressed white shirt, stiff collar, thick black suit jacket, fresh black shoes. His black shoes were polished to perfection, and for some reason he was fixated on the reflection that was visible off the tip of his shoe. As he was staring at the glare on the tip of his shoe, a few rain drops landed on his shoe, exactly on the part his eyes were fixated on. He then turns his head to the sky and felt the rain drops gently fall on his face.
He regains consciousness, he finds himself in the ruin that he was last left in but this time he felt that he wouldn't be here long. There is no fighting it, he was happier on the other side. This side had its dance. He felt no attachment to this world, he only felt death. Then there was rain.
The rain was trickling down the right side of the car which was facing the sky. The rain made its way on his cracked skull, slightly diluting the thickness of his dark red blood. The sensation he felt from the rain made him grow a sudden reattachment to the living world, he didn't want this to be his final memory. He did not want to say goodbye. Just as he thought he was ready to go, that there was nothing left for him, a few raindrops falling on him was enough to turn his finalised mind against him within moments.
"How weak we are! How weak I am! I want to live. I'm not ready to die! I'm not ready to die..."
Jalen was announced dead at the scene of the accident. He was driving at normal speed as he crossed a main street. A semi truck driver, who was late for a delivery and was on his final warning, tried to catch a left turn. He was only worried about oncoming traffic. As Jalen was looking for his phone, never taking his eyes off the road, he saw that there were no cars ahead of him waiting at the red led. Just as he was about to slow down, the light turned green, seeing that the road ahead was clear, he felt he had a quick second to look for his phone. He instantly realised he left it on the charger. Just as he was angry at himself recalling that he left the phone connected to the charger, the semi truck plowed through him from the left side, instantly smashing against his head, cracking it open. Jalen's car flipped twice and because Jalen wasn't wearing a seatbelt, he bounced around vigorously inside of his car shattering and breaking multiple bones. His arm being stuck under the car was irrelevant due to the fact that his head injury upon impact was so severe that there was no saving him. It was simply his time to go and so he went.
