The day dawned bright, although not much light could pass through the rough and thick curtains that covered the windows in the room. The brilliance and magnificence that came with the sunrise remained partially hidden for those inside, except for a dim brightness that escaped the covers of a relatively-huge window from the edges, casting a smooth grayish glimmer on the floor.

The faint glow pushed forth steadily, first reaching a messy closet, wildly open with all sorts of male clothes spread inside and out, completely out of order, and then revealing shelves containing various books, comics, from the famous classic fantasy novel series like The Chronicles of Narnia for the kids to modern Japanese Isekai light novels like Overlord, some of them fallen on the floor and some barely staying upright on the shelf, but despite all their differences, they all had one thing in common: All those works opened gates to an alternate universe.

As the sun rose higher, the light grew stronger and uncovered a white door behind the shelves, blocking anyone from entering the place, even though the other side of the door sounded more quiet than a desert. It seemed no one would enter even if the door weren't blocked. Sooner than expected, the sun's light reached the entirety of the room, and the black screen of the television remained the only dark thing in it, which vaguely reflected a boy's image lying on the bed, seemingly relaxed and suspiciously still.

In that insanely quiet time and space where you could actually hear the silence, only by getting closer and paying attention one heard the faint dripping sound and see the drops of blood leaking on the floor from the bloodstained sheets. The source lay on the bed motionless, the boy's cold body, being drained of blood every moment through the deep vein cuts on both wrists to upper arms.

Six long and painful hours had passed. He still stood by the cause but regretted the means. Lots of other methods were available, which would be less painful. However, now it was too late to go back. With most of the blood drained out, even moving a finger appeared to be an impossible task.

He could barely keep his eyes open. A blurry vision of a dry ceiling didn't rank among the top sceneries to see before dying, nor did come the muffled sound of dribbling blood near the top of melodies to hear. Incapable of forming proper thoughts or show emotions, he surrendered to the angel, or as some believe, god of death.

The world of the living didn't really need him anymore. After dropping out of college, being blamed constantly by parents, getting rejected in one interview after another, and losing the only job he had, not much was left.

Some believed in life after death, either in form of a system of judgement and then entering the hell or heaven, or getting another chance, being reincarnated as a new person, with a new life, in a new world to live. He gambled on the second belief, for if the first one turned to be true, the chance of burning in an eternal hell would be high. After all, self-murder is just that, murder, and "you shall not kill".

Before completely losing consciousness, dreams came to soothe the final pains: Dreams of being reborn as a prince, an emperor or a king, a man of royalty and nobility, a talented prodigy in magic and sorcery, in sword fighting and archery, a man of unmatched wisdom and intelligence, living a life of luxury beside beautiful women, possessing power and authority, political influence and respect among the commoners.

Dreams upon dreams dwelled in imagination, which had failed to take the form of reality during his short life. Let it be a powerful family with fortune and wealth, or intelligence and hard-working mentality, he suffered from the lack of both, failing to advance forward in society.

"Really pathetic... aren't you?" he thought. "I tried, I really, really tried..."

He talked like a defendant, attempting to convince the jury of his innocence. In this case, he also played the role of the jury, although persuading oneself turned to be much harder, as no one knows you better.

Experiencing a slow death, while having one look at the blocked entrance, he didn't notice any sound coming from the other side. The door and the wall were indistinguishable. No shakes or knocks penetrated the quiet air, further ensuring him that no one cares and nor should he.

He began to imagine what his father would say the moment he finds out about it. "One useless parasite less to live off my efforts and dishonor my name. A proper burial nowadays requires a lot of money. I wish he had disappeared instead."

His mother's voice also echoed in mind, "My son was always weak. I remember his childhood, always dependent, a crybaby. Nothing we could do would delay this. It was destined to happen one day. Life is hard. He just had to toughen up."

From older sister to brother, and close friends to distant relatives, he imagined what they would comment.

"Such a coward! Mom and dad are going to suffer now for what you have done. Do you have any shame, little brother?"

"You get to die, but we get to live with the mess you've gifted us. Thanks for that!"

"Ah, the mad boy just did it. I was just joking back then, 'Let's die and get reincarnated in a world with beautiful cute girls ya fellas!', huh."

"Forget about the girls. We're destined with adventure! Whoever dies first, and gets reincarnated, will come on top of everyone else, assuming that we all go to the same place after death, that is."

"You are stupid. Nothing awaits us after death. It's that simple."

"Poor boy. We have to pray for his soul."

Not many of those depicted voices stayed true to their owner's actual view, lacking emotions like compassion, sorrow for the loved ones, and regret and anger directed at oneself to do better.

The lids slowly hooded the eyes, and the heart stopped to beat. Death ruled the place in silence and blood, but not in terror or pain, as all of that just happens to the living. The dead, however, are immune to such trickeries.