Life was stale.

Ashton slowly rose out of his musty, hard bed just in time to see hazy sunrays bleed through the smog and pollution of the city.

Life was dull.

His mouth was dry, his lips were cracked, his eyes were pulsing in their sockets and his bones crackled and popped as he made his way over to the kitchen.

He swore in fright as his foot fell through his rotting floorboards while the entire apartment shook as a train thundered past just outside his window, further burying him in his floor.

After a few minutes of painstakingly climbing out of the hole and removing a few large splinters from his shin, Ashton lazily tossed a mat over the whole and continued with his usual morning routine.

While he slumped down into a sitting position in his shower, savouring the feeling of the hot water raining down on his back, Ashton pondered his tiny existence and the mundane dull life he currently led.

After washing off the blood from his leg and drying himself off Ashton got ready for work for what it seemed like the millionth time.

He trudged outside into the bleak cityscape and marched along to work, joining the masses of mindless drones going about their business like himself.

Twelve long hours of typing away at a keyboard later, Ashton checked out of work and walked back to his empty apartment, sleeping, and then continuing the entire process over again.

And again.

And again.

There was only one reason Ashton could currently find in working and earning money, with the obvious exception of food, water and basic resources needed to survive.

Ashton loved books.

He loved to be swept away by their universes, their characters, their adventures and their lives.

He couldn’t care less about his own, he lived for other lives, fiction or not, it was far easier to read about others than to go out and risk everything to create his own.

Because if he did go out to explore, chances are, he’d lose his job, his apartment, his money and his place in society, be it meaningful or not.

Without any of that, he’d be stranded with nothing and he wouldn’t even be able to delve into other’s lives anymore, all that would remain is a cold, depressing, lonely death.

Therefore he did what he enjoyed, he read, he read deep into the night and fell asleep peacefully with his book resting on his face.

********

Years passed,

then a few more,

and a couple more after that,

and little changed.

Ashton grew older, the world around him changed, adapted, yet he did not.

Ashton was too deeply involved in the lives of others he’d neglected his own and fallen into a deep hole he couldn’t climb out of.

He’d lost his job, struggled to find another, and then he lazed around, paying his expenses with the limited funds he created with years of draining work.

Soon his health dipped and most of his money went towards medicine rather than healthy food, worsening his increasingly bad health.

Eventually it came down to a choice, sell his enormous, valuable book collection to live a little longer, or continue to live through the life of others and never experience anything himself.

Deep down, he knew.

He knew he wanted adventure, he wanted to explore and create his own journey, but he was terrified of the consequences.

Yet now, the consequences were already happening and there was nothing to do to stop them, so he figured he may as well go out and enjoy himself in his last moments.

So after despairing for a while at the thought of his book collection going to other people, Ashton came to terms with it and sold them all, as well as his shitty apartment.

Ashton cast behind his old self and promised himself to do something great in the end, something to be remembered for.

After packing his bags and giving a teary farewell to his family, Ashton stepped out of his apartment for the last time and walked out into a beautiful city.

The smog and pollution had cleared for the first time in months and the sun shone brightly in a bright blue sky completely void of clouds.

Ashton smiled and took in a big breath, anxious of what was to come.

Whilst breathing in the mildly clean air a small fly flew straight up Ashton’s nose and he coughed violently, frantically blowing out his nose, attempting to remove it.

As he flailed about stupidly he stumbled backwards and ran into the railing of his sixth story apartment, tumbling right over it.

He fell in pure shock, unable to comprehend the situation he was in.

His life didn’t flash before his eyes as he had been led to believe and time didn’t slow down or anything.

Rather the last feeling he had before death was an incredibly irritating buzz in his left nostril and then intense, horrifying pain as he collided with the pavement below, turning into an unrecognisable human paste…