"I failed again..."
I'm holding a paper showing the results of my test. There's no emotion on my face, but it's obvious what I'm feeling. Sitting in a corner seat on the bus, I keep staring at the paper. Everyone else is either gazing out the window, chatting, or lost in their own thoughts. I fold the paper and glance out the window. A thought crosses my mind:
Great businessmen and inventors say, "A single sheet of paper can't decide my future."
"But what about me? I'm bad at anything useful in life..."
I sigh, just as I'm lost deep in thought. The bus, moving at 100 km/h, suddenly screeches to a halt. The loud brakes and sudden lurch fill everyone's ears. Kids, adults, and elders are thrown into panic—everything turns to chaos in mere seconds. Thankfully, it ends when the bus finally stops. No one appears to be seriously injured, but some still need help... or at least, that's what we all thought.
A fleeting thought about the recent news of war crosses my mind, but looking around at the situation, I keep it to myself. There's no need to say it out loud—everyone can figure it out. I'd just look like an idiot if I started yelling anyway.
When I step off the bus, the world around me is in complete chaos. Cars, houses, and buildings are burning brightly. Even though I had a feeling a war was coming, I still can't help but wonder... why and how did it happen so suddenly?
But that wasn't the moment to wonder about anything.
I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to save myself… but my feet were frozen in horror.
I looked up at the sky—once a peaceful blue, now darkened with smoke. Planes soared above, releasing bombs—no, nukes.
Screams of people. Cries of children.
And yet… I remained frozen, as if the Reaper himself had gripped my neck, forcing me to watch the world unravel.
And then… it happened.
The nukes fell from the planes above. The impact was devastating—everything within the radius was obliterated.
I wasn't far from the blast either, but I stood near the edge of the radius. The shockwave hurled me across roads, through buildings—a ragdoll caught in a storm of destruction.
And in that moment, all I could think about were the times I had considered ending my own life, but stopped each time. Not knowing if I was afraid... or just stubborn enough to keep living.
But maybe... this is it.
When I slammed into the wall from the blast, my skull nearly shattered. Blood splattered everywhere. A metal rod pierced through my gut, and my leg—twisted and broken—hung uselessly.
Yet I was still alive. As if I were being punished for something.
My body wanted to scream, to cry, to beg for help… but I couldn't. It was as if my will, my hope, my stubborn refusal to give up on life—had all vanished.
The only thing I could still do was breathe. Just breathe... until I bled out, or until another nuke fell and finally ended it all.
No one was around. No one to hear my screams or see my suffering. Not even someone to blame or curse. I couldn't even let out my frustration.
"Why am I even alive?" I asked myself.
After a pause, I muttered bitterly, "Life was never fair to me... but it's not like I was taking my life seriously either. Every time I tried to do something... I gave up halfway. Even now, I can't have a peaceful death. My whole body is screaming in agony... and I'm still alive. What kind of chance are you trying to give me now?"
I sighed at my own words as I felt my consciousness slowly slipping away.
I could feel it—this was the end. I couldn't survive any longer.
But at the very last moment, one final thought rose up:
"Am I really willing to die… as a failure?"
That was the moment when multiple nukes rained down from the sky—right on top of me.
---
Everything went blank.
I couldn't hear anything. No light. No hope. No sound. Just me—drifting in a void.
I thought this was the end. At least, that's what I believed. But no...
You know, if there's a story, there's always a plot that keeps it going.
And sometimes, that plot… is suffering.
---
After what felt like an eternity, my eyes opened—barely. No light came in. But I was still alive.
The smell around me told me exactly what had happened. Whatever fell on me wasn't a bomb. It was nuclear waste.
The stench was unbearable. My gut was torn open, and the foul chemicals made it worse. I couldn't see it… but I could feel it. The sludge was slowly leaking into my wound.
It burned. My voice had already failed me. All I could do was endure.
> "Ugh…"
I tried to move, but nothing worked. My body was crushed beneath a pile of barrels, my arm pinned beneath a collapsed tower of waste containers. Every second became more unbearable.
> "Why…?"
"Why am I even alive? Just… why?"
I asked myself, unable to understand how this godforsaken body still had the strength to keep going.
> "Did I even decide I wanted to die…?"
I froze at the question. Because I didn't have an answer.
> "…But… w-why…?"
My voice cracked under the weight of agony. I couldn't move a single muscle—yet I was still breathing.
> "JUST WHY!?"
I screamed into the void. But even my screams felt like they were swallowed by the darkness.
What could I have possibly done to deserve this?
Eventually, I gave up looking for answers.
I gave up… again.
---
A week passed.
I still don't understand how this is possible. But somehow… I'm still alive. Barely.
I had assumed I would've died long ago. Anyone would.
---
Day 1:
I vomited. But I didn't have the strength to turn my head. The acid burned my face.
The nuclear waste was slowly entering my body through my open stomach.
It was a slow process—so I didn't feel much at first.
But it hurt. It hurt a lot.
Day 2:
My heart rate dropped.
I tried to sleep, but every time a single drop of waste touched my body, it jolted me awake.
Day 3:
The opposite.
My heart pounded uncontrollably.
It felt like strength was returning.
But it didn't matter—my body was still paralyzed under the weight of the barrels.
Day 4:
Something happened. And not in a good way.
More waste slid off me.
My broken, barely-attached leg dangled freely in the air.
That's when I felt it.
Something crawling… wrapping around my leg.
I felt it—tearing flesh, snapping bone.
Slowly. Methodically.
From the way it moved, I knew it was an insect.
But calling it an insect doesn't do it justice.
It was far too strong. Too large.
I didn't dare move. Not that I could.
My mind screamed in agony as it tore away my leg.
Then I passed out from the pain.
Day 5:
I woke up.
And my leg… it was there.
The one that had been ripped off yesterday.
Did I… regrow it?
That shouldn't be possible, right?
It wasn't a hallucination.
It wasn't a dream.
You can't dream something that hurts.
Relief washed over me.
But only for a moment.
Because soon after, that same long creature returned—
And started tearing through the same leg again.
Day 6:
The waste inside me shifted.
Worse than before.
One of the barrels fell—right onto a metal rod that had already pierced my gut.
Now, the toxic sludge was pouring directly into the wound.
Day 7:
I lost it.
I died.
Or at least… I thought I did.
I believed the suffering would finally end.
But I forgot something.
If my body—somehow—can regenerate…
That means it's built to survive.
No matter what.
---
God knows how long it took me to wake up…
But I did.
The entire time, I could feel my body burning—then regenerating—over and over again.
There was nothing I could do about it. Just endure. And endure. And endure.
I knew my voice couldn't reach anyone, even if I screamed.
That silence was maddening.
My thoughts spiraled into chaos—my choices, my regrets—twisting into something I couldn't make sense of.
Why was my body so stubbornly trying to keep me alive?
Why?
Am I lying to myself?
It sounds ridiculous.
How can anyone lie to themselves in a situation like this… right?
My eyes opened to the same darkness I've been trapped in for so long.
No food. No energy.
And yet—I'm still surviving.
"Ugh... I'm still alive...? How? There's no way I should be alive at this point. And more importantly… how the hell can I feel my leg—even though it's been torn off?"
That's right. My leg had been ripped apart by those insects multiple times. Yet I could still feel it.
It wasn't instant. At first, the pain of regenerating was pure agony—worse than anything I'd ever felt.
But now that I know I can't die...
I let out a deep sigh.
"I failed myself again…"
After a pause, I continue:
"Every damn time I make up my mind, it ends in failure. I can't believe I'm such a loser that even death doesn't want my soul."
I remember the first time I decided to become a pilot. I was just a kid—fascinated by planes in the sky.
I wasn't great at school, but I had dreams.
When I talked to my parents about it, they didn't say much…
But they always made sure to remind me how hard I'd have to work.
I tried to hold on to that dream. I really did.
But I gave up.
Then I made new goals.
Tried science. Tried to expand my artistic potential.
But again… I gave up.
It's annoying.
Giving up.
The bitterness of failure.
The negativity of life itself.
Knowing that the only thing holding you back from your dream is… you.
My thoughts were interrupted again—by the pain.
The exhaustion and suffering were unbearable.
But this pain… I simply can't comprehend it.
I can't even cry.
Not that anyone could hear me even if I did.
No one's coming. No one can reach me.
And I don't have the strength to express anything anymore.
I'm tired. I—
Suddenly, I hear my stomach growl.
Of course… just because I can regenerate doesn't mean I don't feel hunger.
I groan, unsure of what to do—until I feel it again.
That damned insect… crawling back to my limb.
I know I can't stop it.
So I bite my lip, bracing myself for the pain I'm about to feel.
When it starts, it's like my soul is being ripped from my body again.
For some reason, it takes twice as long this time.
Even my bones feel… denser.
After a while, it leaves—dragging away my limb, like always.
My leg became its meal again.
But I don't care anymore.
It'll grow back.
It always does.
Right now, my focus is on the hunger.
The thought of food—of anything to eat—gives me a reason to move.
But it's useless.
The radioactive waste covering my body just keeps getting heavier.
I'm starving…
But how the hell am I supposed to eat?
Then… a bold idea hits me.
"The only thing edible here… is me."
It sounds insane.
It is insane.
But it's the only option.
I need energy.
I need food.
I can't help it.
My eyes drift to my own tongue.
The bite is rough. Painful.
Hurting yourself to stay alive—it's not something a person should ever do.
But buried this deep in nuclear waste… I had no other choice.
With one final scream, I bite down—hard.
I rip through my own tongue, chewing the flesh.
The taste is horrific—poisoned by the radiation slowly seeping into my body.
Tears stream down my face.
I don't know what's gotten into me.
But this is what it's come to.
As expected, the regeneration kicks in again.
Slow. Painful.
My leg… and even my tongue…
It all starts to grow back.
And I'm getting used to it.
More and more, with each passing moment.
---
After a long while, I can feel my body back in its original shape.
But something's wrong.
Something feels... off.
And to my utter horror—
I feel that insect again.
But this time…
It's crawling on my chest.
---