《Re:Death》


 1 My Existence Life Death

    Am I going to die¡­.?


    Up until now, I have thought this 15 times.


    The first time this revolving lantern happened was when I was seven years old.


    Drowning in the Okinawa sea, being swallowed by the waves, painfully, struggling and struggling, my feet unable to touch the bottom, seeing things above my head being pulled along forcefully by the waves. Pulled along by the water. Though I tried to breathe, all that entered my mouth was saltwater.


    As I could do nothing but drink the saltwater, all sound suddenly disappeared. A gentle sensation, a warm sensation, and there was a feeling as if I was being completely embraced by something. It doesn''t matter what you call it. I was enveloped in a relief that I had not felt until that moment.


    It was just after that moment. The revolving lantern began to move. All the memories I had since my birth till then began to one by one flash through my mind.


    It was the first time this happened. I felt no fear. I thought that surely I was going to die.


    But I didn''t die.


    Thereafter, whenever I come close to death, the revolving lantern spins. In situations where I may die, such as traffic accident, a fight, it appears suddenly.


    It has happened 15 times. That''s a little much, perhaps.


    I was a mischievous child. I had a tendency to face death.


    When I drowned, I was terribly afraid. A part of the reason was, I think, that I was violently afraid of death. But at the same time, I was fascinated by death. I was caught by it. If I didn''t try to go close to it, then I wouldn''t see it. I wanted to go as close as I could to it because I wanted to examine it. That was the kind of boy that I was.


    Because of this, I would intentionally do things that were dangerous. I did things many times that made me wonder if I would die. Of course, I was always scared, but when that moment drew near, I was always calm.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.Just a little more. Just a little more and I can maybe see the answer. That was the feeling. At that level, I couldn''t die. If I was at that level, I could do it. I wanted to see more and more into the next world. There were times I''d cheer myself up by telling myself that.


    For example, I loved bikes and when I was a teenager I would ride often. The city had a lot of curbs, and I think that at that time, I had a strange way of getting up on the curb [lit: attack]. I didn''t have any skill, but I felt I could get up to that level. I really loved that feeling.


    I was going faster and faster, and when I crossed over one area, there was a second when I saw everything in slow motion. That feeling lasted for a long time and it was as if I saw everything clearly. In that place that I crossed, surely something was there, and I wanted to see it. Because I wanted to savor that, I was reckless.


    Until I saw the revolving lantern, I would continue to drive at things with all my might. When I can see the revolving lantern, it is the first time I have a consciousness of death. Then, I am in the place between life and death. Until I felt that, I could not do things to the fullest.


    Now, I think, "That was strange." I was a dangerous child.


    I sought death and I didn''t know the meaning of life. What does it mean to live? Where can I find the value of my life and existence?


    The funny part is that I didn''t ever find out the meaning of my life into it was too late that''s right i died


    Hoped you guys enjoyed things get way darker in the next chapter should be up in an hour or two so look forward to that


    also leave a comment below if you''re confused.


    Not even going to bother fixing the spacing since rr ruins it all anyways.

 Chapter 2: Prison Death Experiments

    I am in a cradle. It sways gently back and forth. My field of vision, dim. Peeping out at my mother''s face. Above her head, a mobile spins fitfully, playing a music box tune.


    The Asian woman with long dark hair and brown eyes said


    ¡°He''s beautiful¡±


    The Caucasian man with long blonde hair and blue eyes then said


    ¡°Let''s name him Kritanta¡±


    The woman nodded and from them on that was who I was known as.


    In an instant, one year old, two years old, three years old¡­the memories of those times reappear before me very vividly. Me crawling. Walking on unsteady legs. Trying so hard to say words that I remembered. I couldn''t talk very well.


    "Ma¡­ma¡­"


    Her words to me also come back to me like this.


    "Tomorrow you have a piano lesson."


    "Practice!"


    Bright, sunny days. Sweat sliding along the piano keyboard¡­


    Along the axis of time, these events are truly just several seconds long. Between them, a few very long (enormous] memories ran around my head with ferocious speed. Every moment of these memories that I lived till then become vivid images and begin to spin like a revolving lantern.


    After I died I became able to see many things. All boundaries were broken. My eyes were opened, I became able to see things that before I could not see. I couldn''t distinguish between people who were living and people who were not.


    When I talked to the people who were not living, it must have been bizarre watching me from the outside. My parents were of course surprised.


    "Who are you talking to?"


    "Uncle."


    "Where is Uncle?"


    As they said that, they would laugh.


    Perhaps they laughed and ignored it. But didn''t they ignore it because their hearts were afraid to face me?


    This began happening with more and more frequency, and I became thought of as very mentally strange. People talked about me, and I became uncertain of the meaning of my existence. Because I could see both living people and dead people, I didn''t understand what life itself meant.


    This continued, and when I was ten years old, I suddenly collapsed. I had a violent pain in my stomach and intestines, I couldn''t move.


    After I was taken to the town healer, that looked untrustworthy My parents and I were told that the cause was unknown. They told us that I probably had some sort of mental illness that triggered it.


    So I was suddenly isolated. Isolated, in confinement, thrown into a dark silent room that was more a prison. I was most likely thrown into a room because I was so young.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.Being ten years old, that''s what I thought. All of them were in a cage, and were likely to go down the corridor at any time.


    Down the corridor, in another sick cell, were children who were probably going to die. I often knew when that would happen.


    Talking with those children, I would then feel, "That child is going to die tomorrow."


    The next morning, I would hear the healer assistants'' feet go pattering down the hallway. Then I knew that one of my friends had died.


    Those were hard days. I couldn''t stand it. Just when I made a friend, they would be dead the next day. And that was something only I knew. It was hell.


    Being in a place like that, I grew very strange. But because I was not mentally strong, they could use the excuse that I was still unstable to not give me a quick release and deceive my parents


    Why didn''t they release me? Because I wasn''t normal? That old man was interested in my ability to see the dead.


    They started to inject me with all kinds of things that messed with my body the injections even made me stronger faster smarter the down side was I developed a weak heart which would stop working anytime I overworked myself.


    I thought incredibly hard about that terrifying experience. I couldn''t escape. I had to do something to get out of there. So I continued to think.


    I began to watch my senior healer. When I imitated him exactly, I was observed to be "normal." This went on for about ten days or so. Suddenly, they told me, "You can go home."


    Why you may wonder simple they had no choice since I was stable if my parents saw me like I''m now they would be in big trouble trying to explain themselves.


    I didn''t change at all. My mistake nothing inside of me changed¡­


    To the adults who said "I told you so," I had only a feeling of deep distrust.


    But I didn''t want to ever go back to that dark prison like place.


    So, from then on, I continued to copy the people who my parents and other adults said were correct.


    All the while, I held on to the thought of "What on earth am I?"


    (Hoped you guys enjoyed this double release next chapter the story will be picking up also do you guys like my new style of writing or should I stay with the old one? Leave your opinions below)


    Characters


    Reincarnated MC look http://i.imgur.com/RmuoLFR.jpg</a>


    The healer Kervorkian http://i.imgur.com/tJfok6u.jpg</a>

 Chapter 2.1 Side story

    Little back story to his friend who I''ll be introducing as a main character soon.


    I think that fights are important. A "fight" is something in which your intentions run headlong into the intentions of the other person. I think that young people should definitely have at least one or two arguments that turn into fights. Teenagers especially should have them.


    If you have a fight in which you punch each other, there will be other people who have never been in a fight who don''t know the extent of it, and will think that you''re about to kill your friend.


    Because of this imbalance that people who look tough can be easily defeated, and those who don''t seem strong are hard to beat, there are even cases where someone has died. I think that fighting without knowing this is a very frightening thing.


    My father taught me how to fight. I was taught that because people die, I definitely couldn''t do that, and from an early age was taught to hit outside the area of the vital organs. "If you hit here, the person will die. If you hit here, the person will die. If you hit here, the person will die." When I came home from a fight crying, he would say over and over "If you''re going to cry, then stop fighting." He taught me, "You fight to win."


    When I was young, I pretty much started fighting when I was playing. My siblings and I would play pro-wrestling, and I would play with my own friends and there were many times that the fights would turn serious before we knew it.


    The first time I seriously punched someone was when I was 10 years old. My opponent was 12. He was in a higher grade than me.


    "You''re such a smart-a**," he said, and then he pushed me and punched me.


    From then on, I began to fight a lot. when I got into trouble, I would then punch the person. Fighting became an everyday occurance.


    When I was in middle school, I would get into fights with people from others schools to confirm who was the strongest one. It was usually people in my same year, the "cool" boys, who I would fight. I didn''t quite know if it was because they wanted to test their own strength against me, or if they were just slow on the uptake, but I was 16 years old at the time, and fighting had become like a hobby to me.


    I maybe fought for a different reason than most people did. When I felt pain, I felt truly alive.


    That''s why I never struck first. It was my pattern to let my opponent take the first shot, to punch first, to start the fight.


    Basically, fighting was not a part of me. I didn''t like to get hurt. The people I fought didn''t understand fighting in order to feel alive. There were only people who saw themselves as stronger than me. That was the rule I made inside of me.


    I only fought physically. When my intentions clashed with someone else, if it went in the way of the physical, we would have a fist fight.


    However, the thing I was most afraid of was being cornered by someone in a debate. For example, bullying.


    The scars from a violent fight will heal. But the scars on a heart that is in an emotional fight will continue to remain, in a large lump.


    Because of this, I much prefer fist fights. No matter if you win or lose, both of you will have scars, and though you feel mortified if you lose, afterwards, the two of you can talk. You can say to each other, "I was wrong."


    In the end, I wonder if violent fights are something that lead us to be able to apologize when that single world "I was wrong" is hard to say at other times. The two of you punch the lights out of each other, and then to confirm that you were both stupid, you say, "I was wrong" ¨C "No, I was wrong," and maybe it''s an opportunity for you to practice saying this.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.However, bullying is different. Bullying is for the sake of cornering people. It''s done in order to completely crush someone.


    I think that people who say that fighting is unconditionally bad don''t understand. Is it a fight that you or your opponent have in order to understand each other, or is it a fight where your opponent bullies you? There is a great difference between the two.


    Of course, it''s possible that it''s true what they say, that violence is not necessary. However, I think this is something said by people who have had the experience of fighting and then become adults. It is different when people, in spite of the fact that they have never had a fight, idealistically say "Fighting is bad. Fist fights are meaningless."


    In the midst of fear, there are emotions of restraint with which we weave through that fear, and also emotions that search for freedom. In the process of defending your tiny slice of turf and the small amount of freedom that you confront with all your might, if you say things like "This is such a small matter," "It''s a foolish thing," and "It doesn''t matter what you do," if you experience it and feel it and then don''t feel that fighting has any meaning, then you are just stupid.


    However, those who really can''t be helped are those people that hear from others "That''s bad" and "That''s good" and make their decisions based on that; I am really wary of those kinds of people.


    So what then? I think. People who cannot fight, people who have never fought¡­


    I have only lost a fight once.


    He was a great guy. We just happened to be playing at something like pro wrestling, and then he suddenly started doing the real thing. I didn''t think that I would lose. He was said to be the strongest guy at school, but I didn''t think he would be this strong. It was the first time I understood what it meant to not be able to move my hands or feet.


    Because we were able to stop in the middle, I thought to myself that it wasn''t a true match. From then on, I began to train secretly. It was in order to beat him. My mortification did not disappear.


    However, because he was a good guy, there was no reason to fight after that. He never said "come fight me." I trained with the thought that if that day ever did come, I would be ready, but before that happened, I had a chance to face him as partners in the dojo in karate.


    At that time, I thought, he''s a genius! He was a genius of fighting.


    He was smaller than me and weaker. But his power of expression was completely different. His attack was much more than I ever imagined, and I can''t even write it down. He was not only a reflection of me; I can''t even write about the traps he laid. His power of judgment was also very high. We were on entirely different levels.


    That was the greatest lesson I have had in my life.


    You won''t win simply because you are powerful. It''s your way of thinking about everything. I couldn''t overcome his way of thinking!


    I wonder what that guy is doing now. Even now, I think about it. I would like to fight him one more time.


    (Back to the main story)


    Hoped you guys enjoyed this little side story the friend will come into play later.