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Reborn at a cost

Reborn at a cost

Author: B.C Black
img img img

Chapter 1 LAST MEAL

Word Count: 1213    |    Released on: 08/02/2026

na'

y level don't

g porridge. Brea

I saw a bowl of thick, dark stew with actu

ing wa

metallic echo. The steam rising from

eat, and mold. I learned that t

unk has been flickering for wee

lls, like insects skittering just out of reach. The air felt thick, always sli

behind my head, staring at the ceiling

two hundred an

ve y

ears for leaking company secre

got a cellmate. She was transferred two wee

en the guards slammed metal batons agains

stopped trying

sn't protect you here

I was a co

reate spreadsheets. I color-coded my grocery lists. I cried

orps data to a rival company. Sold acces

was clean.

wnloads at 2:14 a.m. f

aced directly to

ect corporate language, flagged m

ccess half the systems they

dn't

ooked at me when h

e yea

awyer avoided my eyes. My colleagues f

unting days

rete bed. Stainless steel toilet. A thin slit

olation was for

ion feels exactly

sandpaper, never quite warm enough. My scalp itc

My dinner tray rests on the metal shelf by the door. A plastic

the

re at

I tell myself. You've be

I don

Minutes. Ma

mach g

n and stir the stew. A thin oil

st bite

ly g

cond. The third.

throat t

ree

rust. A slow heat bloomed in my chest spreading outward in burning waves.

o

stagger back, the tray slipping from my hands. The spoon cla

sting. My fingers tingled, then numbed at the tips. The room tilted; the

on't

ainst my ribs. To

is

The realization of

ng uselessly against concrete. My visio

came shallower, raspier, like sucking air through wet cloth. A deep, gri

I try

es out but

ed me gone.

es, one thought cu

t deser

trusted the wrong people, but that s

flooded my face; my cheeks burned as if pressed to a hot iron. Tea

nst the floor. Tears

re chance, If I

burn it

id this. I would r

b grows louder. My heartbeat stutters, th

calm settl

could sav

ything go

-----------------

ga

. I bolt upright, hands clutching my chest, h

t on c

on m

b

ets twisted around my legs. Morning light spills throug

nt of my own laundry detergent, lavender and

live, no longer clam

I dead? This is

halluc

I hea

the street. Someone arguing

nd

n the nightstand, nearl

57

rror. The overworked kettle. My blazer draped o

ter

n lights

ber

ath ca

o

e month before eve

before t

before t

my life ended i

ck at me from the dark

aliv

a dr

allucin

en a seco

elief crash into

ied to hav

fai

won't wait

'm coming fo

costs me

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