The Mirror of Maybe

My next life had already begun… and I didn't even notice.

No dramatic trumpet of angels. No whispered warning. Just the cold realization that I had already been living—again—within someone else's skin. And this time, it was in the body of a world-renowned adrenaline junkie. A daredevil with more Guinness World Records than any other soul alive or dead.

Funny how none of that matters when you're plummeting from the sky.

From ten thousand miles above the earth, I am free-falling—no parachute, no backup plan. Just air, velocity, and a safety net the size of a napkin waiting somewhere far, far below. The world watches with bated breath. Cameras track every second. My name trends on every social media platform. Headlines blare in real-time:

"THE ULTIMATE FALL – LIVE!"

"WORLD'S CRAZIEST MAN: CAN HE CHEAT DEATH AGAIN?"

"$5 BILLION DOLLAR DROP – LITERALLY."

They call me fearless. They don't know it's not courage—it's punishment. They don't know that I've died before, and this is just another round in Death's twisted game.

This challenge, like all the others, was handed to me by the orb—Death's instrument, her cursed roulette wheel. It always offers something grand: money, fame, adventure. But the price? It always collects in blood.

This time, it promised glory. Five billion dollars if I survive. A personal sponsorship from the world's largest entertainment empire. It's being streamed live across every major television network, mirrored on platforms I apparently "own." I am the show. I am the freak.

But I said yes. I always do.

Because when you're offered a second chance at life—no matter how brutal or absurd—it's hard to resist the temptation to get it right. Even if the deck is always rigged.

I remember laughing when the orb showed me the challenge.

"Crazy, right?" I had muttered aloud to myself. That's exactly what I had said then. And yet, even knowing the madness, I jumped.

Three professional skydivers escorted me up into the heavens. Mid-air, one of them offered me a parachute—his face pale, eyes silently pleading. But I shook my head. If I took the chute, I'd fail the trial. That wasn't the game. The rules were clear.

"Don't be stupid!" one of them shouted as the air roared past us. "You don't need to die to be famous!"

But they didn't understand. I wasn't doing this to be famous. I was doing this because Death was watching.

I döve, fast, reckless and free.

My body tore through the sky like a bullet. The wind screamed in my ears. My muscles burned. The safety net below shimmered like a thread of silk, impossibly far, and impossibly small. But kept my eyes locked on it.

"I've come this far," I whispered, trying to stay focused, trying to slow my descent with angled arms. "Just a few more seconds…"

But then something went wrong. My body twisted. The balance broke. I started spinning uncontrollably, limbs flailing in the open sky. My vision blurred. The net vanished beneath clouds.

I tried to adjust—clench my core, angle my legs—but the spinning worsened. It felt like I was inside a hurricane. My breath seized.

"Absorb his abilities… Just land. Land!" I gasped.

The last thing I saw before blacking out was the sharp corner of the safety net, not beneath me—but to my left.

Damn, I missed.

With a sickening crunch, I slammed into the dirt, my skull cracking like porcelain, neck bent the wrong way, hands twisted grotesquely at my sides. The world screamed.

Millions watched as the impossible unfolded live. The most anticipated record attempt in human history ended with a dull, irreversible thud. No music. No fade-out. Just the silence of death.

The ratings broke records. So did my spine. Some cried. Others celebrated. My sponsors released condolences while counting profits. The audience got what they wanted: spectacle. My name would be etched into history. Just not the way I had hoped.

And then… blackness.

I awoke in the familiar place—cold, dark, and silent. It always felt the same. Empty, like I was between thoughts, between heartbeats. And then… she appeared.

Death.

The same pale figure. The same flowing black robes that looked stitched from the night sky itself. Her face was partially obscured, but her mouth curved into that same cold, unforgiving smile. A gun—ancient yet futuristic—pointed at my forehead.

"You thought you could outsmart me with tricks and acrobatics?" she asked, tone sharp, with her eyes flickering like dying stars.

"I… I thought this time might be different," I replied, my voice hoarse.

"And you jumped off a plane with no parachute. You really thought that would end well?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

"You said I could survive…"

"You died the moment you believed money was worth more than wisdom."

I couldn't argue. I had been foolish again. Seduced by the promise of something better. The truth stung more than the impact.

"These deaths… they feel inevitable," I said. "Is that fair?"

"They are all avoidable," she replied, her voice now eerily calm. "But it's up to you to figure out how to prevent them. These are punishments, not accidents."

Punishments. That word again.

"What sin did I commit?" I shouted. "What did I do that was so unforgivable that I'm forced to relive death after death after death?"

She smiled wider, something cruel dancing in her eyes. "If you don't figure it out yourself, you'll go to hell—no matter how many tests you survive."

"But I already died once. I killed myself," I admitted. "Is that not my sin?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that all you think you're guilty of?"

I paused. "I… I was born into poverty. My father died young. My mother worked her bones to dust trying to keep us alive. I tried to help. But I failed. I couldn't get a job. I lost every cent I had in a scam. Not to talk of the the only woman I ever loved."

My voice cracked. "All I saw was darkness. Whether my eyes were open or shut. I didn't hurt anyone. I just… ended my pain."

"Is that so wrong?" I asked again, now screaming. "Is that really a sin? I didn't harm a soul!"

She didn't answer. Instead, she studied me as if I were a puzzle missing its final piece.

"You are blind," she finally said. "You remember your pain, but you have forgotten the pain you left behind. There are sins heavier than jumping off a roof… and more silent."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You'll figure it out. Or you won't," she said, lifting the gun again.

"But whining to me won't save you."

Then the shot fired.

And I died again.

This time, I didn't awaken in a warm bed. I didn't awaken at all. I was born—screaming—into a new life. A life where the world was already cruel from the very first breath. I could feel it. The air was bitter. The weight on my shoulders wasn't physical, but emotional, like a fog of guilt hanging over me.

I had failed again. I had died again.

And the cycle continued.

But something in her words echoed deeper than before. You remember your pain, but you have forgotten the pain you left behind. What pain had I left? What burden did my death pass on?

Suddenly, I saw her again—my mother. Old, worn out, clutching a framed photo of me. Her eyes empty. Her soul broken. She stood before a cold gravestone, whispering apologies she didn't owe, sobbing prayers that went unanswered.

I had forgotten her.

In chasing my own peace, I had destroyed hers.

And there it was: a glimpse of the sin. Not the suicide itself—but the selfishness. The echo of grief I left in my wake. The people I didn't consider when I ended it all.

Perhaps the sin wasn't one action, but the culmination of every careless step. Every time I chose to run from pain instead of face it. Every time I thought I was alone when I wasn't.

The next trial will come. Another life. Another chance.

But this time, I won't run blindly. I will search, and I will remember.

And maybe—just maybe—I will survive long enough to find redemption.