THE SECOND CHANCE 1

The boy stood at the entrance door, locked behind him. The place was dark—not completely, but dim enough to make everything feel empty and lifeless. Faint shapes could be seen, but the absence of light made the silence heavier.

He moved forward slowly. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, the only sound in the stillness.

He turned his head and saw a kitchen. The room was completely hollow—no plates, no ingredients, no signs of use. The empty counters and silent air made it feel abandoned. Mice scurried across the floor, their tiny movements breaking the stillness.

He continued moving slowly, each step making the silence feel deeper. He reached a door and stopped. He rested his hand on the handle for a moment, then slowly pulled it open.

The room inside was completely empty. There was nothing—no furniture, no objects—just hollow space.

Suddenly, he heard a sound behind him. He turned quickly and saw a mouse running across the floor. He paused for a moment, then turned his head back toward the empty room.

he saw his mother hanging in the center, lifeless. Blood dripped from her hand, falling to the floor drop by drop, and the sound echoed clearly in the silence.

His eyes widened as he stared at the scene, frozen. His heartbeat started to rise-faster and faster, louder and louder. He didn't move, didn't scream. He just stood there, staring.

His heartbeat was rising—faster and faster, pounding in his chest. From behind him, he could feel something. Someone, or something, was coming closer, moving through the dark. The silence around him made the sensation even stronger. Slowly, it came nearer.

He slowly turned his head, bit by bit, as if afraid of what he might see. As he turned, his eyes caught it—dark red eyes glowing in the blackness. Evil eyes. They stared straight at him, burning with malice.

In that moment, his eyes shot open. He was in bed, staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, he lay there. "I got the dream. I got the bad dream again," he said to himself, his voice quiet in the stillness of the room.

He sat up on the bed and stayed there for a moment then he picked up his phone. He checked the time. It was already late. After that, he stood up and went downstairs.

After he came down, he walked into the dining room, a simple space where the kitchen blended seamlessly with the table. His mother stood near the stove, busy cooking, while his father sat at the table, silently eating his breakfast.

His mother glanced at him as he entered. "Did you brush?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied casually, heading toward the dining table.

Without a word, his father abruptly stood up, leaving his breakfast unfinished. His mother noticed but said nothing, continuing her work. The boy watched as his father walked away, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it without acknowledging anyone.

"He's gone. You can sit now," his mother said softly, turning back to her cooking.

The boy didn't respond. He had no intention of sitting at the table for breakfast; he had only come to get a glass of water.

By the time he finished breakfast, his father announced, "I'm going to work," directing the words only to his wife. He didn't glance at his son, nor did he say anything to him. With that, he left the house.

The boy returned to his room, put on his uniform, and grabbed his bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he picked up his headset and headed downstairs. Sitting on the last step, he slipped on his shoes and stood up, ready to leave.

At that moment, his mother appeared, standing in front of him with a warm expression. She came closer, her smile gentle but sincere. "Please have a good day," she said softly. "And try to smile. Always smile."

She smiled warmly, and with her two fingers, she lightly touched his lips, curving them into a smile.

The boy nodded slightly, her gesture lingering in his mind as he opened the door and stepped out into the world.