Reincarnation Journey

Reincarnation Journey Chapter 1: The Bottomless Nigh Hanoi, Vietnam, July 2025 The streets of Hanoi pulse with the glow of LED and neon lights, accompanied by the relentless hum of car horns. On the fifth floor of a dilapidated boarding house in Cau Giay District, Huy, a 25-year-old unemployed youth, sits curled up on an old bed. Before him, on a small wooden table, rests a white bottle of sleeping pills and a glass of lukewarm water. The dimly lit room is illuminated only by the faint glow of streetlights seeping through the window. His phone screen lights up with a message from his mother: "Huy, come home, son. I’m sorry for the harsh words. I shouldn’t have said those things…" Huy stares at the message, his finger brushing the screen, the "read" notification glaring back at him. He doesn’t reply. Turning off the phone, he buries his head in his hands. A sharp pain constricts his chest, as if the weight of the world is crushing him, suffocating each breath. His eyes are red, but no tears fall. He wants to cry, to let it all out, but the tears remain trapped, pooling in his heart. Huy once believed his mother was the one person who would never turn her back on him. Memories of childhood flood his mind: nights when she held him close, singing lullabies in her hoarse voice, her calloused hands gently stroking his hair whenever he was afraid. "Huy, you are my world," she’d said. "I’ll always be by your side, always walk with you." But those promises now feel like a knife twisting in his heart. Just last week, in a fit of anger, she had screamed, "You’re my greatest disappointment! I wish I’d never given birth to you!" Those words, from the mother he loved most, sliced through his last shred of faith like a cold, sharp blade. Huy doesn’t blame her for the years she struggled alone, toiling tirelessly to raise him. But the sting of betrayal is unbearable—the feeling that even the mother who once loved him unconditionally now sees him as a burden, a stain on her life. Each time he recalls her weary, disappointed gaze, his heart twists, as if an invisible hand is squeezing it. He wonders: Am I truly the son she cherished, or just a mistake both my parents regret? At 25, Huy, an only child raised in a scholarly family, was once the pride and hope of his kin. He dreamed of becoming an IT engineer, but the university entrance exam shattered that dream, plunging him into an abyss with no escape. The low scores, familial pressure, and comparisons to his peers created an invisible weight that crushed him, forcing him to withdraw into himself. For three years, he scraped by with odd jobs—delivery, waiting tables, running freelance ads—but found no way out. Each day, he felt like a soulless husk, drifting aimlessly amidst the bustling crowd. "No one needs me," Huy mutters, his hand tightening around the bottle of pills he recently bought. He thinks of social media posts where his friends flaunt new jobs, exotic trips, or master’s degrees. He thinks of his father, who sighs every time he mentions Huy, treating him as a source of shame whenever friends or relatives ask. If I disappear, maybe everyone will be relieved of a burden. The thought, long buried in his heart, now blazes like the only solution, the best thing he believes he can do for his family and society. Huy opens the bottle, pouring a handful of pills into his palm. He recalls sleepless nights, endlessly questioning: Why am I alive? What’s the meaning of my existence? No answers ever came. He swallows the first pill, then the second, the third. As each pill slides down his throat, he reflects on a life filled with regrets. Tears stream down his face, but he doesn’t stop. When the final pill is gone, he lies back on the creaky bed, his vision blurring. Outside the window, the city lights flicker like distant stars. In his final moments, Huy finds a strange peace in gazing at the night sky—a beauty he never had the chance to truly appreciate. Darkness descends, but not as he expected. Instead of silence, a blinding white light erupts. Huy finds himself standing in a boundless void—no floor, no walls, only light surrounding him. Before him stands a strange entity, not quite human, exuding an awe-inspiring presence that commands reverence. A voice, deep and resonant, echoes as if from eternity: "Huy, you are not ready to leave this life. You will live again, through other lives, to discover why you exist." Huy wants to protest, to scream that he no longer wishes to live, but his body feels weightless, swept into a whirlwind. When he opens his eyes, he is no longer in Hanoi. The smell of damp earth and gunpowder fills his nostrils. Distant gunfire roars, and Huy realizes he’s dressed in tattered military fatigues, clutching a rifle. He is a soldier, standing in a dark forest in 1945. "Enemy attack!" a voice shouts. Panic surges through Huy, but his body moves on its own, as if the memories of this life are etched into his very flesh. He charges into battle, his heart pounding. In that fleeting moment, on the edge of life and death, Huy feels something new: life, fragile yet fierce, burning brighter than ever before.