A WORLD WITHIN HER.

"Penelope"..... That was all I heard before my eyes went dark. I have always dreamt of being one of the best my space can give, get, and preserve. Knowing that no one else desires my sight but me, and no one else matters but my identity. " Living in a world full of chaotic admiration, pathetic findings and emotion full of tears." But I love my world and is the best I can get. Lying in misery ... I could hear echos but far from me. Willing and struggling for breath, the only element I can remember. I call for help, but no one heard me. I screamed with the whole of my heart. But no one answered me. I stretched out my hands for lifting, imaging someone standing before me, yet it couldn't be reached. "Hmmm what a delimma " I could hear the siren of an Ambulance, the clash of bed of metals on the floor. I could hear voices, chatterings and wailings, but I couldn't feel myself. It then dawn on me that it was over. "I wish I had not left the house that afternoon". "I wish I had listened to mama". "I wish I maintained my composure to the fullest". But no.., my stubbornness took a toll on me. I ended up making things worse. ******** ...And now, here I am—caught between reality and regret. A weightless soul floating in the space between life and whatever lies beyond. The room feels colder now. Not because of the temperature, but because of what’s missing—me. I watch as doctors rush around, their faces tight with urgency, their hands trembling with decisions. Mama is in the hallway, clutching her wrapper, whispering prayers with tear-soaked eyes. If only she knew I could see her. If only I could whisper, *"I'm sorry."* The world continues to spin without pause, indifferent to my fading heartbeat. Memories begin to flood back: the laughter I shared with my younger brother, the nights I stayed up dreaming of a future so vivid... now slipping through my fingers like mist. But amidst all the chaos, a light—soft, golden—begins to rise at the edge of my vision. It’s not a tunnel, no. It’s a doorway. And I must decide: do I walk through it, or fight back? Do I surrender to peace, or beg time for one last chance? My name echoes once more… “Penelope…” But this time, it's not a call of farewell—it's a plea to return. And maybe—just maybe—my story isn't over yet. My eyelids flutter, heavy like stone. The sound of my name—*Penelope*—rings again, softer now, yet clearer. A familiar voice. Familiar warmth. “Penelope, please… come back.” It’s Mama. Her voice breaks through the haze like sunlight through storm clouds. I feel something—pressure—gentle and trembling. Her hand, wrapped around mine. Real. Present. A faint beep grows louder. Rhythmic. Alive. The light at the doorway dims. Not gone. Just waiting. As if it knows I still have unfinished business. Suddenly, a rush of air floods my chest, like the first breath after drowning. Pain returns—sharp, burning—but so does awareness. The sterile scent of the hospital. The fluorescent lights. The warmth of Mama’s tears dripping onto my knuckles. I’m not dead. I’m here. Broken. Bruised. But alive. And maybe—just maybe—this is my second chance. To listen. To heal. To make peace with my past and fight for the future I once only dreamed about. My voice cracks as I whisper, barely audible: “Mama… I’m sorry.” She gasps, eyes wide, lips trembling. “You're back, my child. You're back.” And just like that, a new chapter begins. One not built on regret, but on redemption. Because sometimes, the fall isn’t the end— …it’s the beginning of the rise. Glad. The word echoed in my chest like a second heartbeat. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just existing—I was being seen. Maybe that was the beginning of healing. Not pretending. Not hiding. But being honest about the pain. And slowly, in the flicker of firelight within me, something stirred: Hope. Small, fragile, but alive—just like me.