Diary Of A Mad Man

A Second Breath

The noise was relentless. Shouts of merchants hawking their wares clashed with the shrill laughter of children chasing one another through narrow alleys. Somewhere, a dog barked incessantly, setting off a chain reaction among its street companions. The faint stench of rotting vegetables and sewage lingered in the humid air.

Mikhail blinked at the peeling paint on the walls, trying to reconcile the chaos outside with the storm inside his head. His chest felt tight, his heart pounding erratically. I’m back, he thought, though the words felt surreal.

"Mikhail!" his mother's voice cut through the din like a blade.

She stood by the small wooden table in their cramped kitchen, her hands on her hips. Her dress was patched in more places than not, and the lines on her face betrayed years of exhaustion. She wasn’t beautiful in the way the world admired, but to Mikhail, she was a mountain—sturdy, unwavering.

"You’ve been sitting there staring into space for five minutes. Eat your food before it gets cold."

He glanced down at the plate in front of him: a modest serving of rice with a thin stew. The sight of it stirred an ache in his chest. How many nights had they gone to bed hungry because she made sure he had the last bite? He picked up his spoon, the metal cool against his fingers, and forced himself to eat.

She watched him from the corner of her eye, her hands busy folding laundry. "You’re awfully quiet today," she remarked, her voice soft but probing.

Mikhail looked up, his small, boyish face shadowed by an adult’s turmoil. "Just tired, Mama."

She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for the truth in his words. After a moment, she sighed. "Well, hurry up and finish. There’s still work to do, and you’ve been slacking lately."

"Yes, Mama," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

He finished the meal in silence, each bite mechanical. His mind was a whirlwind of memories—memories of his adult life. The nights spent alone in his dingy apartment, drowning in regrets. The endless parade of disappointments. The suffocating weight of failure. And then, the end. A heart that simply gave up on him, like the world had long ago.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He placed his spoon down gently, thanked his mother, and retreated to his room.

---

Inside, the small space was as he remembered: a thin mattress on the floor, a cracked window that barely let in light, and a shelf sagging under the weight of mismatched books and trinkets.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. The noise outside continued unabated, but in his mind, it was drowned out by silence—cold, oppressive silence.

I died, he thought, the memory hitting him like a hammer. I died, and now I’m here.

His fingers dug into his palms as flashes of his past life resurfaced. The endless nights of working menial jobs, trying to scrape together enough to survive. The hollow relationships, the love that always seemed just out of reach. The way the world seemed to mock him at every turn.

And yet, here he was. A child again, with all the knowledge of his failures and the bitter lessons they had taught him.

“Why me?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Why did I get this chance?”

He thought of the love he had lost—the ones who had betrayed him, the ones who had left him. The anger bubbled up, hot and acidic. They had dismissed him, walked over him like dirt, laughed at his pain.

Not this time.

This time, he would be the one with the last laugh. This time, he would rise above the muck and grime of this slum, claw his way to the top, and take back what he deserved.

Mikhail stood, his small frame trembling with determination. He didn’t know why he’d been given this second chance, but he swore to himself he wouldn’t waste it.

“Revenge,” he muttered, the word tasting like poison and honey on his tongue.

He glanced out the window, his eyes scanning the familiar streets below. Somewhere out there was the beginning of the path he needed to take. And this time, he would carve his name into the world, no matter the cost.