The vagrant of possibilities.

  I had done it. I did it. I finally got my revenge! I relished in my accomplishment. I stabbed the corpse in front of me every single second. I wanted to savor in my revenge, which had taken too long.

  I had stabbed the corpse so many times as if I were squeezing juice from a rapidly drying fruit. It was my last fruit, but it didn’t matter if I died of thirst. I completed my goal.

  My hands were covered in blood; some areas had dried for minutes, others for an hour. I scratched my face instinctively, forgetting about the blood on my hands.

  Shit, this could get me caught! I quickly went to the faucet to wash my face and hands. I didn’t want to rid my hands of blood yet, I didn’t want proof of my everlasting but ever-disappearing goal to disappear so quickly. It was the only thing keeping me from being hollow.

  I stared into the mirror, my eyes were dark as if a candle’s flame were put out. I had finally noticed I was smiling so wide, each end of my lips was stretched as far as they could in a crescent shape. My eyes, too, were crescent-shaped.

  I knew this face could make me suspicious, but no matter the effort, my face didn’t budge. My face in the reflection was like a wax statue, unchanging and fragile.

  I knew I was risking getting caught, but it wasn’t just my face that didn’t care. My hands lazily washed blood off my face. My legs had already slowed down as I walked here. My heart had stopped burning the moment I stopped stabbing my victim. My face froze in its place; it became a mask.

  I could not stop looking away from the mirror. Time passed. How much? I didn’t know. I knew I had time. It was dead in the night. No one would check on the victim, the one I swore revenge on, for a long time.

  I could clean up this mess later. I could clean my face later. I could stab him later. I can walk later. I could do it later.

  I was still in front of the mirror. It was above the sink, I could wash my hands and face anytime, but my hands and heart forbade me to. I don’t think I wanted to.

  It was the meaning of my life after all; I dedicated my whole life to this revenge. It was my purpose, my goal, my hunger, my dream. It was all I did, all I thought about, all that consumed me.

  I didn’t want everything I’ve dedicated to disappear. It was my last fruit, and I had already squeezed it dry. However, I didn’t want to throw it away. I tried squeezing it more. I still felt thirsty.

  Unable to do anything, even move, all I could do was think about my revenge. Why did I do this again? Why? Who did I avenge? Me? A friend? A family? Who did I kill again?

  Just like I squeezed the fruit of my revenge dry, I squeezed my memory completely dry. I had forgotten it.

  WHY?! WHYY?! WHYYY?! HOW DID I FORGET?! I covered my face with my blood-covered hands. I cupped my hands on my face for what felt like eternity.

  I blanked. I stopped thinking. I could even feel my anguish over forgetting fade as well. I blanked again. I didn’t know how much time had passed.

  Before I knew it, I had maniacally laughed. I continued laughing; the sound of insanity vibrated throughout the halls. However, I knew, even then, no one would hear it. My lips had somehow stretched even farther.

  I had a drop of tear fall from my eyes. Even my tears had almost been squeezed dry during my revenge. Now, it had completely welled up.

  I looked at myself in the mirror once more, and I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. I had only seen a hollow shell of my former self.

  I couldn’t even remember why I wanted to accomplish this. I had laughed once more. It was a hollow laugh. It wasn’t so loud anymore.

  What do I do now? What do I want to do? What should I do? I leaned my arms on the sink, facing the mirror in front of me.

  I had finally noticed. I was empty. Completely empty. All I had to myself was my name and my frozen face. I wasn’t sure if it belonged to me anymore. It was stuck in two modes: this maniacal face and a smiling poker face.

  I had planned this for so long. I finally took revenge. I hungered for it so, so long, I eventually forgot why I did it. All I cared for was revenge. Now that I've done it, what do I do now? I collapsed on the floor. I had run out of energy.

  Now, sitting on the floor, my reflection was out of my view, at least. I looked at my hands again. Still blood-stained. My only proof

  I had forgotten to think about the ‘after’. After I got revenge. What I’d do after.

  Did I even deserve an ‘after’? Do I deserve another goal? Do I deserve a future? Do I even deserve to live? I had too much time to ponder.

  I felt like I was hit by so many waves of emotions. Anxiety. Terror. Emptiness. Joy. Accomplishment.

  I didn’t want to do anything anymore. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to be caught. What did I even have to live for anyway, now that I’ve forgotten why I lived this way? I slowly drifted off to sleep. The body was still there, in the living room. I wanted to leave that trouble later.

  I lost track of time. I woke up. I didn’t know how long I’ve been sleeping for. It wasn’t too long. I haven’t been caught yet. It was still the middle of the night.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  I slowly stood up. There was one thing I wanted to do. One more thing I had to do. I had to send a proper farewell to my lifelong dream. It was a funeral. I had to respect the funeral.

  I dragged my feet towards the corpse after I grabbed my tools. I looked at the body once more. I hoped I would feel something, anything.

  Nothing… I felt nothing. Another hollow laugh sounded through the hallways. My revenge felt so hollow now. My lifelong dream, oh so hollow now.

  Even so. Despite my forgetting almost everything. Despite my feeling so hollow. I still remember my plan to get away, to cover up my crime. A tiny flame still burnt on, to complete this one last thing.

  I got rid of the evidence. I had made an alibi. I cleaned myself off. I double-checked everything. I had done so as I rehearsed so many times. I moved like an actor in a performance; I performed my last act that I had practiced so many times.

  As I finished the last part of the plan I made so, so long ago, I left the building. This, too, was part of my plan. My escape. I also had to finish my escape. I did it to try to rekindle the flame, but it was diminishing too fast.

  I walked on the street. My phone buzzed. I checked to see why it buzzed. It took too long to realize that it was just an alarm, one to remind me not to take too long, to make sure I completed it on time.

  After, I noticed that my wallpaper was the target. I had focused on that revenge so much, huh? He was a public figure. He was the CEO of a corporation. Someone who didn’t know me. Yet, I still had a reason to get revenge.

  I tried searching what the now-dead body could’ve done to make me want to get revenge, to remind myself. It was no use. There were too many reasons for revenge. Scamming, crypto, fraud, stealing, bribery, ruined lives, etc. That was just what was public.

  It was no use trying to remember. Once I forgot something, I completely forgot. I didn’t keep a journal either, not that this was something I could write down. I didn’t want to risk incriminating myself.

  I had made sure I was out of sight of cameras. I was also wearing a long black raincoat that I’d hide later. I wouldn’t ever wear it anymore.

  After a walk of a few kilometres, I had reached my home. I hid my coat where it’d never be found, at least for a long time. I entered my home and collapsed on my bed.

  I had lain on my bed for about half an hour until I heard birds chirping outside. It was early in the morning. I couldn’t sleep.

  I tried to fall asleep despite the time. It hadn’t worked. Not after such an eventful night as this. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The first thing I’d have ever achieved.

  I looked around my room. I had a few trophies from mathematics competitions as a child. For some reason, I had stopped. It happened a few years ago. I couldn’t stop myself from reflecting upon it.

  Mathematics had gotten too hard. My grades had dropped after the funeral I attended for both my parents. They were in an airplane that crashed. After that event, I stopped studying. I had no one to push or force me to study.

  I knew I was good at mathematics. I had a talent for it. It was easy. However, I didn’t like mathematics. It wasn’t my interest. Now that I thought about it, what did I like?

  I only competed in mathematics because my parents promised me a better future. I had won the contest after that, but in the following ones, I began getting lower ranks. I had time to think for myself.

  Did I like mathematics? Did I want to continue in mathematics? What if I wanted to try something else? What if I weren’t happy doing mathematics? What if I didn’t have a better life? What if..?

  I started procrastinating on mathematics, searching for something I’d like. I tried different subjects. I didn’t like those either. I tried new hobbies, but they didn’t fit me. I tried new things. However, for each, I closed the door behind me quickly.

  After mathematics, I tried biology and chemistry, thinking I’d be good at another STEM topic. I failed. I then tried arts, I lacked creativity. I tried humanities, I lacked enough critical thinking.

  I then tried hobbies. I did martial arts for a while, but I was not the physical type. Even so, I tried soccer, and it reinforced my not being the physical type either. So I tried a mental hobby, like chess, but it was too hard, and I lost a lot. I had already begun to be scared of failure. I tried learning instruments, but my hand-eye coordination was behind.

  Ironically, I closed it, in fear I wasn’t good enough in them. I failed to succeed at the level that I did in mathematics. While for mathematics, I couldn’t continue. It was too late, I let my grades slip, and the higher levels were too confusing for me, who stopped paying attention to the subject.

  I got up from my bed and walked towards my old trophies. I grabbed a couple. What if I continued it?

  I shook my head. No, it was too late; I would just fail. I was no longer smart at mathematics.

  I walked to the side of my bed, to the closet, and put my trophies and awards in it. I couldn’t bear to be reminded of my past successes and failures.

  I closed my closet and stood by my bed. I remained frozen. I was unsure. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do with my life anymore.

  I gave up mathematics to try new hobbies, then completely forgot it. I gave up new hobbies to pursue my revenge. Now that my revenge was over, I must give it up, but I couldn’t go back to any hobbies or subjects.

  I had to now think of what to do in the future. What to do with my life. I was driven by revenge so that I could have a better life, but what was a better life?

  What did I want my life and future to look like? Did I want happiness? Money? Better career?

  I thought about my job. I worked a simple 9-5 job. It was the weekend so I didn’t need to wake up early for work. It wasn’t something that I cared about or brought me happiness. I couldn’t care much about advancing my career.

  I had pondered other ‘rooms’ that I was interested in. However, I remembered when I tried opening the ‘door’ to that ‘room’ of hobbies, I couldn’t stay too long. I wasn’t sure if I fit in.

  Eventually, I found myself habitually scrolling on my phone on my bed. It was a habit that I thought had disappeared ever since I was so focused on revenge, but it resurfaced.

  I scrolled through short-form videos, mindlessly watching. I tried to forget about the endless hobbies I was afraid of pursuing.

  There were simply too many things that I could do, none of which interested me, and so I shut myself off from them. The sea of possibilities scared me. What if I failed at them? Just like with all the hobbies I tried. What if I disliked them? Just like with mathematics. What if they’d just make me empty? Just like with my revenge.

  I didn’t need those. I didn’t need hobbies or careers either. I would be fine without those. I didn’t need to be anyone new or different. I couldn’t be someone more.

  So, all I needed was this. I was fine with continuing on like this. Living like an empty shell. I preferred my world to be so small, so I gave up everything that I didn’t want. I liked it that way. My world was big enough to scroll on my phone, and I was fine with it.

  I mindlessly scrolled on my phone. I didn’t want to do anything else as I stared at it. I didn’t know how long I’d stared at my phone in my bed.

  I convinced myself of my new life. I hadn’t realized that tears began falling from my face. That my face would be stuck in a false smile.

  I was unable to deal with my emptiness compared to the dense ocean of possibilities.