The moonlight streamed through my bedroom window, casting a soft glow over the room as I lay there, my breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Ahah, this is really the end, isn’t it? I really hope my prayer comes true," I whispered into the darkness, my voice barely audible as I found myself surrounded by a growing pool of my own blood. You are probably wondering who this guy is, and why did he pray for a death like this.

My name was Anthony. I was your atypical, boring guy. I had a wonderful Mother who was always there for me, her smile a constant source of warmth. Memories of her laughter, the aroma of her cooking, and the gentle touch of her hand brushed across my fevered forehead flashed through my mind. However, as I grew older and passed through my school years, reaching high school, my mental health deteriorated exceptionally, and those happy moments became distant echoes in the labyrinth of my thoughts.

For the final two years of my high school life, I only attended school for a total of 2 months. The rest of the time, I did my schooling at home because I couldn’t bear the suffocating weight of being surrounded by hordes of people. The mere thought of it sent tendrils of anxiety creeping through me like a vice clamped around my chest. It has been 9 years since I graduated high school, but nothing has changed since then. I still can’t go out in public for long periods or live an average life like a normal person my age.

As I lay there, my life's narrative etched in the stars above, a bitter truth weighed heavy on my heart. "If I could have one wish granted, it would be to die and get a second chance at living as the girl I always wished I was born as in a new world." My whispered words seemed to be carried away by the wind, disappearing into the void, a plea to a universe that I doubted was listening.

I said that prayer every night before I would go to sleep, hoping against hope that it would be granted, that I wouldn't wake up the next morning. The thought of a fresh start, a life unburdened by the scars of the past, held a mesmerizing allure. Some might ask, if you were that unhappy with your life, why didn’t you grant your prayer with your own hands? Frankly, the honest answer was fear. Fear of leaving my family, fear that my mother wouldn’t be able to stay strong and continue living her everyday life without me. It wasn't the act of ending my own life that scared me; it was the thought of the void I would leave behind, the emptiness in my mother's eyes that she would carry until her last breath. However, I am all alone now, my mother is no longer walking on this earth, as she was on her way home, she had a bad car accident, and by the time I was notified it was already too late. It has been 2 weeks since she was buried, and now there is no longer a reason for me to be afraid.

My fingers clenched the fabric of my bed sheet as I stared up at the ceiling, tears mingling with the shadows that danced across the room. "It seems the time has come; my consciousness is fading away," I murmured, the darkness slowly creeping in at the edges of my vision. "Goodbye, Mama," I whispered the words in a fragile whisper, my voice breaking under the weight of my emotions. "Thank you for always being there for me."