One More Cigarette - and the Choise to Live

I stood beside myself—literally and metaphorically—looking down at the tired figure slumped over, all excuses and broken promises. A shell of habits that never served me.

He looked so small from where I stood—or floated, or maybe dreamed. His shoulders hunched inward like he was trying to disappear, hands loosely hanging, not gripping anything worth saving. This version of me—drained by years of repetition, nicotine, regret, the endless scroll of digital numbness—was not who I wanted to be remembered as. But the shame didn’t come with rage or even urgency. It came with a strange softness, like I was seeing a wounded animal. The kind you don’t yell at. The kind you kneel down beside, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” That’s when it hit me: maybe I wasn’t meant to be judging him, but forgiving him. Maybe the path forward wasn’t paved by self-punishment, but by choosing something better—one breath at a time. The air around me shimmered with something that felt like choice. I wasn’t just a ghost to my own life. I was the witness. And maybe the turning point. Maybe every habit I ever built could be dismantled with care. Maybe that hunched man could stand up again—if I reached across the veil between shame and grace—and helped him. Helped me. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel trapped. I felt... possible.

Did I even have what it takes to change?

I lingered in that strange space, hovering above the person I used to be.

Then came the light—radiant, golden, impossibly warm. Was it the sun rising?

I couldn’t say for sure. But I knew this encounter wasn’t random. It was too vivid. Too real.

Then a voice. Calm. Direct.

"You’re on the edge. But here’s a choice. You can return—to live again, but differently. Or you can step forward into this warmth and leave it all behind."

I didn’t rush. I breathed. Thought. Felt.

Then I replied.

“I want to be kind to myself.

I want to work with integrity and only write what matters to me. The rest—I release.

I choose to quit the things that harm me.

I choose to stay.

To live.

I want the sunrise... but also the sunset, especially when it’s painted with fire.

I want to welcome people again—with open honesty.”

"That’s your path," said the voice. There was a faint click, like someone turning off a distant intercom.

Darkness swept in gently like the last breath of night.

Then slowly... I opened my eyes.

My head lifted from my chest. My vision cleared.

The world—so familiar—looked entirely new.

Crisp. Gentle. Alive.

A quiet joy stirred inside me.

Had I been close to dying?

Had I left for a moment—just long enough to return with a second chance?

Maybe it was like all those stories I’d read. Maybe not.

But something had changed.

A new chance. A restart.

And somewhere, someone was still ringing my doorbell like their life depended on it.

I stood.

Time to answer.

Time to live.

Author’s Note:

This story was inspired by the writing prompt: “It’s 4am and someone’s ringing your bell.”

This story is about second chances and small decisions that shape us.
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I often explore transformation, inner resistance, and the messiness of being human. This one blends surreal experience with quiet reflection. If you've ever faced yourself in the stillness before dawn, maybe you'll feel seen here.

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