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Joe opens his eyes, gasping for breath, staring…
Staring at the ceiling of his own condo.
“What the fuck,” he wheezes out. “What the fuck?!”
He touches his chest, his arms, his legs, his head. Everything is as it should be, where it should be. Perfectly normal, not a single broken bone, not even a scratch.
Did he… Did he just have the weirdest dream in his whole life, or what?
But if it was a dream, why did it feel so real? Why can he still remember the lurch as the rope failed, remember the wind whistling past his ears, remember the sickening crunch as his body became nothing more than a broken mess–
He takes a deep breath to try and fight off the terrible nausea.
“Okay, Joe, calm down,” he whispers to himself. “You’re here. You’re fine. You’re alive. It was a dream. It was nothing but a dream.”
It must have been a dream, because no other alternative makes any sense.
***
Joe dies, and then he wakes up again, nearly a year ago, on the morning of the day that changed his life forever.
It's clearly his chance to start anew and avoid the mistakes of the past, but... Can he really live without his biggest mistake of all? -
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