The Respawn Chronicles – Part 2

Click Here: To Read The Respawn Chronicles – Part 1

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Opening his eyes, Dave found himself back in bed, the same old alarm blaring loudly beside him. Confused, he sat up, trying to make sense of the bizarre events that had just transpired, but the absurdity left him speechless. With a groan, he silenced the relentless alarm and rolled out of bed, feeling the familiar chill of the wooden floor against his feet. His morning routine began in its usual haze of half-consciousness—the bathroom, the toothbrush, and the struggle with stubborn buttons and zippers.

Breakfast was predictable—burnt toast and bitter coffee—and Dave headed out the door, ready to face the day ahead. The city streets bustling with life as Dave walked, lost in his thoughts and slightly humming a tune to himself.

With Dave caught off guard, fate had other plans.

As he crossed a busy intersection, a rogue flock of pigeons took flight, their sudden movement startling Dave. In his attempt to evade the flapping wings and cooing chaos, he stumbled backward and tripped over a nearby curbside. Arms flailing, he crashed into a nearby thug.

The thug, a towering figure with tattoos snaking up his neck and a scowl straight out of Pokémon’s Team Rocket, was not amused. “Watch where you’re going!” he growled, shoving Dave with such force that he sprawled onto the pavement.

Dave’s heart pounded in his chest as he scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. “I’m so sorry,” he stammered, stumbling over his words as if he might choke on them. “It was an accident.”

The thug’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to let it go. But then, he noticed his phone lying shattered on the ground, crushed under Dave’s weight. “You broke my phone,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Dave glanced at the broken phone and then back at the thug, swallowing hard. “I’ll pay for it,” he offered quickly, reaching for his wallet. “I can get you a new one.”

The thug took a step closer, his fists clenching. “You better,” he snarled. “Or else.”

Before Dave could react, the thug’s fist shot out, catching him squarely in the jaw. Pain exploded in Dave’s head, and he staggered back, trying to stay on his feet. But the world tilted and spun, and he found himself falling again, this time into the path of an oncoming car.

The blaring horn and screech of tires were the last things he heard before everything went black.

Dave opened his eyes to find himself back in his bed, the alarm clock’s persistent beeping pulling him from unconsciousness. He sat up slowly, his heart racing, and touched his jaw, half expecting it to be bruised and swollen. But there was no pain, no sign of the altercation. It was as if it had never happened.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold wooden floor a stark contrast to the warmth of his blanket. “This is insane,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I died. Again.”

Determined to make sense of it all, Dave dressed quickly and left his apartment, his mind buzzing with questions. As he walked, he replayed the events in his head. The thug, the punch, the car—each detail felt vivid and real.

He reached the intersection where the pigeons had startled him and hesitated, glancing around warily. The memory of the thug was fresh, and he didn’t want a repeat of the previous encounter. As he stood there, lost in thought, a flash of movement caught his eye.

The thug was there, across the street, arguing with a shopkeeper. Dave’s heart skipped a beat. He watched as the thug gestured angrily, his face contorted with rage. Dave took a deep breath and turned away, deciding it was best to avoid any further confrontation.

As he walked, a thought struck him. “What if I can change things?” The idea seemed far-fetched, but the evidence was undeniable. He had died and come back, twice now. Maybe he could use this strange ability to his advantage.

But first, he needed to test his theory. He needed a to be certain. Afterall, it could have been just a dream within a dream.

Later that day, Dave found himself at a quiet park, away from the busy city. He sat on a bench, staring at the pond, lost in thought. The memory of his previous deaths was still fresh, but he felt a strange driving force now.

He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his pocket and began to write, outlining his plan. If he could control when and how he died, he could experiment with bringing things back and test the limits of his everyday life. After all, his life was pretty dull, and he had a limited social life. The main person Dave spoke with was his mother, and even then, it was mostly around holidays.

Dave decided not to take any drastic measures. Instead, he would go about his day as usual and see what happened. If another bizarre accident occurred, it would confirm his suspicions about his strange new ability. Over the course of a few minutes, Dave wrote about attempting to bring different items back. He suggested that he start with simple objects—a coin, a pen, a small notebook. Each time, he could potentially find himself back in his bed, the item in his possession. The thought of the success of these experiments filled him with a mix of excitement and awe.

Dave glanced down at his watch. “Oh shit, I need to get to work!” He began his short walk down the road to Main Street, where he would walk approximately one block to the corner of 27th Avenue. There, Echo Answers call center awaited him, ready for another day of taking calls from angry consumers.

As he wandered through the city, Dave kept his eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. He noticed every potential hazard—a loose brick on a building, a precariously balanced ladder, even a construction site with workers hoisting steel beams high above the street. He couldn’t help but feel a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

Eventually, he arrived at his workplace, a call center named “Echo Answers.” The name always made him chuckle; it was fittingly mundane for a job that seemed to repeat itself every day. Dave settled into his cubicle, surrounded by the familiar hum of ringing phones and muted conversations.

His shift passed in a blur of customer queries and scripted responses. Dave answered calls about faulty appliances, misplaced orders, and the occasional irate customer demanding immediate resolution. The monotony was almost comforting after the bizarre events of the morning. He focused on his work, trying to push thoughts of impending doom out of his mind.

His shift passed in a blur of customer queries and scripted responses. Dave answered calls about faulty appliances, misplaced orders, and the occasional irate customer demanding immediate resolution. The monotony was almost comforting after the bizarre events of the morning. He focused on his work, trying to push thoughts of impending doom out of his mind.

During a rare lull in calls, Dave’s eyes wandered to a joker card pinned to the wall of his cubicle. His friend Jacob had left it there before he quit the call center to remind him of why he left: to pursue his dream of becoming a comedian. Since then, Jacob had found minor success, performing at local clubs and even landing a few small gigs on TV.

Dave reached out and unpinned the card, holding it thoughtfully. An idea began to form in his mind. What if he took the card with him? If another bizarre accident happened and he woke up in his bed again, it would confirm his suspicions once more. Plus, the joker card felt symbolic—almost like a good luck charm or a reminder not to take life too seriously.

With a slight smile, he slipped the card into his pocket. If something bad were to happen, at least he’d have a piece of his friend’s optimism and determination with him.

After what felt like an eternity, Dave’s shift finally ended. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from sitting too long. Collecting his things, he left Echo Answers and began his usual route home.

As he walked, he replayed the morning’s events in his mind, still grappling with the reality of his situation. His eyes scanned the environment, wary of potential dangers. Just as he was starting to relax, a skateboard came hurtling towards him out of nowhere, hitting him squarely in the foot. He stumbled, barely catching his balance.

“Hey, watch out!” a teenager called out, chasing after the runaway skateboard.

Dave managed a nod, his heart racing. He continued walking, trying to shake off the unease. A few steps later, he passed a building where a piano was being hoisted to an upper floor. The sight made him chuckle nervously, remembering the cartoons where pianos always fell on unsuspecting characters.

Suddenly, his foot caught on something—a discarded skateboard, the same one from moments before. He tripped, arms flailing, and collided with a man who was part of the piano hoisting crew. The man lost his grip on the rope, and with a terrifying snap, the piano plummeted towards the ground.

Dave barely had time to register what was happening before the piano crashed down on him, the last notes of its melody echoing in his ears.

Dave opened his eyes to the familiar sight of his bedroom ceiling. The alarm clock blared, and he sat up, reaching into his pocket. His fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the joker card. He pulled it out, staring at it in disbelief.

It worked. He had brought something back with him.

To be continued…