Fate Rewritten

Time no longer felt linear to Ramses. Days and nights blended into one endless stretch, marked only by the shifting hues of the sun and moon. For months—or was it years?—he had found solace in the routine he created: morning workouts, afternoons of reading and journaling, evenings of painting or reflection. But now, even those habits felt hollow, their purpose drained by the endless repetition of an unchanging world.

He sat on his apartment balcony, staring out at the frozen city below. Cars were still locked in traffic jams, pedestrians paused mid-step, and leaves hung suspended in the air as though time itself had taken a breath and never exhaled. It was beautiful in a way, but the beauty had grown stale. He wanted movement. He wanted noise.

He wanted life.

Ramses leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What if this is it?" he muttered. The words hung in the air, unanswered, as they always did. "What if I'm stuck here forever?"

He had asked himself this question countless times before, but today, the weight of it pressed on him differently. His mind felt like a clock wound too tight, ready to snap.

The frustration boiled over as the hours stretched on. Ramses stood abruptly and began pacing his apartment. Every corner of it was filled with reminders of his growth: the bookshelves overflowing with knowledge, the journals filled with self-reflection, the mirror that now reflected a stronger, healthier version of himself. Yet all of it felt meaningless in a world frozen in time.

He grabbed a notebook from his desk and flipped through it. The pages were filled with notes, plans, and affirmations he had written to keep himself motivated. But as he read them now, they felt like the scribblings of a desperate man clinging to hope in a hopeless situation.

"What's the point of any of this?" he shouted, throwing the notebook across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud and fell to the floor, its pages crumpled.

Ramses sank to his knees, his head in his hands. The silence of the apartment was deafening.

The next day—or what he assumed was the next day—Ramses left his apartment, hoping a long walk would clear his mind. He wandered aimlessly through the city, passing the same frozen figures he had seen a thousand times before. A couple holding hands, their smiles frozen in place. A man mid-step, his briefcase swinging. A group of teenagers laughing, their faces lit with joy.

He stopped in front of a café, where a barista was frozen mid-pour, a stream of coffee suspended in midair. Ramses stared at the scene, a lump forming in his throat.

"Do you even know how lucky you are?" he asked the barista, his voice bitter. "You're stuck in this moment, but at least you're with people. At least you're not alone."

The barista, of course, didn't respond. Ramses turned away, his chest tightening.

As he continued walking, his thoughts spiraled. He had tried so hard to find purpose in the stillness, to use the frozen world as an opportunity for growth. But now, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all for nothing.

"What if none of this is real?" he wondered aloud.

The thought had crossed his mind before, but he had always pushed it aside, afraid of what it might mean. But now, it consumed him.

He stopped in the middle of an empty street and looked up at the sky. The clouds were motionless, as they always were. "If this isn't real," he said, "then what am I even doing here? What's the point of any of this?"

He closed his eyes, hoping for some kind of answer—a voice, a sign, anything. But the silence was absolute.

Ramses returned home feeling more lost than ever. He sat at his desk, staring at the blank page of his journal. The words wouldn't come.

Instead, he turned to his laptop and opened a new document.

"Questions I Can't Answer," he typed.

Is this real?

How long have I been here?

Will time ever move again?

Am I alone in this, or is someone else out there?

What happens if I give up?

The last question lingered on the screen, taunting him. Ramses leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Giving up wasn't an option—not really. But the thought still crept in, insidious and unwelcome.

In the days that followed, Ramses tried to distract himself. He threw himself into exercise, pushing his body to its limits. He read until his eyes burned, devouring books he hadn't touched before. He painted furiously, covering canvas after canvas with images of chaos and despair.

But nothing filled the void. The questions still haunted him, and the silence of the frozen world became unbearable.

One evening, as he stood on his balcony, he looked out at the city and felt an overwhelming urge to scream. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was as if the frozen world had stolen even that from him.

He gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. "I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't keep going like this."

The turning point came a few nights later. Ramses was sitting on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by his paintings. Most of them were dark and chaotic, reflecting the turmoil inside him. But one painting stood out: a simple scene of a sunrise over the city.

He stared at it for a long time, something stirring within him. The painting was a reminder of the world he had once known, a world filled with movement and light. It was a world he longed to see again, even if it felt impossibly far away.

For the first time in weeks, Ramses felt a spark of hope. It was small, fragile, but it was enough to keep him going.

The next morning, Ramses woke with a renewed sense of determination. He didn't have all the answers, and he still didn't know if the frozen world was real or some kind of illusion. But he decided that it didn't matter.

As long as he was here, he would keep moving forward.

He picked up his journal and began to write.

"January 31st, Year Unknown.

I don't know how long this will last. I don't know if this is real. But I've decided that it doesn't matter.

I'm still here. And as long as I'm here, I'll keep trying. I'll keep growing. I'll keep hoping.

The wait is long, but I won't let it break me."

That day, Ramses went for another walk. The city was still frozen, but it felt different to him now. Instead of a prison, it felt like a canvas—a blank slate waiting to be filled.

He smiled for the first time in what felt like forever.

The wait wasn't over, but he was ready for it.