There was no pain when he woke up.

  Just air. Still. Dry. Warm, even.

  Javiel blinked. Once. Twice. A ceiling stared back — off-white, cracked at the corners. A dusty fan spun overhead like it was too tired to finish a full circle.

  His heart wasn't racing. His body wasn't bleeding.

  That's not right.

  He sat up slowly. The bed creaked under him. Thin sheets. Metal frame. One window. No blood. No rooftop. No night air.

  He stood. Hoodie still on. Torn at the sleeve, but intact. Pocket empty.

  No phone. No wallet. Nothing.

  He moved to the window.

  And the world outside wasn't broken.

  ?

  Later – Walking the Neighborhood

  The streets were familiar. But too clean.

  Same layout. Same corner store. Same mural down the block.

  But where were the sirens?

  Where were the cops? The arguing neighbors? The man who always yelled at cars to slow down?

  It felt wrong.

  Like a picture of the place, not the place itself.

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  ?

  Across from the Store

  He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. Stared through the glass.

  The same clerk from his old block stood behind the counter.Smiling.Joking with a customer.

  No bulletproof glass. No angry signs taped to the door.

  The lights didn't flicker.The fridges hummed evenly.The floor looked mopped.

  Javiel pressed his hand to his stomach. It growled quietly. But he didn't move.

  No money. Don't test it.

  He watched someone pay in cash and walk out like it was the safest city on Earth.

  This isn't home.

  He kept walking.

  ?

  The Mural

  The brick wall that used to be covered in candle wax and marker tags was clean now. Bright.

  It still showed Brian — his cousin — painted big in green and gold.

  But no "RIP."No tags around it.No "Fly High."No bullet holes near the shoulder.

  Just art.

  ?

  The Park

  He sat on the rusted swing set. Chain links still squeaked, just softer than he remembered.

  Kids ran across the field. A girl tripped. Another picked her up, dusted her off.

  No fights. No shouting. No warnings.

  He stared at them until his jaw clenched.

  Is this what it would've been like?

  ?

  Evening – His Old Block

  The house looked untouched. Same cracked steps. Same screen door with the dent near the handle.

  Curtains glowed orange with kitchen light.

  He crossed the street, boots dragging on the curb. Slowed near the window.

  Inside: His dad.

  Same walk. Same face.

  Cooking something in a pan. Laughing.

  At the table: a kid.

  Maybe ten. Curly hair. Wore socks pulled up too high. Drawing dinosaurs on the back of a paper plate.

  The kind of kid who didn't look over his shoulder every five minutes. Mateo used to draw on napkins.

  This kid had clean paper. Markers that worked.

  ?

  Javiel stood there too long. Then stepped back. Quietly.

  He didn't belong here.

  Not in this version.

  Not in this peace.

  He was gone long before this world ever knew he existed.