Male POV Defy Fate の短編小説 & 小説

At a company party, I catch our manager drugging a female coworker's drink and call the police to save her. But the next day, she shows up with the police and accuses me of drugging her and trying to rape her. She even claims our manager was the one who saved her. The police take me in for questioning, and before long, I'm being branded a rapist all over the internet. My company fires me to distance itself from the scandal. Even after I'm cleared of all charges, my life is a mess. I've lost my job, and the online harassment gets so bad that my mother ends up in intensive care. When I confront my coworker, Katherine Miller, about what she's done to me, she doesn't feel the least bit guilty. "I never asked you to save me. You're the one who decided to stick your nose where it didn't belong. Whatever happened to you is your own problem. "I worked hard to land this job. I'm not going to risk getting fired just because you decided to piss off my manager." Then our manager comes out shirtless, puts his arm around her, and gives me a smug look. "You were too stupid to know your place. Of course you got fired. Getting rid of someone like you would be as easy as squashing a bug." I'm so furious that I pass out. But when I open my eyes, I'm back on the day of the company party.

On my eighteenth birthday, I was arrested for assault. Nothing I said or did could prove my innocence, because the witness who testified against me in court was my own sister, Alina Beasley. "Zeke, you have a serious sleepwalking disorder. You just never knew about it! But you hurt Brett this time. I can't cover for you anymore!" Just like that, I was sent to prison and sentenced to five years. A week before my release, the inmate who ran our cell block pinned me to the floor and beat me again. My nose suddenly started bleeding, and I lost consciousness. I was rushed to the hospital. Through the haze, I heard the correctional officers talking outside. "Damn. Ms. Beasley really is ruthless. She framed her own brother and sent him to prison just so she could groom her adopted brother." "Keep your voice down! Take it to the grave and pretend you never heard anything." I opened my eyes and stared at the report in my hand. Acute leukemia. Suddenly, I laughed. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. 'Sis, you got what you wanted. Maybe I really should just die.'

As one of the country's top high school teachers, I have helped countless students get into the best colleges. But I somehow find myself reborn as a poor kid from the countryside while attending a ceremony honoring my achievements. A mysterious voice echoes in my mind. "If you fail to get into college, you'll die!" How hard can that be? It's just getting into college. That's hardly a challenge for a genius like me. But soon I realize that getting into college isn't really about how smart you are. In the end, it all comes down to people and their motives.

I died entirely alone in the cold, damp shadows of a psychiatric ward. At that exact moment, my parents were standing in a grand, sunlit gallery, hosting a massive art exhibition for my younger brother, Jordan West. My girlfriend, Ella Dawson, stood beside him, applauding and celebrating his success. That honor was supposed to be mine. Every single canvas hanging in that gallery was painted with my sweat, tears, and soul. Now, every bit of it belonged to my brother. I spent my whole life competing with him, only to end up with nothing at all. When I opened my eyes again, I decided I was done fighting. This time, I only wanted to live my own life. This time, I was going to love myself.

“Shawn, Ethan and Wendy are engaged. Stop trying to come between them. We’ve already booked your flight. Stay abroad for a few years, then come back after their wedding.” Shawn Yates looked at his parents’ faces, at the way they seemed so sure they were doing what was best for him, and realized he had been reborn. He had returned to the day his parents forced him to leave the country and give up Wendy Stone for good. In his previous life, his parents talked him into leaving, but he couldn’t accept it. He told Wendy again and again that he was the one she loved. He begged his parents to tell her the truth and stop letting his brother, Ethan Yates, take his place. All it did was make Wendy despise him even more. When a car accident left him close to death, she even told the nurse on the phone coldly, “What’s he trying to pull this time? Tell him to stop trying to ruin my wedding with Ethan.”

I had always been what you would call a slow person. Case in point: When I saw the stern-looking female CEO appearing in the financial news who looked just like my wife, it took me ages to finally realize it was truly her. Immediately after, a stream of comments highlighted in different colors overlaid my vision. [Oh my God! Julian Vance, the shameless supporting male lead, has finally shown up to stir the pot! Imagine dragging a child into this just to scam Ms. Eunice Latour, how disgusting!] [Didn’t he already make away with two million as compensation? Why is he back again? He must be sick in the head if he thinks that he can use his child as a pawn to get ahead in life!] [I can’t wait to see Mr. Carter put him in his place! Let the real male and female protagonists shine!] It took me half a minute before I finally wrapped my head around what they were saying. It seemed I had been in the world of a novel, one where I was cast as an evil supporting male lead whose main goal was to make the male and female protagonists look good. My wife was Eunice Latour, the female protagonist in question. One day, she went out to buy food for the baby, only to never return.

In my previous life, the day after my son was born, someone stole him. My wife lost her mind. She spent six months searching for him before finally jumping off our balcony. Right after that, I drank myself to death on the streets. This time around, I trusted no one. When the head nurse said she needed to take my baby for a checkup, I rose from my chair and stepped in front of the crib, blocking her way. "What checkup? Which department? Where is the paperwork? Has the attending physician signed off on it?" She froze, caught off guard. "It's a routine hearing screening," she explained. "If it's a routine screening, why are you personally taking my baby? I don't trust anyone. Bring me the paperwork. I'll carry my son and go with you. Otherwise, the answer is no." She stood there, frozen in place.

My daughter, Lilah Olson, was hit by a car and needed immediate medical attention. Instead of calling my surgeon wife, Elina Olson, I raced against the clock to find another doctor. In my previous life, Lilah and Elina’s first love, Nolan Hicks, were involved in car accidents at the same time. I called Elina first and begged her to operate on Lilah. She rushed over to perform the surgery, only to miss Nolan’s desperate call for help. Elina didn’t blame me. Instead, she comforted me, saying that everyone had their own fate. That was until our third wedding anniversary. She slipped sleeping pills into my water and replaced Lilah’s calcium supplements with rat poison. She grabbed me by the hair and forced me to stay conscious, making me watch as she hacked Lilah’s corpse to pieces, blow after blow, until it was nothing but bloody pulp. Then she used a scalpel to slash open my major artery and stabbed me more than a thousand times. “If it weren’t for you two, Nolan wouldn’t have died!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Lilah was hit by the car.

I'm doing my hospital rounds in the middle of the night when my personal phone suddenly rings. I answer it, hearing a frantic woman's voice. "My husband is having a heart attack! Please hurry over and save him, Dr. Chapman!" I'm just about to ask for the address and leave when rows of comments suddenly pop up right in front of my eyes. [Don't go!] [Her husband is actually already long dead.] [She's left the doormat outside her door wet, just waiting for you to step on it.] [She'll insist her husband died because you attempted to save him the moment you enter the house.] I feel a chill spread through the back of my neck. On the other end of the line, the woman starts crying even harder. "Are you still on the line? My husband really isn't going to make it, Dr. Chapman!" I take a deep breath and say, "If your husband is having a heart attack, please call 911 first. I'm not allowed to treat patients privately outside the hospital."