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The young woman lay in her hospital bed, her eyes closed. It was a place of contrasts. It was a place of both life and death, of hope and despair, of joy and sorrow. She was weak and tired, and she had been in a coma for several weeks. The doctors had told her parents that she might not wake up, but they had never given up hope.

One day, the young woman opened her eyes. She was confused and disoriented, but she was alive. She slowly began to recover. She learned that she had been in an accident, and that her little brother had been killed. She was devastated, but she knew that she had to keep going.

She was visited by a therapist. The therapist helped her to talk about her grief and guilt. She realized that she had been blaming herself for her brother's death, but that it wasn't her fault.

Few days came, she started to paint again. She used her paintings as a way to express her emotions. She painted pictures of her brother, and she painted pictures of her dreams for the future. Until she finished a painting of a man saving a drowning child. She called the painting "Pastischo." She knew that the man in the painting was a representation of herself, and that the child was a representation of her little brother.

"Rye, how are you? Can you tell me your story, now?"

The sound of the machine that was producing cold air was all she was hearing.

Who is this woman in front of me?

"To my little brother, I missed you. To my love, Rye, I loved you. To painting, thank you. What's this? Your recent story?"

No... what she talking about? These were just figments of my puzzle piece! It should've been...

To my damn life, I should've never been born.

To my wrecked story, it should've never been written.

To time... to time, the past should've never existed so that the future could be perfect.

To my little brother, painting, and to the creator, myself, Rye- please stop imagining things!

Everything was just a manifestation of her grief and guilt. She was surrounded by Pastischo's paintings, but they all seemed empty now.

She got out of bed and went to her easel. She breathed heavily and thought of Pastischo in her imagination's story. Used him as her inspiration and started on his own.

She picked up a brush and started to paint. She didn't know what she was painting at first, but as the brushstrokes flowed, an image began to take shape.

It was a painting of a river. The river was flowing peacefully, and the sun was shining brightly.

Rye finished painting the river, and she stepped back to admire her work. She knew that it was a beautiful painting, but it was also a reminder that she had to let go of the past.

She had to let go of the river that had taken her little brother away from her. She had to let go of the guilt that she felt for not being able to save him.

If my little brother was just an imagination, who am I drawing? No. My little brother is true! I hugged him when he was 5!

It was a blurry memory but I can hear his voice clearly, "Ate! Can I hear what story you've made today? You're a great writer and a story-teller!" His half body was tucked in the linen. While I was on the bed, sitting on it, caressing his forehead.

"Sure," I smiled at him, "Ate... made about memories this time. How keeping a story is important but not to the point you're not going to let go of it."

"Ate, why do we need to let go of important things? It's way too vague!" He protested.

I sighed, "Because sometimes, holding on to memories can hurt us more than it helps us. If we keep holding on to the past, we'll never be able to move on. We'll never be able to grow. We'll always be stuck in the same place."

"But ate, I don't want to forget you! You're my best friend!"

"I know," I said, tears welling up in my eyes. "I don't want you to forget me either. But you can't keep me alive by holding on to the past. You have to let me go if there will be a point where you're going to do that, so that you can live your life to the fullest."

My little brother looked at me with tears in his eyes too. "I don't want to let you go," he said in a broken voice.

I hugged him tightly, "I love you, my little brother."

"I love you, ate!"

I closed my eyes and held on to that memory for as long as I could. I didn't know that it was advice to myself. With that, I knew that it was time to let go. It was time to move on.

Even though I contracted with the devil about using time just to go back to save my little brother from drowning, that event is inevitable. With all the 14,000,605 possible outcomes and times I was reincarnated, earlier was my 14,000,605th try to save him.

There was no guy painting trying to save his little brother, it was just me. The river that took my brother away was real but it was me and I in the scenery. The guy was me. The guy was just part of my play so that I am following the contract. That I shouldn't be known as my little brother's ate.

I thought that if we keep fighting, we can always change our destiny, but it's otherwise. Clinging on to our past is our hope's greatest enemy.

I already felt the heat and my soul was getting burned again. The place where I belong after I killed myself by letting myself drown in paint.

I saw that the devil I contracted in was slowly walking away from me. And now, I'm accepting my fate. I will let my little brother rest up there where he belongs, while his ate is suffering from her decisions in thick, acrid odor of smoke and sulfur. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain. I screamed out in agony. The pain was unbearable. It felt like my skin was on fire.

I started to walk, but it was difficult. The sand was like quicksand, and it kept pulling me down. I could feel the heat of the sun searing my skin, and I could taste the salt in the air.

I knew that I was in hell. I had finally found my destiny.

I looked around and saw other souls, all of them suffering in different ways. Some were being burned, others were being tortured, and still others were simply being left to rot. I realized that I was not alone in my suffering. We were all here because we had made mistakes. We had all done things that we regretted.

Did I love myself?

Yes...

I think, I did once.

I became my own world, I colored my black and white canvas into life. I was happy, I was content, I was whole. Until I took up my own life, bathed myself into blood.

I thought it would be the end, but it wasn't. The pain didn't stop, the darkness didn't go away. I was still alone, I was still empty.

I realized that I had made a mistake. I didn't want to die, I wanted to live. I wanted to be happy again. And the devil saw the vulnerability in me and took advantage of it.

I was finally happy, even if it was only for a moment.

Even though I'm in hell, suffering, I'm grateful for the time I had on Earth.

And even though I'm in hell, suffering, I know that I'll never forget the ones I love.

If I will be reincarnated, I will choose to save my little brother. I will do everything in my power to protect him from harm. I will never let him go through the pain that I did.

I looked up, but there was nothing to. So I closed my eyes and be with them.

There was a loud noise surrounding me, someone pulling me, and my tears couldn't stop. Then I heard someone said,

"Rye Carnation.
8:49 AM.
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Welcome to the world!"

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