The Call of the Void

Ethan's fingers trembled as he clicked on yet another video, the soft blue light of the screen casting an eerie glow across his sunken cheeks. The title flashed before him: "I Died for 7 Minutes - What I Saw Will Change Your Life."

His heart raced as the video began, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes recounting her experience of crossing over to the other side. Ethan leaned in closer, his breath fogging the screen slightly as he hung on every word.

"There was this overwhelming sense of peace," the woman said, her voice filled with wonder. "And a bright light that seemed to call me home."

Ethan's eyes widened, his pupils dilating in the dim light of his closet sanctuary. He'd watched dozens of these videos over the past few days, each one feeding his growing obsession with death and rebirth. But this one felt different, more real somehow.

As the woman described floating above her body, seeing the doctors frantically working to revive her, Ethan felt a chill run down his spine. He glanced at his own reflection in the darkened computer screen, barely recognizing the gaunt face staring back at him. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his cheekbones stood out sharply against his pale skin.

'Is this what I'd look like if I died?' he wondered, the thought both terrifying and strangely alluring.

The video ended, but Ethan hardly noticed. His mind was already racing, connecting dots between this account and others he'd heard. He reached for his notebook, flipping past pages filled with frantic scribbles and half-formed theories.

His pen flew across the paper, jotting down key points from the video. "Bright light," he wrote, underlining it twice. "Feeling of peace. Saw own body."

But as he wrote, Ethan's hand began to shake. The neat lines of text became jagged, words running into each other as his thoughts spiraled. He wasn't just taking notes anymore; he was pouring out his soul onto the page.

"What if this life is just a failed experiment?" he scrawled, the words barely legible. "What if death is the reset button?"

Ethan's breath came in short, sharp gasps as he stared at what he'd written. The idea of his current existence as a failed attempt, a life gone wrong, had been growing in his mind for weeks. But seeing it there on the page made it feel real, tangible.

He turned back to his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard as he searched for more information. Articles on reincarnation, scientific studies on near-death experiences, ancient religious texts - Ethan devoured them all, his eyes burning from the constant screen glare.

Hours passed, marked only by the soft whir of his computer fan and the occasional creak of the house settling around him. Ethan barely noticed the passage of time, lost in a world of theories and possibilities.

As the first rays of dawn began to seep through the cracks around his closet door, Ethan finally leaned back, his mind reeling from the information overload. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the grit of sleeplessness beneath his fingers.

His gaze fell on a book he'd pushed aside earlier - a dense philosophical text on the nature of existence. Ethan reached for it, flipping to a dog-eared page. A passage jumped out at him:

"If one accepts the possibility of multiple lives, does that not also imply the potential for multiple deaths? And if so, what separates one life from the next? Is death truly an end, or merely a transition?"

Ethan's heart pounded as he read the words over and over. The line between philosophical musings and something darker, more dangerous, began to blur in his mind.

'If death is just a transition,' he thought, his inner voice trembling, 'then ending this life wouldn't really be ending at all. It would be... starting over.'

The idea took root, growing and twisting in Ethan's exhausted, overstimulated mind. He turned back to his notebook, pen hovering over a fresh page. But the words that flowed out weren't just theories anymore.

"How to reset?" he wrote, the question mark sharp and accusatory on the page. "What's the fastest way out?"

Ethan's hand shook as he stared at what he'd written. Part of him recoiled, recognizing the dangerous path his thoughts were taking. But another part, a part that had been growing stronger with each passing day in his self-imposed isolation, felt a thrill of excitement.

His breath came faster, shallow pants that echoed in the confined space of the closet. The walls seemed to close in around him, the air growing thick and heavy. Ethan's eyes darted around, taking in the stacks of books, the glowing computer screen, the rumpled sleeping bag in the corner.

Was this all there was? Was this small space, this life of isolation and obsession, all he had to look forward to? Or was there something more waiting on the other side, a chance to start again with a clean slate?

Ethan's fingers twitched, itching to type out these new thoughts, to research methods and possibilities. But a tiny voice in the back of his mind held him back, a last thread of connection to the world outside his closet.

He sat there, poised on the edge of a decision, his heart racing and his mind whirling with possibilities. The soft glow of the computer screen illuminated his face, casting deep shadows that seemed to dance and shift, reflecting the turmoil within.