[Mombasa Hospital – Children's Wing | August 25, 2005 – 9:50 PM]
"Dhalik—stop!"
I didn't.
The floor was cold under my feet.
Too smooth.
Each step landed slightly off, like I wasn't fully matching the surface beneath me.
But I kept moving.
---
"I'm not going back!" I shouted. "I'm done with those tests!"
My voice echoed down the corridor, louder than it should have been.
Too sharp for a place like this.
---
Behind me—
footsteps.
Fast.
Controlled.
Getting closer.
---
"You were in an accident!" the nurse called out. "You fell from a building!"
"I don't care!"
That wasn't true.
But right now—
it didn't matter.
---
I turned the corner too quickly.
My shoulder clipped the wall—
balance shifted—
---
—and for a split second—
something felt familiar.
---
Wrong.
---
I caught myself before I fell.
Kept running.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't think about it.
---
I just needed to leave.
---
Three weeks earlier—
everything had made sense.
---
The ball went over the fence.
That was it.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing important.
---
There was a tree beside the house.
Its branches stretched close enough to reach the roof.
So I climbed.
---
No hesitation.
No second thought.
---
Up.
Across.
Then the roof.
---
For a moment—
everything felt simple again.
---
I grabbed the ball.
Threw it back down.
Done.
---
That should've been the end of it.
---
But getting up—
was never the problem.
---
Getting down—
was.
---
"Dhalik!"
Closer now.
---
I slowed.
Just slightly.
Not because I wanted to—
but because something didn't feel right.
---
Not outside.
Inside.
---
Like something had already happened—
and I was just arriving after it.
---
[Mombasa Hospital – Corridor | Present]
Dr. Mwenyeji walked at a steady pace, a file tucked neatly under his arm.
To be this active after such an incident…
His gaze lowered briefly to the page.
Kids recover quickly.
Sometimes too quickly.
---
"Good evening."
He turned slightly.
"Good evening."
Dr. Kale stepped beside him, hands in his coat pockets.
"You look focused."
"You could say that."
A faint pause.
Then—
"The boy again?"
Dr. Mwenyeji exhaled quietly.
"You'd be correct."
---
A sudden crash echoed down the corridor.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Both men stopped.
---
They didn't need to say anything.
---
"…That would be him."
---
They moved.
Faster now.
---
By the time they turned the corner—
it had already happened.
---
The boy was on the ground.
One hand braced against the floor.
Expression tight—
more irritated than hurt.
---
"That hurt…"
---
Dr. Mwenyeji approached calmly, adjusting his sleeve.
"Yes," he said. "I imagine it did."
---
The nurse arrived seconds later, slightly out of breath.
"Doctor, are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
His attention never left the boy.
---
Dhalik looked up.
Annoyance clear.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
---
"Now then," Dr. Mwenyeji said, lowering himself slightly, "why are you making this more difficult than it needs to be?"
"Because I want to go home," Dhalik replied immediately. "She said I could."
---
The doctor glanced at the nurse.
"Did you?"
She hesitated.
"I said soon—after you approved it. But he's been—"
---
"Because I am a child," Dhalik interrupted. "You should act like you know that."
---
The nurse stiffened.
But Dr. Mwenyeji raised a hand slightly.
"That's enough."
---
He turned back to Dhalik.
"I spoke with your mother."
---
That changed everything.
---
"You did?" Dhalik asked. "What did she say?"
"She'll be here the day after tomorrow."
---
Silence.
Short.
But enough.
---
"So here's what we'll do," the doctor continued. "One more test tomorrow… and then you go home."
---
Dhalik didn't respond immediately.
He didn't like it.
Not even slightly.
---
But he understood something.
---
There wasn't a better option.
---
"…Fine."
---
"Good."
The doctor stood.
"Let's go back. Properly this time."
---
The nurse stepped forward again.
"Come on."
---
Dhalik pushed himself up.
Followed.
This time—
without running.
---
As they walked back—
the memory continued.
---
The roof.
---
I had already thrown the ball down.
Everything should've ended there.
---
To get down—
I needed to jump back toward the tree.
---
It wasn't far.
Just a step.
A shift.
A controlled movement.
---
I moved.
---
The surface cracked.
---
No warning.
No delay.
---
My foot went through.
Something caught my leg.
Balance broke instantly—
---
—and then—
I was falling.
---
Five meters.
Head first.
---
Time didn't slow.
It didn't stretch.
It didn't change.
---
It just—
continued.
---
I remember the feeling.
Clear.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
---
Not confusion.
Not even panic.
---
Fear.
---
Because in that moment—
I knew.
---
I wasn't going to stop it.
---
I hit the ground.
---
And everything—
ended.
---
Later, they said my friends ran for help.
Adults came.
An ambulance arrived.
---
I was brought here.
---
This hospital.
---
Where—
I died.
---
Eight minutes.
Thirty-one seconds.
---
No heartbeat.
No breath.
No response.
---
They stopped.
---
Until—
I came back.
---
But while they were trying to save me—
I wasn't there.
---
I was somewhere else.
---
Not a place.
Not exactly.
---
Something—
between.
---
Where things didn't move the way they should.
Where moments didn't follow each other correctly.
Where time—
felt… misaligned.
---
And I wasn't alone.
---
I didn't understand it then.
---
I still don't.
---
But I understood one thing.
---
The line between what we know—
and what we don't—
---
isn't as solid as it feels.
---
It shifts.
---
And sometimes—
you cross it—
before you realize you already have.
---
To be continued…