Walkins Homer had always been invisible.
The kind of man who could walk through a crowded room and leave without a single person noticing his presence. He was a shadow, a whisper, a piece of the furniture that blended seamlessly into the background. His life, quiet and withdrawn, had never offered him a chance to be seen. For years, he had lived in a self-imposed isolation, his world confined to the dull hum of electronics, the soft glow of his computer screen, and the faint clicking of his keyboard.
In his small apartment on the edge of the city, Walkins kept to himself. His job, a meager one, barely kept him afloat. Freelance work, answering emails, occasionally helping on forums or websites—it wasn't much, but it was enough to survive. His meals were simple, usually quick microwaved dinners or instant noodles. Most of his existence was spent in the glow of his screen, his eyes glued to the endless feed of information, distraction, and escapism. It wasn't the worst life, but it wasn't the best either.
He had no friends. No family. Just the hum of the world moving around him. The city bustled with life, but Walkins was always at its edge, a silent observer of a world that didn't know he existed. His apartment was neat, organized, almost sterile. There was no clutter, no mess—just the clean lines of furniture and the small, single bed where he slept every night, dreaming of a life he would never know.
But still, Walkins didn't mind.
He wasn't bitter. He wasn't angry. He had accepted that this was his lot in life—a quiet existence, hidden in the shadows. The moments he did have with others were brief and distant. When he went out to buy groceries, he was just another face in the crowd. When he helped people online, they didn't even know his real name. It wasn't much, but it was enough. It was all he had.
The bullying, the isolation, all of it had been there since childhood. Walkins had grown used to it. There was something in his nature that made him an easy target for ridicule, and as time went on, the sharp barbs of verbal abuse had become nothing more than white noise. It was simply part of his world, a constant that he could count on. What stung more, perhaps, was the loneliness—the gnawing, aching loneliness that no amount of work or study could fill. It didn't matter how many books he read or how much he improved his skills; he was always alone. No one wanted to be near him, and he didn't know how to reach out to anyone.
Yet, despite the endless sea of indifference, Walkins still tried. In the quiet moments of his day, when the weight of the world felt too heavy, he would find solace in small acts of kindness. He'd offer advice to strangers online, donate a few coins when he could, or simply listen when someone else needed it. It was nothing grand. Nothing that would ever make a difference. But it was the one thing that gave him a sense of purpose. The belief that perhaps—just perhaps—he could make the world a little less lonely, even if it was only for a moment.
It wasn't much, but it was something. And that something was enough to keep him going.
It wasn't until one late evening that things changed.
Walkins had been out for a brief walk, something he did once in a while to clear his mind, even though it was always a solitary endeavor. The streets were quieter than usual. The sky overhead was dim, clouds gathering in thick layers. The air was cool, crisp—the kind of evening that hinted at a coming storm. As Walkins walked along the familiar route back to his apartment, he noticed a commotion up ahead, near the alley. It was a group of bullies, but this time, they weren't just taunting him. No, tonight they had someone else in their sights.
A young child, no older than eight or nine, was cowering against the wall, eyes wide with fear. The bullies were laughing, shoving him around, and for some reason, that moment struck Walkins deeply. The memory of his own childhood, the years spent as the target of others' cruelty, flared up inside him. But this wasn't about him. No. It was about that child—someone smaller, more vulnerable, someone who didn't deserve this.
The thought hit him like a jolt. I can do something.
Despite every instinct that told him to turn away, to keep walking, to leave the situation to someone else, Walkins found himself moving forward. His heart raced as he approached the group of bullies. He could hear them jeering, mocking the child, and for a moment, Walkins hesitated. His mouth was dry, his throat tight. What was he even going to do? He had no physical strength to stand up to them. He wasn't a hero.
But then, without thinking, he stepped into their path.
"Hey!" Walkins's voice came out louder than he intended, but it was enough to catch their attention. The bullies stopped, turning to face him, eyes narrowing with surprise.
"Look at this guy," one of them sneered. "You're gonna be the big hero now?"
Walkins's heart thudded in his chest, but he didn't back down. "Leave him alone. Now."
The bullies laughed, stepping closer, but Walkins's resolve hardened. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was done letting people suffer. He wasn't going to let this kid go through what he had endured.
But as fate would have it, that was when the world decided to make its decision.
The screeching sound of tires on wet pavement pierced the air. Before Walkins could react, a car careened around the corner, its headlights blinding, its engine roaring as it lost control. It sped straight toward him.
He barely had time to realize what was happening.
There was no time to escape, no time to think. All he could do was shove the child out of the way, sending him tumbling to safety as the vehicle crashed into him instead. The world blurred. Pain. Darkness.
And then… nothing.
The next moment, Walkins's world was blank.
A new world.
He had been born again.