The Prince is Dead

answered prayer

Dimas gazed at the grave before him, his tongue tied. His mouth wanted to scream, but no words came out since he saw this grave. He was speechless after reading whose name was on the gravestone.

Dimas Cakrawala.

Dimas Cakrawala was the owner of the grave. A young man who had died in an accident some time ago. He died at the scene due to the severity of his injuries.

His spine was broken, his head shattered, and his heart crushed from the impact of the gears hitting his stomach. Death seemed better for him than living and experiencing unbearable pain. That's what the doctor said when Dimas woke up and asked what had happened to his friend.

But Dimas was still alive, still breathing, still eating, still using the restroom like a living person. And now, Dimas was staring at his own grave. A grave made in his own name.

Dimas clenched his fist, bursting into laughter. He bowed his head, looking at his muddy shoes.

"Don't joke!" he chuckled through tears.

He was alive. Truly alive. Yet something was different about him. Something inexplicable beyond human understanding. Something that made him believe that God was indeed all-powerful.

"Don't joke!" he shouted loudly, kicking the gravestone with his own name.

God must love jokes. God must enjoy playing with him. Dimas was convinced that God was laughing, watching His creation kick his own gravestone. Laughing as He looked at Dimas being so foolish.

God did seem to enjoy jokes.

Effortlessly, He brought Dimas back to life. Placed Dimas into a body that wasn't supposed to be his. Answered prayers that Dimas had unconsciously raised.

That Dimas wanted to be like Marcell.

 A prince loved by everyone.

God is truly almighty, and He always seemed to enjoy playing around.

With ease, He woke Dimas up in Marcell's body. Effortlessly, He turned Dimas into Marcell completely.

"Don't joke!" Dimas sobbed, collapsing onto the graveyard soil. "I'm still alive!"

Dimas was both alive and not alive. His soul was Dimas, but the body he inhabited belonged to Marcell. Dimas lived within Marcell's body, which was now somewhere else.

Dimas's trembling hand grabbed the mound of fresh soil in front of him. It was still wet, of course. The grave had been made just three days ago. Three days ago, when the deadly accident had struck him.I

n his current condition, Dimas wasn't even sure he had survived that fatal accident. Because in reality, Dimas survived in Marcell's body.

Marcell's body had a scratch on his temple. The blood Dimas had seen on his shirt was Marcell's blood, coming from his head. Marcell's head had shattered from hitting the steering wheel and being pressed by Dimas's body.

A miracle.

Truly a miracle, as Marcell didn't have any serious injuries. He was completely fine. The doctor didn't even believe that Marcell had no serious injuries after the accident that claimed the lives of eight toll road users, including Dimas.

And after hearing these facts, Dimas was even more confused about his purpose in Marcell's body.

Where did the young man who occupied the prince's throne go? Where did the heir to the giant corporation vanish to?

Dimas didn't know. Was Marcell still alive or not? Or could he suddenly disappear when Marcell returned? He didn't know. All of this was beyond his understanding. It didn't make sense.