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Regret’s Unholy Grip
An unreleased short story from the book:
The Price of Emotions: How Artificial Feelings Can Destroy Us
Darren had always been a man haunted by his past. Every mistake, every misstep, every cruel word he had ever spoken lingered in his mind, replaying on a loop that never stopped. It wasn’t just guilt that consumed him—it was regret, the kind that gnawed at his very soul, turning his every action into something he wished he could undo.
He wasn’t always like this. Once, he had been a confident, ambitious man. But that was before the accident. Before the moment when everything in his life had unraveled. A moment of careless driving. A life taken. The weight of it had crushed him. He never forgave himself. The death of his friend, Marcus, had left him scarred in a way that nothing could heal. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the relentless tide of self-loathing that flooded his thoughts. He was trapped in a prison of his own making, the bars made of every decision he regretted, every second he couldn’t undo.
He had tried to move on. Tried to bury it. Therapy. Alcohol. Distractions. But nothing worked. The past wouldn’t let him go, and the remorse was too deep to escape. It was a constant companion, a shadow he couldn’t outrun. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Marcus’s face, the look of betrayal, the confusion in his eyes as the world came crashing down. Darren had done this. He had taken a life, and he couldn’t forget it.
Then one day, in a moment of madness, Darren found an ad. It was subtle at first, just a line of text that flashed on his screen, an offering so tempting that he didn’t question it.
“Buy Regret: One drop, and you will truly understand the weight of your mistakes. Relive them. Feel them. Live with them until you have nothing left to live for.”
The words were a slap in the face. He didn’t understand why, but something about it called to him. Something inside him told him that maybe, just maybe, this was the answer. The regret he carried was killing him, eating him from the inside out, and this—this could make him face it. Make him feel it until he had nothing left but the truth of his mistakes. Maybe then, he could finally stop running. He would embrace it, punish himself, and be rid of the weight. He could purge the guilt. Purge the shame.
In his desperation, Darren clicked the link.
The package arrived a few days later, unmarked and nondescript. The vial inside was small, almost unnoticeable. The liquid was thick, black, like ink, swirling with a darkness that felt almost… alive. The label was plain—no instructions, no words of caution—just one simple line: “One drop. Feel the weight of your regret.”
Without a second thought, Darren opened the vial. He tilted his head back and swallowed the drop, waiting for something, anything to happen. At first, there was nothing. No rush, no wave of emotion. But then, like a slow burn, the regret began to crawl through his veins.
It started in his chest, a warmth that quickly turned cold, spreading outward. It was as if the regret was no longer just a feeling—it was now a physical presence, something he could feel. His heart beat faster, his breath quickening. The room around him seemed to shift, as if it were distorting, pulling him deeper into himself. His vision blurred. He heard whispers—voices from the past, echoes of his mistakes. They grew louder, louder, until he couldn’t hear anything else. He could feel Marcus’s presence. He could feel the impact. He could feel the moment the life was ripped away, the guilt stabbing through him like a thousand needles.
It was overwhelming. Unbearable. It was as if the weight of everything he had done, every single regret, was now pressing on him from all sides, suffocating him. His hands shook. His mind raced with every moment of his failure, every thought that had haunted him for years. And then—he couldn’t stop it—the past became real. It wasn’t just memories anymore. It was happening again. He was reliving it, feeling every ounce of pain, every ounce of guilt as though it were happening in that very moment.
The world around him disappeared. There was no present. There was only the past, crashing through him like a tidal wave, flooding his senses. He could feel Marcus’s face, the terror, the confusion. He could hear the scream, the horrifying, shattering moment when the reality of his actions hit. It was all too much. His body trembled. Sweat poured from his skin. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t escape. He wanted to scream, but the regret filled his mouth, his throat, choking him from the inside.
He fell to his knees. His hands clutched his head, as if trying to hold his skull together, trying to keep his mind from splitting apart. He could feel the weight of every mistake, every choice, crushing him. He tried to scream, but the sound was drowned out by the voices in his mind, the relentless whispers of his past, the realization that he would never be free. Not now. Not ever.
The terror didn’t stop. The regret didn’t fade. It only grew. It was no longer a memory—it was his reality. Every moment was drenched in it, every thought consumed by it. He couldn’t escape the past, couldn’t escape the pain. It was too much. It was suffocating him.
Days passed. But they didn’t matter. Time had lost its meaning. Darren was no longer a man—he was a hollow shell, a vessel for the regret that tore at him from the inside. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t function. All he could do was relive the past over and over again. Every second was a reminder of how broken he was, how irreparably damaged by his own actions.
The people around him—his coworkers, his friends—tried to reach out, but they were nothing but shadows to him. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know the weight he carried. The world outside was a blur, a world that didn’t exist for him anymore. All that mattered was the regret. All that was left was the agony of his own creation.
Eventually, Darren stopped trying to escape. He didn’t have the strength. He couldn’t fight it anymore. The regret was too much, too overwhelming. It had consumed him entirely. There was no redemption. There was no release. There was only the unrelenting, suffocating grip of his own choices.
He had bought regret. And now, it owned him.
The last thing Darren remembered before he lost himself completely was a whisper in his ear, the cold voice of his own mind telling him, “You’ll never be free.”
And then, there was only the darkness.
If you enjoyed this short story you will probably like our latest release available now:
The Price of Emotions: How Artificial Feelings Can Destroy Us
$3.99
In a world where emotions are bought and sold, the price of feeling has never been higher.
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