Repeat

[WP] Since you can restart your life whenever you die, you start treating your lives as playthroughs in a video game. You’ve already completed the “main quest” timeline and tried a “new profession” timeline. You decide your next timeline will be a “speed run”.

*****

Perhaps in this life I can finally reach it. No, I will reach it. I stare at my hands, worn with scars only I can see. I tighten my grip.

"Why...?" Her eyes struggle to find a shred of human emotion on my visage. Fruitless. In another life she might've been happier. She was a student, a colleague, a friend, a coworker, an enemy, an adversary, an acquaintance, and... a lover.

Her hands eventually fall limply against her sides, and I let her body slump to the ground. My work is not yet finished. I watch as Mark reaches into his coat, undoubtedly for his revolver. He was always the first to compose himself and react appropriately, that's what I love about him.

Unfortunately for him, I am faster. Blood splutters from his mouth as he touches the new hole in his chest. With a wry grin, he completes his motion and uses his last few second of life to fire. The bullet strays a bit high and digs into my arm.

Only now, after two successive gunshots, do the others shake themselves from their stupor. Chaos descends.

Sharon rushes to subdue me, her supple form rippling with years of experience. I sidestep her feint and parry her forward thrust with a light kick. The surprise on her face is understandable, she never taught me how to do that. In this life, at least. I shift the full weight of my step into my elbow and place it on her left temple. She will not be getting up any time soon.

I aim my handgun at Wilson before he can exit the room. He will be a problem if I give him the chance the prepare. I won't.

Some try reasoning with me, some try fighting, some try escaping. It doesn't take long before the auditorium is covered in a new coat of crimson paint. I stand alone exhausted, as I always have.

"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?!" I shout at the emptiness. I can still feel it, the steady gaze from the other side, silent and relentless. Give me something, anything, please. I am tired, so very tired.

I have tried old age. I have tried disease and poison. I have tried murder. I have even tried taking my own life. Each and every time, I am greeted with the same soft gentle light. I hate it. I hate it. I HATE IT. I HATE IT. I HATE IT. WHY DO I COME BACK? WHY IS IT ME? WHY IS IT ONLY ME? NO ONE KNOWS. NO ONE REMEMBERS. NO ONE CARES. NO ONE MATTERS. WHY? WHY? WHY?

Ah. That must be it. If it is only I who matters, then I just need to get rid of everything else. That's right. Ahahah. AHAHA. HAHAHA. It seems this wasn't enough. I look at the lifeless bodies of my friends, family, acquaintances, rivals, coworkers, neighbors strewn around the room. Everyone who meant anything to me is here. And it wasn't enough.

Sigh. I wipe my hands on a nearby pant leg before bending down to take the jacket. My work isn't done yet. I can already hear the sirens coming from down the street. It's a little bit faster than anticipated, but within expectation. I reach into my pocket, quickly light a match, and drop it on the trail of gasoline running along the walls.

I stumble as a hard strike connects against my temple. I already understood my mistake before I turned to face my attacker. Only one person had the ability take me in close quarters.

"FUCK!" Sharon sweeps my legs out from under me before I can correct my stance. "FUCK FUCK FUCK!" Her fists pound against my head, her legs pin me to the ground. "What did we do?! Why are you doing this, Jason?!"

I hesitate a moment before answering, "You will lose your fight in the semi-finals in 4 days. Your boyfriend will propose. You will accept, not because you want to, but because you think it's what you should do." She falters a little. "You will worry about it for years, that one day you'll meet your prince charming. He won't come because he doesn't exist."

She stops pummeling me to listen, "What... what are you talking about?" The fire slowly creeps around the room. Each flicker reveals a different expression on her face: confusion, anger, sadness, loneliness, hostility, love, worry. Even now, she's worrying about me. I can't help but smile.

I continue, "One day, a sudden bout of nausea in the middle of a match will open you up to a left straight from your opponent. It is a simple and beautiful strike. When you wake up, the doctor will tell you that you are pregnant, but that you will likely miscarry. You will have an expensive surgery, which fails to save the baby. Your MMA career will end because you will never recover from the loss. Your husband will find your body hanging from a rope in the living room."

Tears stream down her face as she shakes her head, "Shut up! Shut up! You don't know that. None of that makes any sense! You–"

"I have seen it. A thousand times." My broken teeth and swollen lips make it a little difficult to speak, but I get the words out. The gunshot wound from earlier throbs painfully as the temperature rises. "I can stop your suffering, Sharon. I love you, you just need to die for me."

"How... can you say that, after what you've done?" She grips my collar and puts her head against my chest as she sobs. The scent of her lavender shampoo gently tickles my nose and I fight the urge to sneeze. I always did tell her she didn't have to worry about being feminine enough, but she still frets about little details like this.

"Please die for me, Sharon."

"I... I can't do that."

"It is the only way." My words shouldn't make any sense to her. I don't have the luxury to explain, not that I haven't tried before. It has never worked.

"No it isn't. You can't possibly know the future." She gets sits up, still holding my collar, "Even if by some miracle you could, it doesn't matter. Even if what you say will come true, it doesn't matter. I would still walk down that path."

"Why?" Why would she choose to suffer? It's much better to die now.

Her words gain strength and vigor in time with the growing blaze, "No matter what happens in this shitty fucking life, it happens because of the choices we make. I know I will have tried my best because it's the only thing I can do. It doesn't matter that what awaits is a horrible life, a horrible journey, and a horrible end. It's my horrible life, my horrible journey, and my horrible end. The path I walk is mine alone and only I can walk it."

"What if you didn't have to? You could always choose not to walk."

"HAH! No. Life may be shitty and full of idiotic and meaningless pain, but it's all we have." She wipes the dust off my lapel and smiles.

"You... would choose to get hurt again and again?"

"Always, if it means I get to see your stupid face. And who knows, maybe what you say won't come true. Maybe I'll win this time." A tiny spark flits behind her iris and her lips curve into a knowing smirk. Could she possibly...? No, that's impossible. I can't hear the rest of what she says.

The familiar darkness creeps in from the sides. My old friend, here to bring me to the hateful light. It swallows me whole for a moment before the blinding brightness takes me again.

They could not possibly know why I cry. I was not able to reach the True End again.

*****

THE END