#848. Reincarnation is a reality; you’re on your tenth reincarnation and remember all your previous lives. You realize that in each body, you’ve been murdered.
I guess he fucked up this time. Sure, he pushed me off the roof, but I got lucky in the fall. Parts of me are broken, badly, but I’m alive. And more important than alive…I remember.
It must have been the knock I took to the head when I landed. I remember before it, the shock of horror, the rush of the ground as I flew towards it, and then…so much more. Memories flooding my mind, like simultaneously watching nine different movies ut being able to understand and comprehend every single one. And the star of the movies? Me.
You see, I recognize myself in every image, every memory, even though every image is from a different person. In this one, I’m a pilot in some war…WWI perhaps? I keep thinking “the Great War” when I see them, so it must be. In that one, I’m an escaped slave, I think. That’d explain the broken chain and the shackles. In another, a…well, let’s just say a lady of the evening. I won’t explain how I know that one.
All different people. All me. All with different lives, with one thing that ties them all together. I get murdered, every time.
I wonder if it’s the same for him, the guy who shoved me off the roof. I’ve seen him wear ten different faces, but just the same, I can tell it’s the same guy. We share that, I can tell. This strange connection, this cosmic magnetism that draws us together and always ends violently. Does he consciously know why he’s doing it? In some of my memories, it is clear that what he intended. The vile bounty hunter, taking my head in a dark swamp in the heat of a Georgia summer. The wicked cowboy with his hands around my throat as I struggle to scream. In others, he is more dispassionate. The German ace on the wing, his guns sputtering out a hail of death, nobly saluting as my life flees my body. The cop whose barrel still smokes as he cuts me down for the crime of stealing a piece of candy – maybe he thought it was a weapon? It doesn’t matter. Every one ends the same. Him, the murderer. Me, the murdered. Every time a clean, if brutal death.
Not this time, though. This time, something changed. I don’t know how I survived the fall, but I did. I can hear the sirens coming, and somehow, I know he’s fled. He won’t stick around to gloat. That’s never been his style. I didn’t even see his face this time, he fled so quickly.
But I live. I do…and now I know what I have to do. I have to stop this cycle. This is my one chance, my one hope to get him before he gets me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste it! This time, I’ll win. I’ll kill him, I’ll make him feel the way every death has felt to me. Make him live with the pain, the horror, the guilt, everything.
God, I fucking hurt, though. Can’t move, but I feel. I’ll be on my feet soon enough, and then I’ll end this. The ambulance is pulling up now. Just in time…my vision is fading. I must have jarred an ocular nerve or something. No matter. Even blind men can have revenge.
I smile when they lift me on to the stretcher. I try to laugh, but it comes out as painful coughing, as they put me in the back of their truck. I feel the engine start, hear the sirens wail. They’ll have me patched up good as new soon, I know it.
“This is going to hurt.”
A woman’s voice. Strange. Dispassionate.
I feel a sharp burn as a needle pierces my arm. A hot pain suddenly shooting through my veins. My eyes flutter, my sight returns.
It’s him. Except, he’s her. But no…no! The pusher? The guy on the roof? It has to be…
Her finger touches my lips.
This is new. This has never happened.
In his/her face…mercy.