Life Cycle

I breathed in sharply and lost consciousness.

In the darkness, I felt a few thoughts bubble in me. Who was it this time? Could I exact revenge on my former self? Would I actually wake up?

I had been living this cycle for a long time. A cycle of being murdered then waking up inside my killer’s body, inside my killer’s thoughts. It was a disgusting limbo I had since acclimated to, but the grease of bad deeds never seemed to leave my host’s skin. Except for hers, of course.

I remember the first time it happened to me. I was a young girl of 17. It was midday, and I was pulled into a dark alleyway. I felt the press of a kiss on my lips as a cold blade sunk into my skin.

It hurt and I felt faint. I fell to the ground, breathing hard, and saw blood running down my front. As I felt the last of my breath escape my lips, I saw myself wiping a stained knife on a girl’s red, red shirt. It was I who was lying on the ground and it was I who was putting the blade away in my overcoat. It was I who stepped back into the main street, walking away from the corpse of my former self with only the thought of a big paycheck in my mind.

I didn’t understand, and I suppose I didn’t try to. I was this man now, and this man had habits and emotions before I ever came into his head. I stepped into his life, a life of killing and walking away, and accepted it for my new reality. That is, until another came for him and killed him, too.

I changed forms. I had different faces, different bodies, different personalities. It was a never-ending cycle of dying and living and dying again. I experienced life in so many ways, and I experienced death in so many ways.

I wondered if I could ever escape and tried to see if I could bring my host to end themselves and, perhaps, end my own suffering. But it never happened. I was never in sufficient control. I was a mere observer, stuck in this unending loop of life and death.

I was in despair, until I slipped into her consciousness. She was young, and she was crying as she threw away the gun that killed my former self, a flashy man who liked to dismember young women after having his way with them. I was glad to be out of that bastard’s consciousness, and immediately felt a sort of relief as I slipped into hers.

She reminded me of my first self, the 17-year-old girl who was full of hope for a bright tomorrow. It was a breath of fresh air from the psychopaths I’ve shared consciousnesses with. Perhaps I could experience a normal life this time, one of carefree happiness and a final release.

Despite the traumatic incident, she pushed forward for her future. I saw her finish her studies, apply for a job, fall in love, and marry a nice man. She lived a quiet yet happy life, and I was getting settled in the monotone of a domestic routine.

Which is why I was worried about why I was here. It was taking too long for me to recognize my surroundings. Was I being transferred into the murderer of that sweet girl? Was I actually in purgatory? Did I await final judgment?

It was then that I felt a light shine on me. It was too bright, too bright. Where was I?

I was being lifted into the light and immediately felt the pang of slap. A cry came from my mouth, and my eyes were greeted by the sight of my former host in a hospital bed. There was blood all over her, and I quickly realized what happened.

She died at childbirth, and I was transferred to the little girl she died to give life to.

I was devastated, but felt the warmth of loving arms envelope me. I looked up to see a crying man hold me close. He was sobbing, but I could make out his words. “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

A smile played on my host’s lips, and I allowed myself a hope amidst another death. ‘Maybe this life,’ I thought to myself, as I felt sleep wash over the little one. ‘Maybe this life.’

–
Image source: daphneiz.com/rebirth/
First written July 29, 2017.
#38