two : other lives
The first time, I made it as far as the water. A tall, bearded creature, a man who I now suppose was my father, carried me over rattling stones to the shallows. More men followed, and women, and a few excited children who stood huddled together. The man scooped the cold river over me, too cold. Freezing. The end came shortly after, still by the water, with dirt-marked women screaming as the man tried to wake my now empty body. Wolves snarled from across the river and were sent running, their tails low, from rocks the men threw after them.
The second time, I was born into death. I choked on the world that made me, and emerged, blue lipped, white fingered, blood smeared, motionless.
The third time, I was older. Four, perhaps five. But somehow I knew it was coming. I remembered the times before. The water, the clear sharp air of an uncivilised world, the wolves, the women, that first father. The red liquid glow of my truncated second life, in a time between wilderness and industry. And I knew the end of the third time, though by that point it hadn’t come. I knew the exact spot, the sound, the smell, the taste, the time. I knew it was fate. And I died when I was meant to, in a wall of fire that ripped through buildings in a fast expanding circle, under a tall white cloud which burst up and out over the rippling earth.
Now is the fourth time, and my expiry date looms. This time will be different, harder. This time I am older. This time, I have made choices. I have had ideas and plans and relationships. This time, I have the inconvenience of having something to lose. And if I can help it, this time I will beat my own fate.
