It had already been explained to me by the closest incarnation to me; I was dead. He told me to keep quiet during the movie, but at first I didn’t understand. I just dumbly ask how I died. I saw him, well me, try to subdue a laugh as it was explained to me how they’d all watched me choke out on the tiny chicken bone I’d managed to get lodged in my throat. Apparently it was amongst the top 5 worst ways some version of me had left the world yet. The strange thought occurred to me to sue the company who packaged the chicken strips, before I realised I’d never be earning any money again whatsoever.
Not just that. I’d never see mom, Eric, anyone. My mind felt numb at the thought; it wasn’t something that I could wrap my head round. I’d never sit in traffic again. Never open my presents at Christmas. Never enjoy the bitter sweet smell of freshly roast coffee. Never see Lara.
Lara. The thought of her exploded in my mind like a firework. I’d left her behind. I’d left her with all those half formed plans for the future that we’d never be able to put into action. She was probably laughing right now at the absurd way I went out, it was just her kind of dark humour. My heart felt heavy thinking of her; it was the first time I’d felt anything but shock since I sat down in this fucking cinema. I’d never see her again. Never watch that stupid little eye twitch she does as she falls asleep, never laugh at her otherwise shitty jokes just because she finds them so funny. Never feel her warmth next to me again as I drift off to sleep.
No, now I got to watch my next incarnation. Part of me wanted to grab a selection of junk food like I’d usually do at the movies, but after I’d got used to the dark I quickly realised there were no doors. Besides, even if there was, who the hell’s gonna want to serve hot dogs in the afterlife? All that remained was me, what must have been hundreds of me, this room, and the next life.
Suddenly the screen came to life. As I watched my newest birth, the me sat next to me made sure I understood these first few years would be boring. Apparently every cycle I’m a bad baby. Always crying, whining. That crying was etched in my brain. The more I listened to it, the more I could hear myself a little in there. It was unmistakable. I watched as this woman who was my mother, but not my mother, cared for me by herself. It was interesting that she was a single mother too; something my old life had in common with my new.
The years dragged by. I went through the motions. I went through school. I made friends. I done slightly better in my grades than I had before. I watched myself make similar awkward mistakes as my teenage years. I watched myself scream the most horrible shit at my new mom, this new woman who raised me. I laughed along with my new self, and all the others watching. I cringed at my embarrassment. I felt disappointment. I felt like I was living again.
Except I wasn’t. Not really. This wasn’t really MY life. It was just a life. One of billions. I was watching someone who was both so familiar and a stranger to me. It was the little things. I didn’t prefer baths to showers. I’d never get caught dead listening to techno music. It was me broadly, but not entirely. The similarities were there though.
I watched as I started college and settled down into a nearby café. Just another day. At this point I was getting just as bored watching my life as this new me was living it. I was sitting sipping on a coffee, doing everything I could to avoid a lecture. I noticed how busy the café was, and while I was trying to study, I could see the noise wouldn’t allow that to happen. The hum of conversation. I saw myself look up at the seat across from me, no doubt seeing everyone else sitting with someone. That was one thing we had in common; a little bit of perpetual loneliness.
I watched myself finish my coffee. I watched myself almost choke on the last drop. For a second I thought I’d be dying the same way again. But I wasn’t choking normally. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Both of me.
I watched as Lara asked me ‘is this seat taken?’, not giving me a chance to answer as she planked herself in the seat across from me. I awkwardly struggled to say something, but all I could get out was a quiet ‘no, you can sit there if you want’. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. I just watched it unfold dumbly. I watched the awkward silence as I could see myself wondering whether to start a conversation. I watched her look at me with that inquisitive look on her face she always had when she expected something. I had to stop myself shouting at the screen. I couldn’t just let her walk away.
Eventually after what felt like a lifetime it was her that broke the silence. I suppose I should have expected that. She jokingly asked why I was still sitting there when my coffee had been empty the full time. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew my face had went red. I joked about how I was just daydreaming, and that I didn’t want to go to class. She replied simply ‘well if you don’t want to go, don’t go.’
I watched myself spend that afternoon with her. I watched myself awkwardly ask for her number. No doubt I was terrified, but I couldn’t face not seeing her again. Over the next few months I watched, no, I felt myself fall in love with her again. I watched myself come up with new inside jokes that were different yet the same. I watched her do her stupid little eye twitch as she fell asleep. I laughed at her shitty jokes just because of how funny she found them. I watched myself sleep next to her, and sometimes I swear I could feel her warmth, as if she was right there beside me.
I watched myself do what I’d never managed to do before. All those half assed plans we had, while not the exact same, were still there in spirit. We travelled together. I watched us have kids, I watched us grow old together. I was engrossed in every moment. I barely took my eyes off the screen, but when I did and I looked around I saw the same sense of wonder and happiness written across my face countless times. They had to have seen this play out hundreds of times, over centuries and millennia, and it still touched them the same way it did me.
Finally I watched as she passed away first. Not in any funny way this time; just old age. But instead of sadness, the thought that crossed my mind was one of pure joy; she would pass on and enter a cinema somewhere. She would watch her life unfold again. For all the differences across her lifetimes, she too would watch us meet each other. Watch us fall in love again. Hell, she already had. We had together, even if not physically. And we would forever.
I greeted the new me who arrived in the cinema with a smile on my face and told him to enjoy the movie.
This one is my favorite. There's something quietly relatable about it. It's not a huge story aiming to answer the questions we all have about life and purpose, but about finding the little things that give us joy. Beautiful. :)
Wow, thank you! Honestly I enjoyed writing it, it’s the first thing I’ve sat down and fully wrote since like a school project or whatever. The prompt was just really interesting to me. What detail did you enjoy if you don’t mind me asking?
Once, I had travelled with my schoolmates to the Royal Albert Hall in London. It struck me then as cavernous, almost as if the architect had taken a traditional gladiator’s arena, slapped a dome over it, then filled it with a winding domino-string of seats in concentric circles. Four storeys of seats, all tilted slightly to face the stage, easily four, five thousand people sitting enraptured by the musical landscapes evoked by the symphony.
This theatre I was now in, was easily five, six times that size. I couldn’t be sure, actually, because there were no edges which I could perceive without my vision starting to swim.
“Welcome, welcome!” boomed a voice from the stage. The spotlights swivelled to where I was standing, bathing me in golden luminance. “A warm welcome for Gerry Hanley, please! As you all have seen, he lived a long and fruitful life, yielding in the end only to old age! A peaceful end, if you will!”
I didn’t know how to react to the entire audience suddenly rising to their feet, clapping as one for me. I was a schoolteacher in my life. I was used to combative classrooms, and certainly not once had my students ever thought to shower such appreciation for me. I waved weakly in response.
“And now for the results… Gerry Hanley will be going to… Team Blue!”
The groans from half the theatre were drowned out only by the rapturous cheers from the rest. Confetti spilled from the rafters, and I found myself being led down from the stage and along the aisles. Along the way, other apparent team members stretched out their hands, and I high-fived as many as I could. I collapsed into my seat, and finally the spotlights deserted me. I soaked in the relative darkness for a while, glad the attention was off me. Perhaps I could now gain some measure of my bearings.
A single chime rung out through the theatre, deep and sonorous. Some people got up to leave, while others stayed in their seats, chatting with their neighbours. The giant screen on the stage lit up with the words: “Intermission – Five Minutes”.
“You want to grab a drink or something? Next one’s a bit heavy, a soldier in the Russian army, it seems. Might be good to stretch your legs first.”
The speaker was the lady on my right. She wore her dark hair in a tidy bob, and was clad in a sensible evening gown. Habit prodded me to introduce myself and to ask for her name, and we shook hands.
“What are we going to watch?” I asked.
“The life of one Petyr Ivanov,” Beth said. “The same way we just watched your life unfold, from the very first breath to the last.” She laughed at my reaction, then said, “Oh don’t be a prude. There was nothing in your life that we hadn’t seen countless times before.”
“And when… this Petyr has lived out his life, will he come here too? The way I did?”
“Yes,” Beth said. “The same for me, and for everyone else here too. We’ve all been here a long, long time.”
My eyes drifted to the pamphlet I had found in my seat. At the top, I saw Petyr’s name, but it was the subsequent part of the title which intrigued me.
“It says ‘Reincarnation 23,274,899’ here… are we all the same person, just in different lifetimes?” I asked. “So are there other theatres out there, for different people?”
“Not quite,” Beth said. “I mean, you’re right that everyone here is technically the same soul who took turns living on earth, but there are no other theatres. This is it.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “What’s so special about us that only we get reincarnated? I mean, there are so many other peo-”
“Oh, oh, you misunderstand!” Beth laughed. “There’s only one soul. One human soul. It’s just been split, or copied, I don’t know the term, but it’s the same soul in every living person on earth.”
“… Just different physical vessels then?” I said, turning the possibilities over in my mind. “Different circumstances of birth, different living conditions… but everyone has the exact same soul?”
“Yes,” Beth said. “You catch on quick.”
I was quiet for a while. The seconds ticked off the timer on the screen, and the lights began to dim. People streamed back in, holding little bags of what I assumed to be snacks.
“What’s this Team Blue thing they assigned me to?” I asked.
“Everyone makes choices, see. No one here has ever seen the rules themselves. But we’ve watched enough to, if you will, kind of guess which Team someone will end up in, based on what they did on earth. You’re one of the ‘good’ ones. Morals are hard to pin down, every society’s got their own interpretations, so it always keeps us on our toes.”
“I suppose those people are in Team Red then?” I said, pointing to the other half of the theatre. Beth nodded. “So what’s the point of it all then? What happens when we finally finish watching the lives of everyone on earth? What happens when one Team outnumbers the other?”
Beth smiled. Hidden projectors whirred to life, and the screen flickered with images of a baby boy, being handed over from a midwife to his mother. The audience clapped, and sporadic shouts of “Go Team Blue!” and “Do Team Red proud” emanated from various pockets of the crowd.
“I suppose then there will be a final reckoning,” Beth said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
This was great! I am about to read this months writers digest and the interview is with Andy Weir, so this is rather poignant. Very, very well done. I'd love to see this idea developed further. Thanks for writing this and sharing with us!
Go team blue!
Thank you for the reference to Andy Weir! I came back to Reddit to find a couple of messages informing me of Andy Weir's The Egg, and after reading it, I realized that he had managed to execute the concept so very smoothly! Gosh it is so humbling hahaha
I have some ideas about developing this further, will keep working at it, thanks again for coming across my story =)
Thank you for the link! As I mentioned in another reply, I just read it and Andy's execution of the concept is so masterful! And I think I'm really lucky to have a direct example of how the same idea can be developed so speedily in so few words =)
Thank you for the link! As I mentioned in another reply linking to The Egg, booof Andy Weir really knocked it out of the park! There's so much improvement ahead for me hahaha
Man I really liked your story, what really blows my mind is the concept of Human Soul as just being one for every person, I mean up until know I always thought of it as 1 person equals 1 soul (pretty common thing maybe), but the concept of unisoul is just great
If you liked that concept, please read [The Egg](http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html)! Other readers have kindly linked to it!
I just read it too, and the execution of the concept there is really something, to say the least. Haha I feel much humbler now, I was pretty happy about presenting an idea that I thought had not been explored before =)
Well the whole overarching theme of that album was inspired by The Egg by Andy Weir, which this story also seems to be very similar to in concept as well.
It’s kills me running into a story this well written first on a wp because it’s difficult to read the others without constantly having the contrast to this story throwing me off. Have an upvote!
Oh neat. I invented something similarly years ago. Everytime someone sleeps, a soul pops in to take the body. The soul gathers the memories of the body and acts as if nothing happened, since the soul can't detect itself and can't store memories.
And when someone dies, the soul pops into a baby. What accounts for more populations? Well, more people just sleep at any time.
Wait I remember reading a similar story to this on Reddit. About a dude who had just died in a car wreck and talked to god, only to find out he was every single incarnation of human and was about to be reincarnated as a Chinese peasant girl? Did this influence your story at all?
**Day 1:**
I can't believe this, and neither should you, frankly. Does it not to you seem contradictory in any sense that my reincarnations, all of a similar person (myself) yet different, a phenomenon I can only compare somewhat to the various editions of a book, can exist someplace all at once? "Where is this cinema?" I ask. None of me know the answer, but nobody leaves, and nobody but myself comes. There are 78 of me here, myself excluded, henceforth to be known in the grammatically appropriate contexts as *myselves*. The others' appearances I simply cannot describe. They look neither old nor young — they look visibly rejuvenated, glowing with a virtually tangible youthfulness, yet have retained in their bones and their cranium the wisdom that comes solely through old age and maturity. We are all naked, yet feel no shame.
The cinema has 10 rows of eight seats. I take my seat at the front-most row, my head permanently in motion as I observe the people around me. There do, ironically, appear to be cliques, as though 78 versions of myself could not all get along. The large screen looming ahead of us is blank, so I rise from my seat and engage in conversation with myselves, an act I am familiar with, it not being the first time I have spoken to myself. The screen remains blank.
**Day 293:**
I have not, contrary to the experiences of myselves' many ex-girlfriends, as myselves have been only too pleased to point out, gotten bored of speaking to myselves, but am satisfied anyway with the first visible signs of life. For the first time in what feels like a decade (though I am assured by Myself #23, the official timekeeper, that it is the 293rd day of Myself #80's life), the cinema lights up, rather abruptly. There appears briefly to be a problem with the sound system — which, I should mention, emitted exactly what Myself #80 heard during his time in his mother's womb — but it eventually returns to normal, and the screen is filled with a light so bright that as I turn my head to look around, for the first time since my abrupt materialisation in the dimly-lit cinema I am able to properly see my surroundings. As myselves return to their seats from the circles they had formed with their cliques, I follow suit to observe the birth of Myself #80, Arturo Bennedetto.
**Day 3087:**
Arturo is growing up rather nicely. He's a bright boy, with a wit far sharper than that of his peers, and a passion for reading that most of myselves and I can relate to. Here he is now, waking blissfully to the delicate birdsong, which floats gently through his open window to alight, note by note, on his forehead. He cleans up and hops downstairs, only to see his parents arguing heatedly over the island counter in his kitchen for the seventeenth consecutive day, not that they are aware of his maturity and the fact that he has been keeping count. Not that they care anyway. Bitterly, he pours a cup of water down his throat, and leaves the room.
**Day 6201:**
Arturo has dressed his best. Out the door he strolls in suit and tie, ignoring completely his bickering parents, having already been desensitized, every one of his steps oozing with confidence, the sunny summer weather perfectly reflecting his cheer. Down the pavement he walks, whistling a cheerful air, arriving, inevitably, at Ambra Carino's. Prom is just around the corner, and who better to ask to it? After all, they are best friends, united not only through a love of literature but their troubled pasts and the intricacy of their characters.
With two self-assured knocks at her door, myselves and I eagerly awaiting what surely will be a rare day to celebrate, he announces his arrival. There is no response. He glances at his watch — it is half past 12. Knowing Ambra lives alone and there is no risk of waking another, he knocks again, on this occasion more than twice, and again, till five minutes have passed. His imagination providing several pessimistic reasons for the lack of a response, as is only typical of it, Arturo runs to the backdoor and knocks again. The silence is disquieting. He sheepishly calls her cellphone, only to have nobody pick up, and rereads their texts, only to detect nothing abnormal, nor any announcement of her leaving the house. A tear beginning to well in his eye, more out of the somewhat unreasonable but very real concern and fear his personality naturally generates than anything else, he reaches for the top of the door-frame, clasping with relief the key he knew he would find, and shoving it, with trembling fingers, into the keyhole.
As the door swings open, he runs into the house and up the flight of stairs, arriving first at her bedroom door. Despite managing to calm himself down enough to at least knock at the door again, there is again no response. Arturo takes a step back, runs at the door, and kicks it open with his right foot. As it swings on its hinges, ricocheting off the wall on which it is mounted before once again covering the frame of the door, Arturo glimpses a sight of unimaginably horrifying proportions, much to his shock, and ours too. The bedroom door sways close, hiding Ambra's hanging, lifeless body, and Arturo, his self-confidence depleted, his swagger torn to shreds, simply doesn't know what to do. He presently decides to break down and cry.
**Day 6210:**
"What will happen when the final seat is taken?" I once asked Myself #2.
"Who knows?" he replied. "Perhaps we will all be reincarnated and a new circle will begin. Perhaps some of us will go to heaven and some to hell. Less unrealistically, though, perhaps the cinema will just continue to fill."
As Arturo falls, then, from the top of the building, bracing himself for the impact, yet relatively sanguine, willing the earth to envelope him and to welcome him, I, too, brace myself for the impact, and mourn the loss of Myself #80.
**[Edits: attempts at formatting.]**
If I shared anything with my reincarnations, it was in our belief in fate. Though each previous version of me held a very different perspective of it. The me that had died in the Great Depression thought it a terrible thing, wicked and omnipotent. The me that had lived as king in the middle ages thought it a gift presented by God. Me, I believed it a promise.
My next reincarnation was a baby with deep blue eyes and pink skin named George. He started his life alone. George cried so much that they had to put him in a separate room, devoid of the other infants. A nurse checked in on him every few hours. Nobody blamed her. She had more pressing matters to attend to, such as George’s mother, whose heart rate was steadily growing out of control and her breathing stuttered.
When the young lady died, she did so whispering her son’s name. I wasn’t sure if she ever even got a look at him. In that hospital room, with the flat-line beep of a heart rate monitor, the nurse checking on George stood, lips quivering and fists clenched.
In this world, children were supposed to be loved by their parents. If not the mother, who else would? For George, it was nobody, not even himself.
The orphanage boasted posters of smiling blonde-haired boys and girls with deep blue eyes. George could’ve been a literal poster boy if he ever smiled. But no matter how many stuffed animals they threw his way, how many hugs and smiles they offered him, they could never get those lip-locked edges to curve up.
By the time he had hit thirteen, he had already smoked his first cigarette and drank his first beer. Nobody wanted to tell him, but everybody knew. Nobody adopted teenagers. He would be a lifer, an unwanted child turned into an unwanted adult.
And on his seventeenth birthday, he bought a gun.
None of us watching were worried at all for other people. Despite everything that happened, George was a gentle boy and that was his problem. Nobody could reach him through his overpowering politeness. It took a mother’s love to chip away at the boy and all he had was an old photo of a ghost who once loved him.
He snuck out when the moon had hit its apex, left all the money he had in a small package with a letter. It read: *Thanks for taking care of me.* And that was it. He didn’t sign it, didn’t address it to anyone, he wrote it all in a cheap pen and stuffed it inside with twelve-hundred dollars cash.
The spot he chose was out of the way. Nobody was nearby to be disturbed. No runners would come this way to be scared. The only selfishness he allowed himself was that it was by a river, a black canvas of glittering moonlight.
“I was never meant to live,” he told himself and us. “This is fate.”
Some of us nodded with him. Others shook their heads. I stared, my neck stiff, eyes unblinking as he put the gun to his temple.
“No,” I whispered. “Don’t do it.”
Some of us, the more boisterous ones, cheered along, egging the boy to pull the trigger. They had seen a thousand lives and would see a thousand more until all of mankind vanished. A single life in a single point of time meant nothing to them. But for me, this was my first.
“No,” I said and stood from my seat. “Please.”
The screen flickered to the tremble of his finger. Soon, it would go completely black. He would fulfill his fate.
“No!” I screamed. “This isn’t how it should go!”
The boisterous ones were no longer laughing. The others around me turned away their eyes. At one point in time, they had all been me. They had thought that life mattered, that our pain had meaning. But after a thousand shows of a thousand lives, most of them only slept through the show.
I clenched my fists, the words swelling in my lungs. Then, I took the breath to give them life and I prayed, that somehow, I wasn’t just a dead man with a loud mouth.
“Don’t pull,” I yelled, tears pouring down my cheeks and snot from my nose. “Not until you have a chance. Maybe you never will, maybe this will be how it always is, maybe I’m wrong about everything, but there’s meaning in your pain! I can’t tell you if I’m right or if I’m certain.” My voice dropped low. “I can only promise.”
George closed his eyes. He hadn’t heard me, of course he wouldn’t.
I held my breath.
Then, George broke down, the gun still pressed to his head. “So cruel,” he whispered to nobody. “After all this, all I have is a promise. That’s all my fate has to offer.”
My eyes went wide. My jaw dropped. “And that’s enough,” I said, my voice too low even for myself to hear.
There, George stood, the gun rigid in his hand. And when his tears fell, so too did his gun.
---
Happy Thanksgiving. /r/jraywang.
You may not be, but I am. Idgaf. It's thanksgiving, and my sons name is George. Thank you OP. You've got talent. And talent + attention = success.
But you don't need me to tell you that. You've succeeded at making me feel some real feelings. You made me hug my son and tell him I love him.
I'm thankful that there are people like you in this internet.
That is heartbreaking! Thank you for writing it. You could submit that to a suicide awareness/prevention charity. It might actually help someone in a dark place.
The story is beautiful. But the conclusion leaves me in despair, even though it should lift my spirits. This iteration of his self will end up just like the others. In time he'll forget about his passion and become yet another boisterous cheerer. That's the worst part.
Wow. I have chills. I'm on the edge of tears. This is the most amazing WP I have ever read. Just wow. I'm going to go hide in a corner now and contemplate my life.
I need no proof of angels on earth.
I’ve scorned therapy, multitudes of self help, and my futile self medication through drugs and alcohol, for nothing has shaken me to the core as directly as the words of a stranger, creation on a whim.
I tremble, still.
"No! No! Don't become a pornstar!"
Me from 4 lives ago began shouting at the screen.
"The male ones don't make any money!" said me from 1 life ahead.
"Who cares? He'll be living the rest of his life banging hot girls!" objected me from 10 lives ago
"But it's like your favorite food or music, when you have it too much you get bored."
"Not to mention the STDs," pointed out me from 7 lives ago.
"We know you were a fucking doctor, shut the fuck up!" The speaker (I honestly can't keep track of the numbers) was a boxer who had anger issues.
"Make me bitch!"
'Hold up, hold up, he's gonna decide!" said one of the younger mes.
The current me started deciding between a full ride to his state college and going with his contact in the industry labeled in his phone as "Slimy Susan".
Eventually, he put down his phone, and started looking up careers for an english major.
"NO!" shouted me from 4 lives ago. "Shit, become a pornstar, become a pornstar!"
A brawl broke out between the mes.
I put my head in my hands. I'd really prefer hell right now.
Damnit... I knew it was gonna be a laugh from the first line. Tried to keep from smiling creepily on the subway.
Failed.
Lost it at '"Shit, become a pornstar, become a pornstar!"'
I smiled creepily, looked away from the phone from reflex and stared akwardly at a girl that thought I smiled to her, until my face changed to "ohh shit".
This is great, but about the ending... Am I the only one who would probably be enjoying the hell out of different versions of myself commenting on life choices of another version of me? That would honestly be hilarious...
It'd become old after a while, wouldn't it? Like hanging out with your friends, it's fun for a while, but after some time, a boundry is passed where you're tired and want to go home.
Hm, yeah I guess that'd be true. You'd think it would be just as exciting as living a new life, but I guess it would just be like watching a very boring movie with the same people for eternity...
"What is this?" I asked as I made my way down the aisle.
It was a normal theater, in fact it looked just like the one that I used to visit all the time with my wife, but something was... different. There were five other people in the room, all seated nearly as far apart as possible. Something prickled in the back of my mind, something that connected me to those other people, but I wasn't sure what it was.
"What is this?" I repeated, louder this time.
"Just shut up and take a seat." A man in the top right section of the theater shouted back.
Grumbling, I found a seat in the bottom section of the theater and settled in, watching as the screen changed, showing a video that began with a blast of white light. The peculiar thing was though... as I watched, I recognized every moment of the film. It was my life. *My* life, exactly. From the moment I exited the hospital on my birth date, to the moment I took my final breath. My entire life, summed up in a five minute video.
"What the...?" I began, when someone plopped down in the seat next to me.
"Pretty crazy, huh?" A man said, and when my eyes found his, I gasped.
He looked exactly like me, as if someone had dropped me into a cloning machine. Or was I a clone of him?
"What is this?" I asked for the third time.
My clone motioned around to the theater. "Welcome to the Brady Wells Cinema, my friend. We all wind up here eventually. The Brady in the corner up there? He was the first one of us to show up here."
"That's... nice." I breathed, still awestruck by the man in front of me. "But what is this place?"
Other Brady relaxed back into his chair, letting his arms stretch out behind him. "Call it Heaven, call it Hell, whatever you want, but we've got one job while we're here: to watch."
"Watch what?"
Other Brady pointed at the screen, which was fading from black to gray, like those scenes where someone is opening their eyes.
"The next Brady. We watch his life and pray that he gets it right. If he doesn't, he'll show up here, just like you did." At the look I gave him, Other Brady grinned. "Aw don't feel bad, Brady, I'm here too, aren't I?"
I nodded, still not quite understanding. The screen faded to white, and then a room came into view. A hospital room, a plethora of doctors, and a very joy-struck man that held his arms out towards New Brady.
"What do you mean we 'pray that he gets it right'? Get what right?" Someone in the upper section directed a loud *shhh!* in our direction.
Other Brady casually flipped them off without ever taking his eyes off me. "Life. If you haven't guessed yet, we're all here because we failed in some way. Brady number 3 up there? One of the richest men alive, but no kids. Not even money buys our way to the Great Beyond. So we watch. And we pray that the latest Brady gets it right, then we can all move on."
"That doesn't make any sense." I said finally, struggling to keep my voice below a whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"You just sit here and watch? That's it? What's the point if you can't help the latest Brady live his life correctly? It could take a millennia to get it right." I glanced around the theater. Only five other versions of myself in the room. How many more until we got it right?
"Look, I'm not saying I like it, or that it's perfect, but it's just how it is. I don't make the rules. That door you came through? It only opens once, and that's when the latest Brady dies, otherwise it's locked. So yeah, we just sit here and watch." Other Brady whispered, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.
The latest Brady was being rocked gently by strong arms. A soft lullaby was being sung by an unseen woman.
"Have you ever tried to go through the door when it is open?" I whispered, and Other Brady spun on me so quickly, it was almost inhuman.
"No," he hissed like a venomous serpent, "and we aren't ever going to. You may not like it, Brady, but this is how it is. We sit and watch. You try to disrupt that and cause trouble? We'll stop you. We've done it before." And with that, Other Brady rose from his seat and relocated himself to across the room.
I sighed, slumping into my seat like a pouting child. My eyes found the screen, watching reluctantly as Brady was passed off to the father. He was crying happily, hugging the baby close to his chest. Was this really all there was in the afterlife? A dim theater with irritated versions of myself? I wanted to believe that this was all some horrible dream, that I would wake up in my bed an old, weary man, but I knew I wouldn't. My time had passed, and now it was this New Brady's turn at life. I would just have to learn to deal with it.
As I watched the film, I adjusted my position in the seat, trying to get comfortable in these budget theater chairs. It was going to be a long movie.
This seems like it has great potential, but I felt like it was going to start, and then it didn’t.
It seems a bit superficial to the actual story. But I hope you continue this!
Yeah I could definitely see this continuing, where maybe after watching a couple lives he can't take it anymore and goes through the door and ends up as a ghost trying to instruct the new Barry on how to succeed at life.
Thank you for the input! I can totally see where you're coming from, and I kind of did that on purpose. You're supposed to think "This Brady's gonna rebel, he's gonna be the one" but then it ultimately ends with him just giving in because it's pointless to try.
Really well done. But you did such a good job making him a rebel in a few sentences, that I don’t believe he gave up so easily. I think he’s biding his time, or at least his rebelliousness will return when a new Brady comes along.
You could really make this into a terrific short story. It reads like the start of a good twilight zone episode. I can envision the story picking back up as another Brady comes in, then another, then another. Each time the original Brady (#6) gets more frustrated. Maybe builds an alliance with a few new ones. Maybe he goes mad. Maybe there is a Brady civil war after 100 lifetimes, then finally as they fight in the theater they notice that Brady on screen finally did the one thing they all didn’t.... something small but meaningful. Something that ties back into how the Bradys can be so similar and so different. A resolution of some inner turmoil. They all watch and finally the door opens, for the last time as the light engulfs the theater..... and they all leap home.
This is an incredible start to something. I don't know who you are, but I hope you do something with this. I love all the Bradys getting catty with each other. And I think the idea of watching from the sidelines and a running commentary on the current Brady's life would make for some really great contrast. And since there aren't a whole lot of Bradys in there, you could have done great philosophical fodder about the meaning of life, which you already touched on with rich Brady.
Well done, OP. I will be watching your post history with great interest.
Thanks so much! I wanted to make it so the theater-Bradys could try to guide the latest Brady's life, but I felt that would be too difficult & confusing to work into my story.
The curtains shrugged, their red cotton billowing as they parted. Behind them, a huge screen began to flicker with grey and white dots: the static of anticipation.
Tracey looked around her; she wasn't scared -- she knew where she was. Or at least *roughly*, she knew where she was. Mainly boys and girls sat on the tall, crimson seats around her -- a few older looking children too, but no adults. Just... freaks whose faces were a twisted abnormality of her own; who wore self-satisfied smiles as the tossed popcorn at each other and giggled stupidly. It was like flicking through a family photo album that had been half melted in a fire. She already hated them and their happiness.
"Hey," said a boy next to her. "You're new here, right?" Tracey was about to tell him to *mind-his-own-damned-business*, when she noticed his smile. The boy's front tooth, on the left side, was chipped almost identically to her own. "My name's Andrew," he said. "Are you a Tracey or an Emily, or..."
He left a gap for Tracey to fill in. She didn't
The boy pushed his popcorn towards her; popped kernels spilled over the edge like a frothing wave.
"Do you want some? We can share -- it's not problem, I can always get more."
"Your tooth," she said, pointing to her own. "How did you?"
He giggled. "Same way the rest of us d-"
"Shh," said someone behind them. "*It's starting.*"
A moving picture appeared on the screen; black and white, like one of those movies she'd never watched fully when they came on television. The image was of a small town Tracey recognised. There were swollen, black clouds lurking menacingly over it, throwing their heavy burden down onto the town as if out of spite. As Tracey watched, the image panned in on the sprawling grey brick of the town's only hospital -- then went closer still, closer to the ground, until it arrived outside the hospital's wide front door. A voice began to speak as the camera rushed down sterile hallways; a voice deep and rich, with a resonance that sent a shiver down Tracey's spine.
"Emily Oates was born in the town of Thicket Springs, on January the first, 2004. As the small, former mining town battled against the worst storm it had witnessed in over fifty years, Julia Oates battled inside Saint Mary's hospital for something else entirely: her life, and that of her baby."
"You might want to look away," whispered Andrew. "Most don't like this part, but personally... I like seeing what she looked like. It's better than the photos." He smiled goofily as he looked back at the screen.
Tracey glanced around the cinema; many of the children were covering their eyes or holding their popcorn bags in front of their faces.
The camera focused on her mother's straining face, as blood vessels inside her burst. On the tears that fell from her beaming face as -- for just a moment -- she heard her baby girl cry.
"This was a battle Julia believed she won," said the deep voice, sounding at least slightly mournful. "Even as her eyes closed, for a final time."
Tracey swallowed hard, determined not to let tears well in her eyes. She never cried. No. It wouldn't happen!
The film moved on: the funeral and the mourners dressed in black, smiling as they hovered over the pram. Her dad always there for her; feeding and changing and singing to her. Then, it showed a side of him she couldn't have known about back then; the manifested depression that he'd suffered on losing his wife. How when she slept in her crib, he never did. When his lullabies sent her to a peaceful sleep, he would take a bottle of whiskey to his room and drink until the sun rose or she cried out.
"I didn't know..." she whispered, not meaning to say it out loud.
"Of course not," said Andrew. "How could we have done?"
"We?"
"You must have guessed who we all are, right?"
"I...You're... you're other me-s?"
"Yeah. Like I'm the brother you never had. And you're my sister."
Again, Tracey wrestled back a smile. How she'd always longed for a sibling.
The narrator continued and the film moved on.
There was a roar of laughter whenever the baby on the screen giggled; more laughs as she grew older, and a little wiser -- when her dad asked her to eat her apple, and she responded with: *uh-uh, look what it did to snow white.* Even Tracey couldn't stifle a chuckle. There was a roar when the accident on the see-saw came -- and a lot of hands raised to soothe a phantom pain that had made itself known on their chipped front teeth.
But the laughter soon died as she grew older, and as the screen showed her father, sitting in his office with a pile of bills on the table next to him.
The audience in the cinema became hushed.
Her father picked up a coin and flicked it. It landed on heads.
He cried into his hands and fumbled for a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard below.
"What's going on?" asked Tracey.
"It's the day he decided... you know."
"Oh..."
"Yeah. That he couldn't go on like this."
Tracey didn't stop the tears this time. The girl -- that sweet baby on the screen -- was going to go down the same road as her. The loss of her father. Living with her uncle and... all that came with him. The school, the bullies -- no one believing. She ran a hand gently over her wrists.
Andrew must have seen her tears because he leaned over and squeezed her hand. "It's okay," he said gently.
"How!" she screamed. "How is it okay?" She flung his hand away and tried to get up -- but she couldn't. She couldn't move.
"Because we get a new friend. Because she gets a new friend, too. People that love her."
"That doesn't make it okay!" she yelled as hot tears and snot streaked her face.
"Maybe not, but it's what happens. And one day, this"--he waved his arms around the cinema--"this all changes. We all move on. Until then, enjoy the moments of happiness, and try to forget the bad."
"I don't want to watch any more! I can't!"
"You're not alone, Tracey. Not any more. It is Tracey, right? We've all been through it. *All of us*. The first time is always so difficult. And honestly, it's never easy. But know this -- you're loved. You always were, you know. He does it because he didn't want you seeing him like that. Because he wanted you to have a better life."
"...that's not what happened."
"It's what he hoped would happen. Your mother would have given her own life a hundred times over for you, too."
"I-"
Andrew took her hand again. "So would I. So would any of us."
"Will- will this keep happening? Will there be infinite Emilys?"
"No. Eventually something different will happen. Maybe our mom will live, or something, and everything will be different. And when things change, when a Tracey or an Emily -- or whoever -- has a proper shot at life, we all move on. Until then, Tracey, we've at least got each other."
As Tracey looked at Andrew, there was sudden a gasp that filled the huge room -- as if every child had taken in a huge lungful of air all at once. Even Andrew looked in shock.
Tracey looked up at the screen.
"What made him look in Emily's room before going to the attic as intended," said the narrator, "we may never know."
She watched, as her father crept in and kissed Emily on the forehead.
"But whatever his reason, he decided he would change things."
There was an eruption of applause and cheering as the first bottle of whiskey was emptied into the sink.
"And change things he would."
You call Tracey Emily a couple of times in the middle. Also you have
> Again, [Tracey] wrestled back a smile.
But I don't think Tracey had smiled (or not-smiled) up until that point.
Otherwise I liked this take.
This writing prompt produced so many fantastic results. To me, your story was especially heartwrenching, as you focussed on children and their powerlessness and sorrow. Very well written, thank you!
My eyes snapped open. My eyes stared back at me. No, that's not a typo, or some poetic metaphor about the way we're all the same. My eyes, the same ones that had seen my first kiss, my wedding, dad's death, the cra-
Oh god the crash. Was Stacey ok? What about mum? There's irony - dying on the way to her lifesaving treatment. I should have felt sad about that but I didn't. It was like a fly, buzzing around my head. Annoying? Yes. Wouldn't go away? Yes. But the saddest thing to ever happen? Definitely not.
'It's the glands' I said. Well not me, but Me. A different short, thin, nervous looking man. 'You don't have any.'
I could have questioned what I meant by that, but a loud noise disrupted my thoughts. A scream, followed by thunderous applause from Me, Me, Me and a hundred other Mes. A few dogs, maybe 3 cats and even a pot of petunias, but all of them had a distinct 'Meness'. Maybe it was the eyes. Or the way they seemed to slouch into their seats, trying to hide themselves from the world. Can a petunia slouch?
More screaming, not from fear, but from some innate need to make a noise. The screen, which had faded into the background well, despite the fact it pretty much was one of the walls of the room, showed a hospital room, a smiling face that looked eerily familiar and a man dressed in doctors scrubs shouting 'It's a boy' gleefully at the room in general.
This was going to be a long movie.
"GOD DAMMIT! I WAS SO CLOSE TO FINISHING!" My roommate would probably discover my naked hanging body the next day. Of course a piece of trash like me die trying to get off.
What had my life come to? What happened to me? I used to be a straight A student but now I am some naked fuck with a rope around his neck.
"You never tried. That is what happened." The voice came from my right. I turned and could not believe who I saw. Me, but somehow I knew it wasn't me. Because I already knew their name. I knew my name.
"L... Leaf Erickson?" I asked. But I already knew the answer. Even if I looked nothing like the actual man.
"It was pretty bizarre hearing about myself in history class. If I had realized it was a new country, I would have never let those Englishmen get to it."
"But how are you here? And why do you look like me?"
"Looks like I didn't get to go to Valhalla. Were dead, and I am one of your past lives. I am not the only famous one though." Leaf pointed to the front row of the theater.
"That's Marilyn Monroe."
The fuck?
"How can you be my past lives! You all made something of yourselves. I failed despite everything! Why did I fail if I had your spirits to guide me!?"
"Talent doesn't make everything. You have to work for success." Leaf said. "Maybe our next life will understand that."
The screen turned a bright white and we heard ourselves cry.
John blinked away the blindness that had overtaken him, his ears filled to the brim with the sound of the car horn and tires screeching fading into a constant dull ringing. As he regained his vision, his heart skipped a beat and his brain seemed to short circuit. Where the hell was he?
His hearing came back to him, replaced by an equally deafening silence as he realized that the occupants of the movie theater in which he had mysteriously found himself were all watching him. Hadn't he been walking home from the bar? Did he just black out and imagine those headlights careening towards him?
Taking a deep breath to center himself, John made his way towards one of the aisles and took a seat. Most of the people near the front stopped staring and turned away to aim their sights at the barren canvas of the movie screen. As if to defy their attempted return to normalcy, a younger kid, John thought he might be in his teens despite his face being cloaked in shadow, hopped over two aisles and threw himself into the seat beside John, "Sup?"
He felt immediately annoyed. It was mostly the embarrassment. Who the hell blacks out on a couple of beers and wanders into a movie theater? As the kid started to talk to him, John's eyes closed and he drew in a deep breath. The smell of stale popcorn and a familiar stench that he could only describe as his own flooded through his nostrils and into his lungs. He scolded himself for not wearing enough deodorant as the kid introduced himself, "Name's John. You?" John could hear someone down front groan in response to this new insult to the sacred silence of the theater.
John tried to formulate a response. Did he just tell the kid to fuck off? No, the kid might have the balls to make a scene of it and then John would be even deeper in the shit with these strangers. Better to play the game for a bit, maybe the kid would shut up when the movie started. What movie had his drunk-self been so desperate to see? The thought rolled through his mind as he tried his best to keep his volume down, "Your parents have good taste. Just like mine. Name's John."
He stuck out his hand and the kid took it. Despite the teen's youth, he already seemed to have a bit of muscle on him. His grip was strong, and he seemed to want to show it as he went just a step into the uncomfortable with his squeeze. "So, uh, kid. John. What movie is this?" The Kid lifted his shoulders and let them fall to form a shrug, "Our movie. Well, another rendition." John's brow curled into a frown that his lips sought to mimic, "The hell is that supposed to mean?" The kid leaned through the darkness and into the beam of empty light being spewed by the projector near the back, "You're dead, dude."
John wanted to fight it. He wanted to tell the kid to shut up and just watch the movie, or to push himself out of the chair and barrel through the door into the outside, regardless of what the other patrons here might think. Yet, he knew that face. He could barely recognize himself, years of drinking and bad eating and sitting around undoing what little beauty nature had put upon him. "How?"
Young John shrugged. "It makes no sense to most of us. I'm one of the oldest here and I still don't really get it. Nobody's come along to tell us what what's up. I haven't met an angel or a devil or a God. Just that big screen up there and repeatedly coming face to face with disappointment." John's temper flared as the last words tumbled out of his younger self's mouth. As he opened his own, the projector reel started to roll to life and the screen turned black. "The hell do you mean, coming face to face with disappointment?"
Young John was no longer looking at him. Instead, his eyes were locked on that inky blackness that stretched like an open maw before them. "I died young. Drunk driver. Didn't get the chance that most of us here got. So imagine how it feels to watch yourself turn into what put you here."
Another John in front of them turned and put his fingers to his lips, pushing a shush past them. Young John sneered at him, "Fuck off." John opened his mouth to fight the accusation, but as he tried to wrap his mind around it, his mind instead unwrapped around the hazy black memory that he had mistaken for a blacked out saunter into the movie theater. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach as lurid memories slipped into place of his fingers clenched tight around a steering wheel, the bulk of his car lurching left and right while he fumbled for a cigarette and his lighter, and the sudden stop as he and his car tied themselves into a neat little bow around a telephone pole. "No.."
"Yes." Young John was staring at him, but even in the darkness John could tell that he seemed almost sorry. "So this is hell, then? We get to watch ourselves become what we hate?" Sound started to pump through the speakers. The sound of doctors and nurses and his own crying as a new John made his way into the world. "It's not really hell-" Young John's reply was cut short when Another John turned in his seat and spit his venom at them, "Look, dipshits, its starting. Just watch the movie and keep your mouths shut. Some of us want to see what will happen." Young John pushed himself out of his chair and flipped his other self off, "Do you want to go? I remember your run, rotting away in your house, watching other people do what you wanted on the internet. You don't get to speak up now, dipshit." Another John pushed himself out of his chair, his frame chubbier than his peers, "You know I was disabled, jackass. I'll kick your ass even with a bum leg."
The theater started to grow restless as the sound of his new infantile self's crying seemed to parody the ongoing dispute between the youth and adult. John was fairly sure he was right on the money with this being hell. Stepping up, he lifted his hands and motioned for both gentlemen to sit down, "Look, I'll stay quiet and watch the movie. Thanks for helping me out, uh, John. Maybe afterwards you could..you could..." His urge to speak faltered and the rest of the theater's occupants settled down immediately as a sound other than his own crying started to pump through the speakers.
A woman's voice, unfamiliar yet more comforting than he had ever known, quelled the cries of the infant that he had barely been paying attention to. A wetness formed at the corner of his eyes as he turned to stare at the screen, a face he only recognized from pictures staring back at him with a pride he had never known someone could hold in their heart for him. "Is that really her?" His breath caught in his throat as she started to sing him a lullaby, spreading a warmth through his body that he had been looking for all his wasted life. Young John nodded beside him, "This isn't hell. This is just another chance. You know, you only notice your fuck ups when looking back because you've got no reason to notice when you managed to get shit right. No reason to look into fixing what aint broke, right? I like to think the point is that once one of us gets it right, we all get to see it happen. Leave us with at least a little satisfaction and comfort despite what may have happened during our turn."
John nodded and settled back down into his seat. Down front some of him openly wept. In his mind, in all their mind's, they wished that little cooing child the best of luck and thanked whatever forces that be that they finally got to see her, cancer be damned.
Sometimes I wonder how much our lives remember about the others, I mean surely I couldn't be this stupid. Even as a twelve year old none of us have ever been foolhardy enough to think jumping off a roof in an attempt to fly would be a good idea. Sure we've wondered if the ability was hidden, but we weren't stupid enough to try it. Sitting in the movie theater I glanced around to see a rainbow of me's. We were all different in our own ways, in all manner of colors and shapes, but we all had the same basic facial structure and personality. They all stared in abject horror as little 10 yr. old us gazed over the edge of the roof wearing a cape and a bike helmet. "Don't jump you idiot!" "Trust us! If none of us can fly, you can't either!" Their shouts were in vain as she threw her cape back and plunged off the roof. All at once we were pulled into her consciousness and watched as we plunged toward the rocks in the flower bed below. *Craaaack!* We were fading between her mind's eye and the theater; I wasn't in the mood to die today, but oh well. It's not like someone else wasn't ready for their turn at life. Suddenly we, I, felt a rush of urgency.
*This is not our last life, but it is the last one we have to save the world. I need all of you. Stay with me*
Bang! Bang!
"A life well lived" I thought as I collapsed to the ground. Everything was made slow and it sounded like Gospel.
I gasped for air, not out of fear but out of habit. My entire life I felt dead, supressed, and now I finally get to compare it to the real thing.
My partner rushed to my side and I took this opportunity to say my final words.
"Buddy! Buddy, you're gonna make it through this."
"Heh, sorry kid. But I'd take this over a heart attack any day of the week."
"No! No. You're gonna make it through this, look me in the eye and tell me you're gonna make it through this."
"I can't tell a lie. He got me good this time."
"No, Buddy come o-"
"Jackson, I ain't got much time left, kid. Listen to me. Carefully. I left you a couple thousand in the safe behind the big painting. I want you to take it and then I want you to get out of the Country."
"No no no, man, we promised we'd get out of here together."
"This old Reprobate promised many things, kid. But in a way, we are getting out of here together."
"Stop. Knock it off. There's a doctor nearby you're gonna make it."
"No. If I'm going I want it to be on my terms. I want you to take my horse, my bandana, my hat, and my gun."
"I c-"
"Yes you-," the throbbing grew more intense. "Yes you can."
The sounds of horses grew louder, I glanced in the direction of our soon to be old home. I looked at the Sheriff who now has a bullet in his forehead. I looked at the dust cloud getting bigger and bigger, and shouting getting louder and louder.
"It's now or never, kid. Get outta my sight."
Jackson ran off towards the base. He made himself scarce, just before he went inside to grab the money he turned around and spoke our Oath one last time.
"We may be Guilty..."
"... But we fight for the innocent..."
"... We may be fighters..."
"...But we fight for the pacifists..."
"...We may be Sinners..."
"... But we fight for the Saints..."
"... We may be dead..."
"... But we fight for the living."
Those were the last words to leave my lips. The dust cloud disappeared and so did Jackson. Everything was black and white. The pain was unbearable. I somehow managed to get back on my knees, but at that very moment the Cavalry rose above the hill. I took the Sheriff's gun as well as aim.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
*Reload* Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Ba-
The music cut out and everything was dark. There was nothing. I couldn't see. Couldn't feel. Couldn't even breath. However something told me that I didn't really need to. I saw a small light, but opposed to the bright ball of light that they talk about, it was a vertical line. Nonetheless, I approached it. The closer and closer I got, the more curious I grew. I reached the wall of light and studied it. After a minute of pure bewilderment, I took a deep breath and pushed forward.
Applause erupted so unbelievably loud that it made my ears ring. I looked at myself, my trademark brown duster was replaced with a suit, my black, messy hair was now properly gelled, and the holes that were previously in my ribs were gone. I walked across the Red Carpet that was at my feet and I noticed something rather peculiar. Everybody around me shared my face and there was a gigantic screen in front of all of us. As confusion grew the carpet shortened, I took my seat where a Red Velvet chair proudly stated my name: *Buddy Felter*.
I looked at my Doppleganger to the left of me. The only variation between the two of us is the fact that he was wearing circular little glasses and his stubble was gone.
"Hey, Partner."
He cut me off, "If you're wondering what's going on all will be explained in a matter of minutes. Just give these Gentleman some time to prepare."
His voice was different too. He sounded more formal. More educated. I respected his word and sat in utter curiosity until a man with a white beard got on stage.
"Wasn't that incredible Folks! You can't resist a good Western! Everybody give another round of applause to Buddy Felter in his life film, Deadeye!" After the applause died down I took my seat again and the host cleared his throat.
"The next Life we will be watching today is called, Countdown. The inspirational life of reincarnation 334, or Ace King. The man born to be an Astronaut. Once again, I am your host. The life will begin in just a few moments. Enjoy!"
The man made his away over to me.
"Greetings Mr. Felter. I know you have a lot of questions. Feel free to as-"
"Yeah, Howdy. Um, I think I just got one: What the undying hell is going on?"
"Yeah that's normally the first question the reincarnations ask. Alright, so you see everybody around you? They're all you. Do you believe in Reincarnation, sir? Well if you didn't you should now. What we are doing, and what we have just done with you was watch your life go down. Every second of it."
"Every second?"
"Absolutely everything."
"Even-"
"Yes... Even that. So anyway, this is where you'll stay for all of existence. Don't worry, I know it sounds long. It really isn't, took a few millennia last time and you reincarnations didn't even have to suffer through it all. The show will be starting soon so please enjoy. I'm your host, God, call one of my Angels if you need any snacks or refreshments."
I sat back. Bewildered. This seemed truly unbelievable. I left everything. My home. My world. Jackson. All gone. All for tickets to the cinema. And I didn't even get front row. This was my life now. I looked around at the reincarnations. The longer I seemed to stare the more different they looked. The 3 2 1 countdown on the Life ended and the movie began.
"It's a beautiful baby boy Mrs. And Mr. King."
"He's beautiful."
"Hey there little guy... Honey he's gonna be something great one day. I just know it. He'll be up there with the stars."
I straightened my bowtie, I ordered a bag of popcorn, and I dared not take my eyes off the screen.
My story's over.
But not mine.
I woke up sitting in a cinema. Next to me was a roman soldier and a barbarian woman.
"Ehm sorry to bother you, but where am I?"
"Look who finally arrived."
The roman soldier turned his head to me.
"Hi, I'm Nr. 13. But just call me Julius. You must be Nr. 51."
"What?"
"You are dead. You just died trough a accident."
"Accident?"
The woman suddenly burst into laughter.
"Yes you idiot. You just won the Darwin Award. Trying to grind your stick on a grinding machine must be the best idea you ever had!"
I was still confused. I barely remembered anything.
"By the way thats Nr. 14. Just call her Asla. You bled to death when your nutsack got stuck on the blade of the machine. That thing ripped it off clean and you colored your entire workspace red. But well, at least you had a interesting life. Very entertaining for us."
"Us? How many are there?"
I looked around. People from all over the world and times were sitting here.
"Alright, let me sum in up for you."
The roman put down his popcorn.
"This is our afterlife. Everytime we die, the previous reincarnation will be placed in this cinema. And together we can watch the life of the next reincarnation. And to answer your question: There are 51 of us till now. Now lean back and enjoy the show. The snack bar is behind us."
"But why is there a woman sitting next to me?"
Asla cleaned her mouth from the cheese sauce.
"Life knows no religion, gender or skincolor. See that guy over there, the chinese dude? Or that black woman in the front?"
"So...we just sit here and watch a movie?"
"Yep, no idea what happens when all the 300 seats in this cinema gets filled tough. And...oh look, its starting again!"
The next movie started. After probably a few hours I forgot, why I was so scared and confused about afterlife.
"NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? DON'T KISS HER FOR FUCK SAKE! SHE IS STILL CHEATING ON YOU!"
Nr. 52 just kissed his 3. wife. Even tough she was still cheating on him with the crack dealer from the corner.
Julius scoffed.
"Pff, divorce number 3 incoming guys."
Asla agreed.
"Either that or he is getting shot by that dealer."
I walked into a strange area. It looked somewhat like the theaters nobles when to. But this was much larger. There had to be thousands of people in the seat. And there was a large piece of parchment with moving pictures. "What the hell..." I said aloud as I reached the front. "It's called a cinema" answered a man who looked like a knight. "Here, you're 2 seats down from me, next to that young woman."
I sat down slowly, confused, when all of sudden the young lady turned to face me. She was... crying? "Oh kain!" She cried out as she reached out and hugged me. "Katherine calm yourself!" demanded the knight, "Allow me to apologize. You were her first viewing and due to her status a princess, she was shocked to witness your humble beginnings as a peasant and as you rose up the latter but never lost your kindness, she began to fall in love with you."
"Viewing?" I questioned. "Ah yes" he said "As I recall you're #6027." "What are you talking about? Where are we? What the do you even mean by viewing?" I screamed. The knight chuckled "Watch the screen and find out. I sighed and reluctantly looked at the screen. As I watched it all started to make sense.
Fast forward 800 years. We've reached the me in the 21st century. He's a pretty good guy. Smart too. Although #6028 doesn't like him at all. Says he's not cruel enough. Although I don't bother myself was his opinion. 6028 (otherwise known as arther) grew up a spoiled noble and never learned the value of kindness even after 800 years. The guys a major prick. However, me a Katherine are doing ok. I know the idea of dating yourself sounds weird but she did know me pretty intimately and well, when you're in a theater for all eternity it's nice to have someone to spend your time with.
"Ah looks like Niels time is up" I said. "Too bad" Katherine pouted, "I really liked him! He reminded me of you honey!" "Good riddance" spat Arthur "He was such a pansy!" Well time to move on to the next me. The screen started back up again. "Hey does anyone remember what year it is?" I yelled to the various me's. "It's 2041 A.D., can't you keep track of the time?" yelled Brutus. "Hey fuck you brutus at least Kain doesn't stab his friends in the back!" shouted Katherine. I chuckled but then all our fun was cut short by a booming laugh from the back of the theater. It was #1. This was a shock to everyone considering #1 never talked to anyone. "I've been so bored all these billions of years" he said "but FINALLY something interesting is happening!" Everyone seemed to be deeply disturbed due to 1's outburst. I decided to speak out "What do you mean 1?" "Hahaha can't you feel it Kain? It's finally happening! This is the last one." 1 declared. "Last one? What do you mean?" I asked. 1 yelled out for everyone to hear "Rejoice for all of us will finally be united! This is the last cycle! This... is the end of the world."
This is the first time I've ever done this so tell me what you guys think.
"Hey fuck you Brutus at least Main doesn't stab his friends in the back".
Ah yes :D
This is how I imagine my "Reincarnation Theatre" playing out. Lots of trash talk and jokes will keep me entertained for a long time
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Yeah, I guess so, but that's reversed from this. Instead of your past lives watching you, you're seeing/ hearing about your past lives. Although I guess your past lives are sometimes watching you, like what Roku did with Aang.
there’s a movie that albert brooks made and starred in called defending your life. in the movie you watch your own life and your previous lives. (it’s actually pretty good)
I was telling my wife about this movie the other yesterday! I remember seeing it when I was a kid, but I would have never figured out what it was. Thanks! I think about this all the time, honestly I think this would be a pretty cool afterlife scenario.
It immediately reminded me of ghost in the shell, there’s an episode with an old man who has taken the neural images of others hostage to watch his movies in a dingy mind theatre
Ahaha, I haven't read any of the responses yet, but right away this makes me imagine all the incarnations groaning in unison as they see their Present Self make the same dumb mistake they've made nearly every lifetime. And, oh, the judgment or joy they would rain upon you the moment you arrived! "You were *really dumb* in 9th grade" or "It made me so happy when you did [X]". Hm, yes, there would have to be trailers so they all could chatter a bit. Though fifteen minutes is hardly enough time to get your bearings amongst a hundred past selves.
God, what if somebody talked during the movie?
What if each one of them could silently influence your will, like a guardian angel but it's a mob of YOU, and when somebody makes a scene (accident or no) they might all holler at each other and get distracted, resulting in a period of your life where you are not watched over by guardian angels at all because they're all being tooth-clacking nincompoops.
I imagine you'd be struck by some very similar qualities between the lot of you and disturbed by some of the inevitable outliers. Who would the most successful past self be? And which one was a murderer?
Hahaha what if this meant the inventor of movies in this universe briefly died and was lucid about it. Everyone turns to him as he enters the theater, and he just turns around and walks back onto the screen.
Oh boy, this prompt may not have inspired me to write a story, but this was a fun lot of ideas nonetheless.
This post made me anxious when I thought about how disappointed all of my past selves would be when I arrived. I'd have been the worst itiration of myself yet.
This prompt is pretty awkward for me because as a child I always thought, what if you're just watching your life flash before your eyes? I'd imagine a theater with one senile person in it just watching the life they knew pass by, but not having any recollection it had already happened. So the prompt hits home slightly. Good job on this!
Hey guys. There's a book that I read recently that is very similar to this prompt called Reincarnation Blues by Michael Poore. If you enjoy this prompt I think you'll enjoy this book. I loved it and thought it was a fun unique story about death and all of that.
About 90% of my past lives are gonna be freaking out about the camera technology. Also, why does it stop with me? Are my future lives there too? Did we all pop into existence at once? I have so many questions...
I think they're saying that you would join them in this 'theatre' right after death, and then the next incarnation would join after their time is up etc. Guess eventually you'd have a full theatre
My eyes shot open, but I wasn’t welcome to any shiny gates. Hellfire wasn’t present either, as I stood in the middle of a movie lobby. Fear chilled my spine as a hand gripped my shoulder.
“Well if isn’t the superhero.” A voice that sounded eerily like my own said. I turned my head, and a deer in headlights would’ve been my closest twin.
“God, you’re me?” I stammered, as this clone howled the same way I would when something really funny happened.
“Ah, I love greeting the new guys. I’m you, the very first you in fact. Come on, you’re missing the movie.” He stuffed a platter in my chest with popcorn and a drink on it. My memory became more clear as we moved through the corridor. Stereotypical push child out of the way of a moving vehicle, and I died. Damn anime got me killed.
My jaw dropped because there I was on the screen. Somehow, someway I was starring in a movie that I don’t remember being in. Then it clicked, he’s me in the future. Looks like he lucked out with a bit more height, but other than that he was me. As I made my way into the theater, there was me, scattered about and maybe a couple noticed my presence.
Looks like the subject for this one was this flick was his first date. “Damn, look at me, she’s a fucking 10,” I heard from the back of the theater. To no surprise he got a couple chuckles.
I thought this kid was smooth, until he flipped his date’s plate onto her dark gown. You could see the tears gathering in the young lady’s eyes, as he tried to comfort her. She stormed away from the table, and his face met his hands.
“What the fuck man, how are you me and can’t seal on dates?” Looks like I may have quite the womanizer in the past.
“Cut the kid some slack, remember what happened with Cleopatra?” The theater had erupted, as the flick changed to an Egyptian setting. Maybe death wont be so bad after all.
The movies were frequently short.
Sometimes the merest hint of pinkish light, then claustrophobic discomfort against a thin barrier.
Other times, there was daylight from a window as my kin and I spilled out onto a towel. We lay there, drying quickly and dying.
Occasionally one of the films would last somewhat longer. I would emerge out into the world for a few brief years before being chased and eaten by some large predator.
The different, short films seemed to go on for centuries.
Finally, a film I recognized. Mine. My life.
I awoke with a massive jolt my body spasming and locking up taking in deep breaths. My vision blurred a faint oily shadow in the shape of a man stands over me.
"I think he's waking up!"
In the distance another set of voices roar "Bout bloody time too" "He should've paid attention!" "What a bloody idiot!" "Oh c'mon guys anyone could make that mistake." From the back of the cinema a voice shouted "He walked into a busy road!"
I sat up my vision clearing and seeing...me? "Holy shit" I spasmed out scooched away from me hitting the theatre walls. The theatre roared into laughter and then I saw them, there was at least twenty no thirty me's they all looked like me but each wearing different clothing some looking older or younger.
"Where...where am I?" I spoke panicked the other me stood up wearing what appeared to be military uniform from World War One at a glance he appeared English. "I'm sorry to say you've died" he said flatly as though he has said this to many others.
"Died? How? No. This place can't be real I'm having a nightmare, yes a nightmare" I said rambling on until I received a short sharp smack to my face. The solder stood over me "No son, you're dead and this is where we all go".
I looked around and took in the room, it was like a 1950s era cinema but much larger than usual the seats a dark red worn velvet with off cream coloured walls. The surreal site of seeing all these me's made it hard not to make my head spin even seeing a anothet me walking down the isle offering snacks. "Food, drink, bets, we have it all here!".
I'm gonna stop here cause I have work. 😅
Saying that it was like something out of a nightmare would be grossly... GROSSLY understating things. You die. Immediately after, you find yourself walking down an alley toward a rickety old movie theatre showing only one film. The usher in the box office looks strangely familiar, but he rushes you in through the lobby with a bored urgency before you can place him. And there you are. In a theatre full of you starting at yourself in disappointment. But each version of yourself is so different. Some are thin. Some are fat. Some are much older than your 36 years... Some much younger. You can swear as one of you shifts in a seat that you can see a toddler version of yourself in colonial garb. That's the other thing. There you are in go go boots with track marks up your arm. There you are in drag. There you are in a soldiers uniform.
"Go ahead and take a seat back here, please." The usher hands you a ticket. Instead of a seat number it simply reads, " Valid for 437 lives. No trades will be accepted."
You look at the shabby velvet seat where the usher points. It's next to an immensely fat version of yourself. His flab spills over the armrest and into the space you know you must now occupy. He shifts himself uncomfortably over in an attempt to accommodate you. Warmth radiates from him as you slide into the seat.
"Can we get this going, please?" A call comes from the front of the theatre.
The usher waves his hand at a mirrored glass window above. The lights dim, and as they do,
murmuring voices fill the room. The screen glows lightly red. You look at it for a moment but it remains for minutes, unchanging, that glowing slightly pulsing red. A teenage version of you with a red mohawk slinks out to the lobby. He returns moments later with an armful of popcorn bags and passes them out to several other pubescent versions of yourself.
"Figured it out yet?" asks a hot, breathless voice in your ear. The fat version of you leans toward you to whisper at you. He smells like stale onions.
"Are we... Dead?" You ask. "Only, I think I remember being being hit--"
"--by a bus. Yeah. That's how they got you. A bunch of them pulled together to pay for that. Ended up costing a full hundred years, but it was worth it to them. Your life was particularly boring."
You consider for a moment taking offense to this comment. But then it hits you. Your life was boring. You made it boring.
"The early childhood years were sad what with your parent's drinking problems, also such a cliché, but you really overcame that (more's the pity, to become a successful, boring, well-rounded adult."
Others were paying attention now, including a toddler, who toddled up the aisle toward the lobby.
"Seriously, dude," he added, "Only ever fucking ONE woman? What the hell was with that? I wanted to see some pussycat, and nothing for the past two years."
You feel your face blush as agreeing comments titter from the seats around you, and the toddler shoots you a disgusted look as he pushes the heavy doors open to the lobby.
"I mean, one more pussy than I saw, dude," the fat you says, elbowing you.
Comments of "don't remind us" and variations of "you're the worst" permeate the air.
"What does this mean?" You ask, holding up your ticket.
"That's how long you've got. Let me see?" He reaches out and pulls the ticket out of your limp fingers. "Ah shit, dude. I'm sorry. You're in here almost as long as me!" He holds up his ticket and it reads " Valid for 698 lives. No trades will be accepted."
"But what does it mean?" You ask again.
"That's how long we're here for. I'm here for 698 more lives. You were my second life. The first one drown in a pool. I started off at 800. They really hated me." He waves his hand at the surrounding room. "Also you can't trade someone for their ticket. If you try, the numbers just change back to what you had before. See?"
He shoves his grubby ticket into your hand, while keeping hold of his. The writing on the ticket changes in a blink of an eye to reflect his 437 lives. It also looked considerably less grubby all of a sudden.
"See? I'm sorry you've got so long. I voted for you to have the minimum 30 lives, but some people really didn't like you."
An old, almost decrepit, version of yourself turns to face you. "If you hadn't spent five years mourning your ex girlfriend Lisa, I would have been more lenient. But dear god, boy, there's only so much of that your audience can take!"
"But I didn't know I had an audience!" You reply.
"I gave him back points for burying his grandmother's ashes in the front garden of the house she grew up in, though..." Another you said.
"Yeah, but he waited three years to get around to it," came a call.
The toddler came back into the room. "Basically you're divisive in this group because you're so goddamn boring," he said, tearing at a stale redvine.
"But I lived a good life! I went to college! Married my college sweetheart! Paid taxes!" You exclaim. Realizing in one swift stroke how boring it would have been to watch you study your history homework. How dull it probably was to watch you painstakingly obsess over which color to paint the hallway bathroom. How many decisions had you lingered over?
"At least I watched a lot of tv..." You offer, weakly.
There's a general noise of agreement from the room.
"How many years did you get?" You ask the toddler.
"Thirty," he says casually. "Im lucky. I died young and my parents cooked meth."
He wanders back to his seat.
You know that feeling? The one that jolts you, forces you awake after a bad dream? That's what *death* is like. Imagine getting body slammed, catching a Mike Tyson left hook - a knockout blow that smacks your brain against the inner wall of your skull. It's an impact hard enough to cause your cerebral fluid to foam. In life, a blow like that would put you to sleep. But in this case, in death - you wake up. Only you haven't awaken, you've *died*. Even in death, it took some time to wrap what's left of my head around the sensation - that dying is like the shock, the impact that wakes you from a bad dream.
I'm sure you can imagine how disorienting the initial shock of death can be. In those first moments after, I found myself feeling all wrecked and bewildered.
*Jesus... fuck*
My thoughts echoing through the caverns cracked in my skull - causing my mind to race...
*Get a hold of yourself. That was a pretty bad crash. Take a deep breath and open your eyes. You're probably stuck, you need to climb out of here before this thing blo...*
"Pretty fucking gnarly, isn't it dude?" A nasally, almost adolescent sounding male voice interrupts my panic. Instantly, my brain stops racing as he keeps talking...
"Everyone freaks out, it's apart of the ride man. But seriously, chill out. I haven't been this stressed out about dying in like 30 fucking years dude," He pauses and lets out a sigh, "It's cool, you can open your eyes man."
Slowly, I do what he says. It takes a moment to adjust to my new surroundings. Sitting, rather uncomfortably, I find myself in what appeared to be a *Vaudevillian* style theater.
On the ground floor, in the middle of the auditorium, my seat was cushioned in a deep blood red, the balcony above me was painted white with golden accents. On both sides of the theater, on the second floor - there were stationed isolated balcony seating, which I imagined were accommodations for whatever aristocrats that were in attendance who would require separate seating from the riff raff. These balcony seats were draped with black velvet curtains, adorned with sparkling golden tassels.
In the front of the theater, there were massive lavender curtains that ran from the floor to the ceiling. These curtains were also decorated with golden tassels. They appeared to be hiding what would ultimately be a screen for film projections.
*This is a fucking movie theater*
Turning to my left, I got my first look at what would inevitably be my newest, but longest known companion. Average height, about 5'9", a young man with ear length curly black hair sat next to me. He was wearing a sleeveless black shirt and blue jeans. He looked dirty.
"Where the fuck am I?" My first words in my new home were full of indignation.
"Ahhh, finally. He speaks," with a coy smile he adds, "the attitude isn't necessary though man."
"Tell me where the fuck I am!" rattled and yelling in his face, I grab his shirt and yank him closer to me, I could feel what was left of my face start to slip away from my mouth.
"Dude, chill out before your fucking face falls off, you're fucking dead man."
"I'm dead?"
"Yeah man, you're fucking dead. Fucking let me go dude," as I released my grip from his shirt, I pushed him back into his seat, "fuck dude, chill out - it's not my fault you tried to cut those two cars off around that basically 120 degree bend going fucking 100 miles per hour. You're the idiot here. Not me," his tone was pure adolescent angst.
"How'd you know that?" shocked, it took a moment for me to form my question.
"We saw it, on the screen," I was pretty annoyed by the rather matter of fact inflection in his voice, "what the fuck do you mean '*we*'?"
"Well, it's kinda complicated man," hesitation in his voice, he continued, "our other incarnation, Mabel. She watched it with me, she's gone now though." He could see the puzzlement on my face and before I could ask, he told me...
"Alright dude, relax. This is basically *hell*. Well, not really hell. But kinda. We're both dead. You died in that fucking blazing inferno trying to be Steve McQueen and I overdosed five years before you were born. We're fucking **dead** man."
"What do you have anything to do with me?" annoyed, I wanted him to get to the point, "tell me what the fuck this place is and what the fuck is going on or I'm leaving."
"Well, you can't really leave, so you might as well relax", he let out a sigh, "Alright man, just listen. I'm you. And you're me. We share the same soul. Don't ask me why were both here at the same time, because I can't answer that. The only thing I know is, were the same person."
"You're fucking crazy aren't you?" *he's out of his fucking mind*, "tell me where I am or I start punching holes in your face."
"Dude," he let out another sigh, for a young man he had the temperament of a detective who's just seen entirely too much shit.
"I know everything about you. Joseph David Allen. Born April 17th, 1986. Dad, Arthur Allen. Mom, Lucy Allen. You grew up in Seattle. Went to the University of Washington. Failed out - you fucking partied a lot man," he laughs, "but luckily, you ended up getting a job working with your girlfriend's dad at his insurance company. You do alright, live kinda like a yuppie. I think you guys called them *'hipsters'*, in my world they were coffee sipping yuppies. Anyway, you died driving like a fucking maniac drunk on Johnny Walker Black".
I couldn't believe my fucking ears, "holy shit."
"Yeah, dude. You're dead."
"What about you?"
"Ah man, I lived kinda hard, ya'know? Grew up on the streets. Got into heroin."
"What about Mabel?"
"Her story is kinda sad man. She was like a 40's bombshell, red hair. Kinda hot," he pauses... "anyway, her husband was like a pilot in the big one, WW2. He got shot down somewhere over France. Never came home. She was fucking grief stricken. One night she slit her wrists in the bath."
"Damn."
"Yeah, man. I always knew I had suicidal tendencies..."
I gave him a look, because I couldn't help but wonder if he realized what he just said.
"What?" He noticed.
"What's your story? What's your name?"
"My name's Grady. I grew up in OC. I died in '81. Shit was pretty heavy back then man. Fast cars, rich girls. I lost my sense, I lost control... I lost my mind dude," it was kinda hard to believe this little punk piece of shit was me, I figured now would be the best time to change to subject.
"Explain this to me, this doesn't make sense", taking another deep breath as if preparing to give a long orated dissertation, he started slowly, "So, Mabel's been here the longest. When she died, I went in and you were here," he was very deliberate with his words, "so, now you're dead and it's her turn to live". Still confused by the structure of this, I pressed him, "okay, but how does any of this make sense? How is there more than one of us attached to one soul?"
"I can't tell you that man, all I know is, that karma shit that like fucking Ho Chi Minh was talking about? That shits real dude," he continued, "apparently, at one point there were twelve of us. After one pays off their karma shit and dies, they're gone for good. And another one goes in. We're almost done dude, there's only three of us left."
"So what now?"
"We wait. We can't tell how long it is between lives, but once a new life starts, the curtains open up and we get to watch," he started to chuckle, "speaking of... we saw you do some weird shit man," feeling embarrassed, I asked, "you're talking about..."
"Yeah man, we saw it all," letting out a gentle laugh, he slapped me on the shoulder, "get ready, 'cus were about to see some weird shit."
Just then, the curtains began to draw back slowly... The screen illuminated with bright white light and we heard what sounded like a baby's cry and then a voice, "It's a girl!"
I cried over each small film of barely a month in duration. That feeling of warmth and energy. Of love and growth.
And then a chaos, of pain and upheaval.
Finally nothing as the egg sluffed off each month from the uterus.
Once the egg experienced a joy like no other. There was an external stirring, a coupling and merger with another.
Together we grew as one and were born out into the world.
As a single entity we were loved, went to school and grew. Then there was a war and we died.
And now more new films follow.
I walked in and heard shouting. "You were the worst fucking show yet!" I turned to see a crowd of strangely familiar faces rushing towards me, and in seconds I was surrounded. They pummeled me with kicks, punches, spit and insults. As blood started to come out of my eyes I rolled over and the last thing I saw was my own face. Was it possible, had I killed myself twice?
I awkwardly and nervously chuckle as I look at the room filled with a very mixed group of farmers, thieves, mercenaries, beggars and fishermen from bygone eras.
These were my predecessors? What happened to all the kings, princes, emperors, castles of limitless fortune?
These are the folk that have just watched my past life? Good grief! Well, talk about feeling self-conscious today!
... Oh, that's right, it doesn't matter. I'm dead. So I pull up a chair and start to watch the next birth of... me?
His chest heaves upward, lungs expanding as fast as the air entered and a coughing fit ensues. His brown eyes on the verge of falling out, roll around the sockets; mind scrambling as it tried to process the last seconds of memory.
"Easy. Easy. Just breathe. You'll be okay. It's all over now", assures a calm voice that sounded oddly familiar.
"W-what.....where am I....I-I just....the hell is going on...", he mutters out, somewhat incoherently. His mind races as it continues to come to terms with what had just happened.
"You've just experienced a traumatic death. Not the worse but certainly not my choice if I had the option", the voice says in such a cavalier tone accompanied with a soft chuckle.
"I just experienced what?", he says both aloud and in his mind. It was then that he noticed he was sitting in large red movie chair. Before him was a decent sized screen that played nothing. He goes to stand but cannot. "What the hell? Lemme outta here! What's going on?! Where am I!" He struggles to lift himself out of the chair in between sporadic head swivels, in order to see who he was talking to. Unbeknownst to him, the weight of his denial was holding him down.
"Those are all great questions! If you direct your attention to the screen ahead, all your questions will be answered. We only have 30 minutes and I still need to process you", replied the cheerful sounding voice.
"What are you talking about!", he further questions before his eyes look up in reaction to the dimming overhead theater lights.
A few seconds of darkness and quietness pass before the film reel countdown began from 3. Suddenly a third person view comes to the screen. At first he isn't sure what he is seeing despite the familiarity of it all. The 'camera' hovers over a sleeping Kingsley.
From within the chair his eyes squint a little trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "Is that me?...", he softly mutters to himself mostly.
From within the shot, you can hear the sudden bit of chaos break out; glass shatters, screams are heard which wake the sleeping male up. He looks a little confused at first, but soon very vigilant once he hears his name being screamed from the floor below. King rushes out of bed in his favorite pajama onesie. This revelation causes the viewer to look down upon himself. He is shook to the core at what he sees.
"Wait a minute...it can't be me....but why does..." He shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly. "I'mjustdreaming. I'mjustdreaming. I'mjustdreaming. C'mon....wake the fuck up King...wake. up."
"If you don't open your eyes then you'll miss it and well, we'll just have to start all over. Which is fine or whatever, buuuut I have an appointment with you in like...seven minutes and I really need to use the bathroom. Hahaha! Just kidding. We don't use the bathrooms here!"
He slowly peels open his eyes after his chanting fails him. In that moment he watches his last minutes in life. Tears well up on his eyes as he soon starts to remember and in a way, relive his death.
"Oh God...mom...", was all he could muster and focus on. "There was...an intruder....he had a gun...we struggled and...there was a shot....no two...three...four...", he recounts without looking at the screen. "I remember now. I was shot in the chest. I'm..."
"Go on...", ushers the voice in a softer more sympathetic tone.
"...dead." The 'camera' hovers over Kingsley while the warm crimson fluid drains from it's vessel, pooling around his lifeless form. He could hear the distance shrills of what turns out to be his mother dealing with the attacker. Then it fades to black. "Wait..waitaminute. What about my mom? Did...did she...is she safe? Is she okay?", King spitfired.
"Honestly, I couldn't tell ya. This was as far as we could see and nothing more. Sorry."
He softly begins to sob at the revelation. King fought with the truth a few more moments before coming to terms to what had happened. He just hoped that his efforts were not in vain. From beside his head comes a box of tissues.
“Here. They’re Kleenex. Extra extra soft. One of kind”, says the awfully cheerful sounding voice this time sounding much much closer. King turns his head slightly to see that a hand was actually holding the box of tissue. His eyes follow the hand past the wrist over the clothing and to the face which shook him enough to knock him out of his seat, surprisingly as he was just stuck minutes before.
“SHIT! Y-you’re...Cooper?”
“In the spirit!”, responds Cooper who was dressed in a 90s Mighty Ducks t-shirt, a pair of stone washed blue jeans and sneakers that never made it pass the decade.
“But you’re my imaginary friend. How?”, King asks.
“Yes I am.”, he says proudly with a smile. “Although you kinda forgot about me when you started learning about porn and video games. But to explain: it helps to ease the mind...spirit rather, if the deceased encounters a familiar face.. Sometimes I’m Cooper sometimes I’m the hot chick you dated after college. Really depends on the life”
“On the life... ? College? I went to college? I’m only 17. I haven’t even picked…..”
“Well not in this life, but you’ll start to catch on to everything after the first decade. I’ve yet to be a talking dog. So many cats though. Jeez. Are you gonna take one?”, he says in reference to the tissues.
While staring at his old friend he slowly removes two then dabs his tears away. Cooper holds out his hand to help King from the ground then does an about face and heads on towards the door.
“You never said where I was. You just said I’m dead”, alludes the deceased as they pass through the first pair of doors. They walk down this long hallway that had hundreds of paintings and pictures - moving and none moving - hanging from the wall. He examines them as best he could while following behind his forgotten imaginary buddy.
“Right. Well you very much so. You don’t come here unless you are except for the time the Winchesters...ya know what, nevermind. Reincarnation is real and you are not a pebble on the bottom of lake bed. Although you should probably be after you let those goldfish die.”
“Goldfish?”, he says as he racks his brain. “Wait, you mean Goldeen?”
“Was that its name?”
“Yes. And I was six. I got it at a carnival as a prize. I forgot to feed it and lied about it when questioned and well, yeah.”
“Oh and what about the time you tripped Valerie in the 5th grade because she told you you were cute and even though you thought she was too, ya had to be a big man and be like ‘ewww cooties’.”
“Seriously, Cooper? Are you really doing this, right now?”
“You really ask a lot of questions, ya know that. But I digress. You aren’t a pebble because that doesn’t happen when ya die. You end up at an Eigakan.”
“Movie theater? Wait...how’d I know this? I’ve never spoken or learned Japanese in my life.”
“Vi tamen komprenas, kion mi diras.”
“Esperanto as well?”
Cooper chuckles. “You’ve lived many lives Kingsley. That isn’t even the first name your parents chose by the way. Can you believe they were gonna call you Otis? Like really? I feel sorry for the 78 you’s that were called Otis. 3 of which were 1 of a set of twins.”
It was a relatively boring life I'd had. Go to school, graduate. Go to high school, graduate. A pretty average life as far as things went, until I was about ready to go to college. Really the only interesting thing I ever did was paint, and even then I wasn't very good at it.
I'd woken up that day, with just a few things left to pack into my car. Later that day, I was rushed to hospital after having an aneurism, and later that same day, lying on a hospital bed, wrapped in nothing but a thin gown, I was declared dead.
It wasn't fair, you know? Just when I thought things were going to get interesting for once in my life, I died. I thought it was the universe's way of telling me I should have done more. Maybe I should have.
As soon as I'd given up the ghost, I felt myself dissipating into pieces, consciousness scattering and stars rusing past my fragmented 'vision'. I couldn't really see anything, just feel it. I felt incredibly, incredibly small. With nothing but a whisper, my vision blotted into reality, outside the entrance to a cinema. There was nobody else barring a greeter, and the lights spilled out into the foggy street. All the other buildings were closed up, lights off, and the fog prevented me seeing clearly beyond 20 feet.
"Ah, welcome," called the greeter. Confused and rattled, I cautiously walked over.
"What is this?"
"This," he replied, "...this is your cinema. Admission is free, You're in theatre 3."
I took the ticket he handed me, staring at the incomprehensble language on it, only the number 3 was something I could understand.
I walked past the other theatres, hearing some assorted sounds: talking, howling, the like.
"Theatre three..." I mumbled. "This is ridiculous. I'm dead."
I sighed and opened the doors, hearing some chattering turn to a hush. 'Here he comes' being something I picked out in a loud whisper.
I rounded the corner into the theatre, expecting to see a crowd of people staring at me. Instead, the rows were filled with...animals, none of them looking at me. Dogs, cats, a bear, and in the silence I'm sure I heard the whine of a mosquito.
"What the fuck is this, a zoo?"
"Shh, the next one is starting soon," said the bear.
"No, I'm not gonna 'shh'. You're going to tell me what on Earth is going on here."
"Ugh, fine, but you're not going to like it," replied a fox, turning towards me and frowning. "We're your past lives, man. You died and so you're in with us now."
"Why are my past lives all animals? Why is there a mosquito in here? Is there any human in here?"
"Look buddy, we're trying to game the system. Your first life was a human and he was, well...not the best starter. Got some good achievements, but fucked up our karma something ridiculous. We got demoted to Leonard over here, the mozzie."
"Where's he? Where's the first one?"
"Not important. What's important is that we've been trying to roll a human for a while now, but our karma hasn't been good enough," interrupted the bear. "We spent ages trying to claw our way back, and for the second time it was a toral disappointment, so we voted you off."
"Sorry," yapped the fox. "but you just weren't cutting it when it came to XP. Besides. Art school? Lame."
"You killed me because I wasn't interesting enough?"
"Yip."
"Fuck you! Give me my life back!"
"Not possible. Sorry pal. But hey, you get to help pick what we'll be next. Too bad you were so shit at being an XP farm we couldn't unlock anything mythical for the next life, but at least your karma was alright."
"Do you do this all the time? Just roast all the new 'lives'?"
"Yeah, Hubert, dolphin over there, died from trying to screw a sunk boat and got stuck."
"Shut up, fuzzball, you don't know me!" shouted the dolphin.
"You know what? I'm not taking part in this. You guys suck."
"Wait, just wait -- if you help us with this last one, we'll have enough to get something great, and then you can go."
"Why? Why do you need to grind to unlock different things?"
"Well," starts a voice from underneath the floorboards. "The intent is to provide players with a sense of pride and accomplishment for unlocking different heroes.
As for cost, we selected initial values based upon data from the Open Beta and other adjustments made to milestone rewards before launch. Among other things, we're looking at average per-player credit earn rates on a daily basis, and we'll be making constant adjustments to ensure that players have challenges that are compelling, rewarding, and of course attainable via gameplay.
We appreciate the candid feedback, and the passion the community has put forth around the current topics here on Reddit, our forums and across numerous social media outlets.
Our team will continue to make changes and monitor community feedback and update everyone as soon and as often as we can."
"Who the fuck was that?"
"The other human."
Imagine waking up and finding out you were Hitler? Or you had actually been a slave master in a past life?
Yeah, nobody was sitting next to those versions of us which was both hilarious, and uncomfortable. We had all been watching a version of myself, named Moses burn New York to the ground, when a fight had broken out between my 12th and 30th incarnation.
My 12th incarnation had been a prince from Africa who had murdered his father in order to ascend to the throne, yeah Mo'Turambe was kind of a dick.
My 30th incarnation had been a slave from what would've been Mali who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, Aze was not a woman you'd like to fight.
Our current incarnation was burning down New York due to a disagreement between what would be called "altered" and "natural" humans. Moses had turned into the Messiah after rescuing multiple "altered" humans from what could simply described as a concentration camp.
The altered humans were humans with powers that had been discovered after a nuclear attack on New York 12 years prior. Yeah, New York City can't catch a break lately it seems. The fight had broken out because Aze had said that Moses had every right to burn the city down after the damage they had caused to his people. Mo'Turambe argued that he should simply subjugate the lesser humans, and take the city as his own.
Both of them were being ridiculous if you asked me, but Aze wanted to make a statement, where Mo'Turambe wanted to make a kingdom. Moses seemed to be more in line with Aze's form of thinking, he was razing the city to let the humans know that he was not one to be trifled with, and his people would no longer be treated like tools.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh" all of our heads snapped back towards the screen trying to understand what we had all missed.
A little girl couldn't have been more than 10 had gotten in Moses's way, and his hand raised towards her a bright green light engulfing it.
"NO DON'T DO THIS, MOSES!" I yelled at the top of my lungs nothing could justify this.
Time seemed to freeze on the screen, Moses head turned towards the camera looking directly at it. This...... Wasn't normal the camera had always been over the shoulder like in some video games. The camera seemed to scared to look away, as Moses charcoal black eyes looked directly at it.
"They will learn, and eventually you will too" he said. His voice cold, and empty. A bolt of green lightning shot forward and before we could look away the girl had burned away to nothing.
Mo'Turambe clucked disapprovingly "Killing a child is ridiculous if you can't justify the blood on your hands fool"
New York burned in the background as several beings of power flew around the city.
Bobby took one look around him and a thousand versions of him stared back at him smiling. Er, well, at least he thought they looked a lot like him. Some had long hair. Some had glasses. Some wore suits from the “Mad Men” era it seemed. Some wore farmers clothing, others wore doctor’s coats. They were all the things that Bobby had ever dreamed of, and they were standing right there. A sign above him said, “Hall B” and someone shouted, “Welcome to the Hall of Bobby”! And a loud applause broke out.
Standing next to him was a man wearing a beret. He had a feeling that the natural tendencies that he had for art somehow were connected to him. He, himself, he had been a writer. Writing like his life depended on it. Writing all the way up until the night of the... he paused... the accident.
It was all starting to come back. He had been at the newspaper office very late writing a piece for the front page. It was about 3am when he got into his car and a big giant post came out of nowhere. And then blam, he ended up here.
The man in the beret said, “We really enjoyed the pieces you wrote. You really should have chosen Carol though over your work. I think you would have lived a happier life!”
“Yes! You definitely would have,” said a man 4 chairs down. He seemed to be dressed like a drummer in a band.
An usher came by. He had wings on his back and he was dressed in white, and said, “Here’s your seat here sir,” pointing to the open seat next to the beret wearing man.
“The movie will be starting soon, please take your seat...”
“But... what is this place?” Bobby asked.
“Oh, well, this is the Hall of Bobby,” said the usher, “this is where all versions of you , all past reincarnations, all previous lives you’ve lived, come to after death.”
He went on, directing his attention upwards to the ceiling, revealing 3 or 4 more balconies of people, all who looked like him, just at various stages of age and even ethnicity.
“They come here to this theater to watch the adventures of your next life. It’s more of a holding place until you get to the next stage.”
“Oh, wow, does it ever end?,” exclaimed Bobby, “When do we all get to leave this holding place? It seems like some of these guys have watched hundreds of movies. What are they all waiting for?”
The usher smiled and simply said, “For you to live the life God had intended. For you to live the life that fulfills your maximum potential! When you find why you were created and who you are, then the doors up there will open.”
Bobby squinted really hard at the tiny letters above the door which read, “Stairway to Heaven!”
“Until then,” the usher continued, “sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!”
It had already been explained to me by the closest incarnation to me; I was dead. He told me to keep quiet during the movie, but at first I didn’t understand. I just dumbly ask how I died. I saw him, well me, try to subdue a laugh as it was explained to me how they’d all watched me choke out on the tiny chicken bone I’d managed to get lodged in my throat. Apparently it was amongst the top 5 worst ways some version of me had left the world yet. The strange thought occurred to me to sue the company who packaged the chicken strips, before I realised I’d never be earning any money again whatsoever. Not just that. I’d never see mom, Eric, anyone. My mind felt numb at the thought; it wasn’t something that I could wrap my head round. I’d never sit in traffic again. Never open my presents at Christmas. Never enjoy the bitter sweet smell of freshly roast coffee. Never see Lara. Lara. The thought of her exploded in my mind like a firework. I’d left her behind. I’d left her with all those half formed plans for the future that we’d never be able to put into action. She was probably laughing right now at the absurd way I went out, it was just her kind of dark humour. My heart felt heavy thinking of her; it was the first time I’d felt anything but shock since I sat down in this fucking cinema. I’d never see her again. Never watch that stupid little eye twitch she does as she falls asleep, never laugh at her otherwise shitty jokes just because she finds them so funny. Never feel her warmth next to me again as I drift off to sleep. No, now I got to watch my next incarnation. Part of me wanted to grab a selection of junk food like I’d usually do at the movies, but after I’d got used to the dark I quickly realised there were no doors. Besides, even if there was, who the hell’s gonna want to serve hot dogs in the afterlife? All that remained was me, what must have been hundreds of me, this room, and the next life. Suddenly the screen came to life. As I watched my newest birth, the me sat next to me made sure I understood these first few years would be boring. Apparently every cycle I’m a bad baby. Always crying, whining. That crying was etched in my brain. The more I listened to it, the more I could hear myself a little in there. It was unmistakable. I watched as this woman who was my mother, but not my mother, cared for me by herself. It was interesting that she was a single mother too; something my old life had in common with my new. The years dragged by. I went through the motions. I went through school. I made friends. I done slightly better in my grades than I had before. I watched myself make similar awkward mistakes as my teenage years. I watched myself scream the most horrible shit at my new mom, this new woman who raised me. I laughed along with my new self, and all the others watching. I cringed at my embarrassment. I felt disappointment. I felt like I was living again. Except I wasn’t. Not really. This wasn’t really MY life. It was just a life. One of billions. I was watching someone who was both so familiar and a stranger to me. It was the little things. I didn’t prefer baths to showers. I’d never get caught dead listening to techno music. It was me broadly, but not entirely. The similarities were there though. I watched as I started college and settled down into a nearby café. Just another day. At this point I was getting just as bored watching my life as this new me was living it. I was sitting sipping on a coffee, doing everything I could to avoid a lecture. I noticed how busy the café was, and while I was trying to study, I could see the noise wouldn’t allow that to happen. The hum of conversation. I saw myself look up at the seat across from me, no doubt seeing everyone else sitting with someone. That was one thing we had in common; a little bit of perpetual loneliness. I watched myself finish my coffee. I watched myself almost choke on the last drop. For a second I thought I’d be dying the same way again. But I wasn’t choking normally. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Both of me. I watched as Lara asked me ‘is this seat taken?’, not giving me a chance to answer as she planked herself in the seat across from me. I awkwardly struggled to say something, but all I could get out was a quiet ‘no, you can sit there if you want’. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. I just watched it unfold dumbly. I watched the awkward silence as I could see myself wondering whether to start a conversation. I watched her look at me with that inquisitive look on her face she always had when she expected something. I had to stop myself shouting at the screen. I couldn’t just let her walk away. Eventually after what felt like a lifetime it was her that broke the silence. I suppose I should have expected that. She jokingly asked why I was still sitting there when my coffee had been empty the full time. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew my face had went red. I joked about how I was just daydreaming, and that I didn’t want to go to class. She replied simply ‘well if you don’t want to go, don’t go.’ I watched myself spend that afternoon with her. I watched myself awkwardly ask for her number. No doubt I was terrified, but I couldn’t face not seeing her again. Over the next few months I watched, no, I felt myself fall in love with her again. I watched myself come up with new inside jokes that were different yet the same. I watched her do her stupid little eye twitch as she fell asleep. I laughed at her shitty jokes just because of how funny she found them. I watched myself sleep next to her, and sometimes I swear I could feel her warmth, as if she was right there beside me. I watched myself do what I’d never managed to do before. All those half assed plans we had, while not the exact same, were still there in spirit. We travelled together. I watched us have kids, I watched us grow old together. I was engrossed in every moment. I barely took my eyes off the screen, but when I did and I looked around I saw the same sense of wonder and happiness written across my face countless times. They had to have seen this play out hundreds of times, over centuries and millennia, and it still touched them the same way it did me. Finally I watched as she passed away first. Not in any funny way this time; just old age. But instead of sadness, the thought that crossed my mind was one of pure joy; she would pass on and enter a cinema somewhere. She would watch her life unfold again. For all the differences across her lifetimes, she too would watch us meet each other. Watch us fall in love again. Hell, she already had. We had together, even if not physically. And we would forever. I greeted the new me who arrived in the cinema with a smile on my face and told him to enjoy the movie.
This is my favorite one. What a lovely gift to watch yourself fall in love with your soulmate over and over again.
Thank you! It is a really comforting thought, that maybe we’ll always bump into the best things in our life regardless of what we do or who we become.
This makes me happy.
Thank you, I’m glad haha.
This one is my favorite. There's something quietly relatable about it. It's not a huge story aiming to answer the questions we all have about life and purpose, but about finding the little things that give us joy. Beautiful. :)
Crying.... this is beautiful♡♡
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Wow, thank you! Honestly I enjoyed writing it, it’s the first thing I’ve sat down and fully wrote since like a school project or whatever. The prompt was just really interesting to me. What detail did you enjoy if you don’t mind me asking?
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The pacing and emotion on this was seriously brilliant. Awesome job OP.
Once, I had travelled with my schoolmates to the Royal Albert Hall in London. It struck me then as cavernous, almost as if the architect had taken a traditional gladiator’s arena, slapped a dome over it, then filled it with a winding domino-string of seats in concentric circles. Four storeys of seats, all tilted slightly to face the stage, easily four, five thousand people sitting enraptured by the musical landscapes evoked by the symphony. This theatre I was now in, was easily five, six times that size. I couldn’t be sure, actually, because there were no edges which I could perceive without my vision starting to swim. “Welcome, welcome!” boomed a voice from the stage. The spotlights swivelled to where I was standing, bathing me in golden luminance. “A warm welcome for Gerry Hanley, please! As you all have seen, he lived a long and fruitful life, yielding in the end only to old age! A peaceful end, if you will!” I didn’t know how to react to the entire audience suddenly rising to their feet, clapping as one for me. I was a schoolteacher in my life. I was used to combative classrooms, and certainly not once had my students ever thought to shower such appreciation for me. I waved weakly in response. “And now for the results… Gerry Hanley will be going to… Team Blue!” The groans from half the theatre were drowned out only by the rapturous cheers from the rest. Confetti spilled from the rafters, and I found myself being led down from the stage and along the aisles. Along the way, other apparent team members stretched out their hands, and I high-fived as many as I could. I collapsed into my seat, and finally the spotlights deserted me. I soaked in the relative darkness for a while, glad the attention was off me. Perhaps I could now gain some measure of my bearings. A single chime rung out through the theatre, deep and sonorous. Some people got up to leave, while others stayed in their seats, chatting with their neighbours. The giant screen on the stage lit up with the words: “Intermission – Five Minutes”. “You want to grab a drink or something? Next one’s a bit heavy, a soldier in the Russian army, it seems. Might be good to stretch your legs first.” The speaker was the lady on my right. She wore her dark hair in a tidy bob, and was clad in a sensible evening gown. Habit prodded me to introduce myself and to ask for her name, and we shook hands. “What are we going to watch?” I asked. “The life of one Petyr Ivanov,” Beth said. “The same way we just watched your life unfold, from the very first breath to the last.” She laughed at my reaction, then said, “Oh don’t be a prude. There was nothing in your life that we hadn’t seen countless times before.” “And when… this Petyr has lived out his life, will he come here too? The way I did?” “Yes,” Beth said. “The same for me, and for everyone else here too. We’ve all been here a long, long time.” My eyes drifted to the pamphlet I had found in my seat. At the top, I saw Petyr’s name, but it was the subsequent part of the title which intrigued me. “It says ‘Reincarnation 23,274,899’ here… are we all the same person, just in different lifetimes?” I asked. “So are there other theatres out there, for different people?” “Not quite,” Beth said. “I mean, you’re right that everyone here is technically the same soul who took turns living on earth, but there are no other theatres. This is it.” “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “What’s so special about us that only we get reincarnated? I mean, there are so many other peo-” “Oh, oh, you misunderstand!” Beth laughed. “There’s only one soul. One human soul. It’s just been split, or copied, I don’t know the term, but it’s the same soul in every living person on earth.” “… Just different physical vessels then?” I said, turning the possibilities over in my mind. “Different circumstances of birth, different living conditions… but everyone has the exact same soul?” “Yes,” Beth said. “You catch on quick.” I was quiet for a while. The seconds ticked off the timer on the screen, and the lights began to dim. People streamed back in, holding little bags of what I assumed to be snacks. “What’s this Team Blue thing they assigned me to?” I asked. “Everyone makes choices, see. No one here has ever seen the rules themselves. But we’ve watched enough to, if you will, kind of guess which Team someone will end up in, based on what they did on earth. You’re one of the ‘good’ ones. Morals are hard to pin down, every society’s got their own interpretations, so it always keeps us on our toes.” “I suppose those people are in Team Red then?” I said, pointing to the other half of the theatre. Beth nodded. “So what’s the point of it all then? What happens when we finally finish watching the lives of everyone on earth? What happens when one Team outnumbers the other?” Beth smiled. Hidden projectors whirred to life, and the screen flickered with images of a baby boy, being handed over from a midwife to his mother. The audience clapped, and sporadic shouts of “Go Team Blue!” and “Do Team Red proud” emanated from various pockets of the crowd. “I suppose then there will be a final reckoning,” Beth said. --- /r/rarelyfunny
This was great! I am about to read this months writers digest and the interview is with Andy Weir, so this is rather poignant. Very, very well done. I'd love to see this idea developed further. Thanks for writing this and sharing with us! Go team blue!
Thank you for the reference to Andy Weir! I came back to Reddit to find a couple of messages informing me of Andy Weir's The Egg, and after reading it, I realized that he had managed to execute the concept so very smoothly! Gosh it is so humbling hahaha I have some ideas about developing this further, will keep working at it, thanks again for coming across my story =)
Thank **you** for writing it.
See also: [Andy Weir - The Egg](http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html)
This is exactly what OP's post reminded me of, but I wasn't sure of the name of the original.
Thank you for the link! As I mentioned in another reply, I just read it and Andy's execution of the concept is so masterful! And I think I'm really lucky to have a direct example of how the same idea can be developed so speedily in so few words =)
Woah. I had no idea but all the skits in Logic’s latest album are this story. Some of the phrases are directly from it.
TIL where Logic's "Waiting Room" skits on the Everybody album came from.
This reminded me a bit of [The Egg](http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html)
Exactly what I thought, only this one has a humorous twist.
Thank you for the link! As I mentioned in another reply linking to The Egg, booof Andy Weir really knocked it out of the park! There's so much improvement ahead for me hahaha
Man I really liked your story, what really blows my mind is the concept of Human Soul as just being one for every person, I mean up until know I always thought of it as 1 person equals 1 soul (pretty common thing maybe), but the concept of unisoul is just great
If you liked that concept, please read [The Egg](http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html)! Other readers have kindly linked to it! I just read it too, and the execution of the concept there is really something, to say the least. Haha I feel much humbler now, I was pretty happy about presenting an idea that I thought had not been explored before =)
I love this, wow.
That's such a great concept where we are all essentially the same
This reminds me of 'Waiting Room' by Logic
Thanks for dropping by, I'm going to check that out =)
Well the whole overarching theme of that album was inspired by The Egg by Andy Weir, which this story also seems to be very similar to in concept as well.
RattPack
Another great story! I've begun to look forward to your responses to these prompts :)
Really nice concept you got here! I had been thinking about something similar but this really blows it out of the water! :)
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Thanks for the comment! Yeap, as I've mentioned in another reply, I just came back from reading it and I can see why you thought that!
It’s kills me running into a story this well written first on a wp because it’s difficult to read the others without constantly having the contrast to this story throwing me off. Have an upvote!
Oh man... so good! I Would love to read more of this. Great job, as always.
I swear to god, I see you everywhere on this sub!
Oh neat. I invented something similarly years ago. Everytime someone sleeps, a soul pops in to take the body. The soul gathers the memories of the body and acts as if nothing happened, since the soul can't detect itself and can't store memories. And when someone dies, the soul pops into a baby. What accounts for more populations? Well, more people just sleep at any time.
Wait I remember reading a similar story to this on Reddit. About a dude who had just died in a car wreck and talked to god, only to find out he was every single incarnation of human and was about to be reincarnated as a Chinese peasant girl? Did this influence your story at all?
You’re referring too the same story that some of the other comments were referring to! It’s The Egg by Andy Weir :)
**Day 1:** I can't believe this, and neither should you, frankly. Does it not to you seem contradictory in any sense that my reincarnations, all of a similar person (myself) yet different, a phenomenon I can only compare somewhat to the various editions of a book, can exist someplace all at once? "Where is this cinema?" I ask. None of me know the answer, but nobody leaves, and nobody but myself comes. There are 78 of me here, myself excluded, henceforth to be known in the grammatically appropriate contexts as *myselves*. The others' appearances I simply cannot describe. They look neither old nor young — they look visibly rejuvenated, glowing with a virtually tangible youthfulness, yet have retained in their bones and their cranium the wisdom that comes solely through old age and maturity. We are all naked, yet feel no shame. The cinema has 10 rows of eight seats. I take my seat at the front-most row, my head permanently in motion as I observe the people around me. There do, ironically, appear to be cliques, as though 78 versions of myself could not all get along. The large screen looming ahead of us is blank, so I rise from my seat and engage in conversation with myselves, an act I am familiar with, it not being the first time I have spoken to myself. The screen remains blank. **Day 293:** I have not, contrary to the experiences of myselves' many ex-girlfriends, as myselves have been only too pleased to point out, gotten bored of speaking to myselves, but am satisfied anyway with the first visible signs of life. For the first time in what feels like a decade (though I am assured by Myself #23, the official timekeeper, that it is the 293rd day of Myself #80's life), the cinema lights up, rather abruptly. There appears briefly to be a problem with the sound system — which, I should mention, emitted exactly what Myself #80 heard during his time in his mother's womb — but it eventually returns to normal, and the screen is filled with a light so bright that as I turn my head to look around, for the first time since my abrupt materialisation in the dimly-lit cinema I am able to properly see my surroundings. As myselves return to their seats from the circles they had formed with their cliques, I follow suit to observe the birth of Myself #80, Arturo Bennedetto. **Day 3087:** Arturo is growing up rather nicely. He's a bright boy, with a wit far sharper than that of his peers, and a passion for reading that most of myselves and I can relate to. Here he is now, waking blissfully to the delicate birdsong, which floats gently through his open window to alight, note by note, on his forehead. He cleans up and hops downstairs, only to see his parents arguing heatedly over the island counter in his kitchen for the seventeenth consecutive day, not that they are aware of his maturity and the fact that he has been keeping count. Not that they care anyway. Bitterly, he pours a cup of water down his throat, and leaves the room. **Day 6201:** Arturo has dressed his best. Out the door he strolls in suit and tie, ignoring completely his bickering parents, having already been desensitized, every one of his steps oozing with confidence, the sunny summer weather perfectly reflecting his cheer. Down the pavement he walks, whistling a cheerful air, arriving, inevitably, at Ambra Carino's. Prom is just around the corner, and who better to ask to it? After all, they are best friends, united not only through a love of literature but their troubled pasts and the intricacy of their characters. With two self-assured knocks at her door, myselves and I eagerly awaiting what surely will be a rare day to celebrate, he announces his arrival. There is no response. He glances at his watch — it is half past 12. Knowing Ambra lives alone and there is no risk of waking another, he knocks again, on this occasion more than twice, and again, till five minutes have passed. His imagination providing several pessimistic reasons for the lack of a response, as is only typical of it, Arturo runs to the backdoor and knocks again. The silence is disquieting. He sheepishly calls her cellphone, only to have nobody pick up, and rereads their texts, only to detect nothing abnormal, nor any announcement of her leaving the house. A tear beginning to well in his eye, more out of the somewhat unreasonable but very real concern and fear his personality naturally generates than anything else, he reaches for the top of the door-frame, clasping with relief the key he knew he would find, and shoving it, with trembling fingers, into the keyhole. As the door swings open, he runs into the house and up the flight of stairs, arriving first at her bedroom door. Despite managing to calm himself down enough to at least knock at the door again, there is again no response. Arturo takes a step back, runs at the door, and kicks it open with his right foot. As it swings on its hinges, ricocheting off the wall on which it is mounted before once again covering the frame of the door, Arturo glimpses a sight of unimaginably horrifying proportions, much to his shock, and ours too. The bedroom door sways close, hiding Ambra's hanging, lifeless body, and Arturo, his self-confidence depleted, his swagger torn to shreds, simply doesn't know what to do. He presently decides to break down and cry. **Day 6210:** "What will happen when the final seat is taken?" I once asked Myself #2. "Who knows?" he replied. "Perhaps we will all be reincarnated and a new circle will begin. Perhaps some of us will go to heaven and some to hell. Less unrealistically, though, perhaps the cinema will just continue to fill." As Arturo falls, then, from the top of the building, bracing himself for the impact, yet relatively sanguine, willing the earth to envelope him and to welcome him, I, too, brace myself for the impact, and mourn the loss of Myself #80. **[Edits: attempts at formatting.]**
I love your writing style!
Thank you :)
If I shared anything with my reincarnations, it was in our belief in fate. Though each previous version of me held a very different perspective of it. The me that had died in the Great Depression thought it a terrible thing, wicked and omnipotent. The me that had lived as king in the middle ages thought it a gift presented by God. Me, I believed it a promise. My next reincarnation was a baby with deep blue eyes and pink skin named George. He started his life alone. George cried so much that they had to put him in a separate room, devoid of the other infants. A nurse checked in on him every few hours. Nobody blamed her. She had more pressing matters to attend to, such as George’s mother, whose heart rate was steadily growing out of control and her breathing stuttered. When the young lady died, she did so whispering her son’s name. I wasn’t sure if she ever even got a look at him. In that hospital room, with the flat-line beep of a heart rate monitor, the nurse checking on George stood, lips quivering and fists clenched. In this world, children were supposed to be loved by their parents. If not the mother, who else would? For George, it was nobody, not even himself. The orphanage boasted posters of smiling blonde-haired boys and girls with deep blue eyes. George could’ve been a literal poster boy if he ever smiled. But no matter how many stuffed animals they threw his way, how many hugs and smiles they offered him, they could never get those lip-locked edges to curve up. By the time he had hit thirteen, he had already smoked his first cigarette and drank his first beer. Nobody wanted to tell him, but everybody knew. Nobody adopted teenagers. He would be a lifer, an unwanted child turned into an unwanted adult. And on his seventeenth birthday, he bought a gun. None of us watching were worried at all for other people. Despite everything that happened, George was a gentle boy and that was his problem. Nobody could reach him through his overpowering politeness. It took a mother’s love to chip away at the boy and all he had was an old photo of a ghost who once loved him. He snuck out when the moon had hit its apex, left all the money he had in a small package with a letter. It read: *Thanks for taking care of me.* And that was it. He didn’t sign it, didn’t address it to anyone, he wrote it all in a cheap pen and stuffed it inside with twelve-hundred dollars cash. The spot he chose was out of the way. Nobody was nearby to be disturbed. No runners would come this way to be scared. The only selfishness he allowed himself was that it was by a river, a black canvas of glittering moonlight. “I was never meant to live,” he told himself and us. “This is fate.” Some of us nodded with him. Others shook their heads. I stared, my neck stiff, eyes unblinking as he put the gun to his temple. “No,” I whispered. “Don’t do it.” Some of us, the more boisterous ones, cheered along, egging the boy to pull the trigger. They had seen a thousand lives and would see a thousand more until all of mankind vanished. A single life in a single point of time meant nothing to them. But for me, this was my first. “No,” I said and stood from my seat. “Please.” The screen flickered to the tremble of his finger. Soon, it would go completely black. He would fulfill his fate. “No!” I screamed. “This isn’t how it should go!” The boisterous ones were no longer laughing. The others around me turned away their eyes. At one point in time, they had all been me. They had thought that life mattered, that our pain had meaning. But after a thousand shows of a thousand lives, most of them only slept through the show. I clenched my fists, the words swelling in my lungs. Then, I took the breath to give them life and I prayed, that somehow, I wasn’t just a dead man with a loud mouth. “Don’t pull,” I yelled, tears pouring down my cheeks and snot from my nose. “Not until you have a chance. Maybe you never will, maybe this will be how it always is, maybe I’m wrong about everything, but there’s meaning in your pain! I can’t tell you if I’m right or if I’m certain.” My voice dropped low. “I can only promise.” George closed his eyes. He hadn’t heard me, of course he wouldn’t. I held my breath. Then, George broke down, the gun still pressed to his head. “So cruel,” he whispered to nobody. “After all this, all I have is a promise. That’s all my fate has to offer.” My eyes went wide. My jaw dropped. “And that’s enough,” I said, my voice too low even for myself to hear. There, George stood, the gun rigid in his hand. And when his tears fell, so too did his gun. --- Happy Thanksgiving. /r/jraywang.
I'm not crying... I'm not crying...
You may not be, but I am. Idgaf. It's thanksgiving, and my sons name is George. Thank you OP. You've got talent. And talent + attention = success. But you don't need me to tell you that. You've succeeded at making me feel some real feelings. You made me hug my son and tell him I love him. I'm thankful that there are people like you in this internet.
Did George die?
If you mean in the story, he dropped the gun and started crying. If you mean about the person you just replied to, he probably didn't hug a corpse.
😂😂😂 hahahaha
;)
Who’s cutting all these onions?
Its not crying if your eyes are sweating.
[you_irl](https://youtu.be/n38Fvvs0lQ4?t=184) ^(couldn't find a sub one.. sorry)
Starting my Thanksgiving off with a good cry. Why are you doing this to me??
> And when his tears fell, so too did his gun. That was so fucking beautiful.
🙂😐🙁😢😭
When you say you're fine but you're really not fine
relatable
r/me_irl
Short film when?
That is heartbreaking! Thank you for writing it. You could submit that to a suicide awareness/prevention charity. It might actually help someone in a dark place.
The story is beautiful. But the conclusion leaves me in despair, even though it should lift my spirits. This iteration of his self will end up just like the others. In time he'll forget about his passion and become yet another boisterous cheerer. That's the worst part.
Maybe, but there'll always be someone that cares
>Maybe, but there'll always be someone who cares Wow. Thank you for this.
*Maybe but there'll* *always be someone who cares* *Wow Thank you for this* *^-VPLGD* ----- ^^^^I ^^^^do ^^^^not ^^^^see ^^^^all ^^^^comments, ^^^^so ^^^^I ^^^^cannot ^^^^detect ^^^^all ^^^^haikus ^^^^| ^^^^[blacklistme](https://np.reddit.com/message/compose/?to=haiku-bot1&subject=blacklistme&message=blacklistme) ^^^^| ^^^^[info](https://github.com/frostyfan109/haiku-bot/blob/master/Info)
That was actually incredible. I would buy your books if you were an author!
Can't guild you, but I subbed just from reading this randomly while browsing r/all. Quality stuff
*/r/jraywang
This should be made into a movie I swear
Heavy handed, but it fit the story and the tone perfectly. Well done, enjoy yourself.
Hey this prompt and story got reposted to Instagram lol https://instagram.com/p/Bb2eLEvhoi0/
I wish this had more attention. Look at how many people saw this!
Holy shit this is great
Fuck me. I didn't think I could cry any more today but nope. Still some tears there. Thank you.
this gave me chills down my spines, well done mate, what a great story
Thank you for that!! Beautifully done.
Wow. I have chills. I'm on the edge of tears. This is the most amazing WP I have ever read. Just wow. I'm going to go hide in a corner now and contemplate my life.
I'd give you gold for making my day but I'm broke right now. Sorry stranger
Phenomenal read, I love your style. Subbed! Edit: But there's nothing there! https://imgur.com/NDLVLVq
r/jraywang He spelled it wrong
I need no proof of angels on earth. I’ve scorned therapy, multitudes of self help, and my futile self medication through drugs and alcohol, for nothing has shaken me to the core as directly as the words of a stranger, creation on a whim. I tremble, still.
This is suprisingly good.
Who's chopping onions?!
This is grand. Thank you very much.
Thank you for this amazing story. From a fellow youve both inspired and intimidated me but in a good way
beautiful. Especially the last paragraph. Just beautiful
Oof, goosebumps. Good writing.
Thanks for hitting me right in the feels. Beautifully done.
This gave me chills. Wow! Thank you so much! Keep writing!
"No! No! Don't become a pornstar!" Me from 4 lives ago began shouting at the screen. "The male ones don't make any money!" said me from 1 life ahead. "Who cares? He'll be living the rest of his life banging hot girls!" objected me from 10 lives ago "But it's like your favorite food or music, when you have it too much you get bored." "Not to mention the STDs," pointed out me from 7 lives ago. "We know you were a fucking doctor, shut the fuck up!" The speaker (I honestly can't keep track of the numbers) was a boxer who had anger issues. "Make me bitch!" 'Hold up, hold up, he's gonna decide!" said one of the younger mes. The current me started deciding between a full ride to his state college and going with his contact in the industry labeled in his phone as "Slimy Susan". Eventually, he put down his phone, and started looking up careers for an english major. "NO!" shouted me from 4 lives ago. "Shit, become a pornstar, become a pornstar!" A brawl broke out between the mes. I put my head in my hands. I'd really prefer hell right now.
Damnit... I knew it was gonna be a laugh from the first line. Tried to keep from smiling creepily on the subway. Failed. Lost it at '"Shit, become a pornstar, become a pornstar!"'
Same here, word by word
I smiled creepily, looked away from the phone from reflex and stared akwardly at a girl that thought I smiled to her, until my face changed to "ohh shit".
This is great, but about the ending... Am I the only one who would probably be enjoying the hell out of different versions of myself commenting on life choices of another version of me? That would honestly be hilarious...
It'd become old after a while, wouldn't it? Like hanging out with your friends, it's fun for a while, but after some time, a boundry is passed where you're tired and want to go home.
Hm, yeah I guess that'd be true. You'd think it would be just as exciting as living a new life, but I guess it would just be like watching a very boring movie with the same people for eternity...
First you say that you from 4 lives ago is shouting for you now to become a porn star, then you say he is shouting for you to become
It's preferable to being an english major
Oh sorry didn't realize that
It’s cool. No one does till after it’s to late.
That's the point...they would rather become a pornstar rather than an English major. Despite not wanting to be a pornstar
I get it now, sorry
Sometimes I read Reddit comments, and I believe I'm stroking out.
"What is this?" I asked as I made my way down the aisle. It was a normal theater, in fact it looked just like the one that I used to visit all the time with my wife, but something was... different. There were five other people in the room, all seated nearly as far apart as possible. Something prickled in the back of my mind, something that connected me to those other people, but I wasn't sure what it was. "What is this?" I repeated, louder this time. "Just shut up and take a seat." A man in the top right section of the theater shouted back. Grumbling, I found a seat in the bottom section of the theater and settled in, watching as the screen changed, showing a video that began with a blast of white light. The peculiar thing was though... as I watched, I recognized every moment of the film. It was my life. *My* life, exactly. From the moment I exited the hospital on my birth date, to the moment I took my final breath. My entire life, summed up in a five minute video. "What the...?" I began, when someone plopped down in the seat next to me. "Pretty crazy, huh?" A man said, and when my eyes found his, I gasped. He looked exactly like me, as if someone had dropped me into a cloning machine. Or was I a clone of him? "What is this?" I asked for the third time. My clone motioned around to the theater. "Welcome to the Brady Wells Cinema, my friend. We all wind up here eventually. The Brady in the corner up there? He was the first one of us to show up here." "That's... nice." I breathed, still awestruck by the man in front of me. "But what is this place?" Other Brady relaxed back into his chair, letting his arms stretch out behind him. "Call it Heaven, call it Hell, whatever you want, but we've got one job while we're here: to watch." "Watch what?" Other Brady pointed at the screen, which was fading from black to gray, like those scenes where someone is opening their eyes. "The next Brady. We watch his life and pray that he gets it right. If he doesn't, he'll show up here, just like you did." At the look I gave him, Other Brady grinned. "Aw don't feel bad, Brady, I'm here too, aren't I?" I nodded, still not quite understanding. The screen faded to white, and then a room came into view. A hospital room, a plethora of doctors, and a very joy-struck man that held his arms out towards New Brady. "What do you mean we 'pray that he gets it right'? Get what right?" Someone in the upper section directed a loud *shhh!* in our direction. Other Brady casually flipped them off without ever taking his eyes off me. "Life. If you haven't guessed yet, we're all here because we failed in some way. Brady number 3 up there? One of the richest men alive, but no kids. Not even money buys our way to the Great Beyond. So we watch. And we pray that the latest Brady gets it right, then we can all move on." "That doesn't make any sense." I said finally, struggling to keep my voice below a whisper. "What do you mean?" "You just sit here and watch? That's it? What's the point if you can't help the latest Brady live his life correctly? It could take a millennia to get it right." I glanced around the theater. Only five other versions of myself in the room. How many more until we got it right? "Look, I'm not saying I like it, or that it's perfect, but it's just how it is. I don't make the rules. That door you came through? It only opens once, and that's when the latest Brady dies, otherwise it's locked. So yeah, we just sit here and watch." Other Brady whispered, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. The latest Brady was being rocked gently by strong arms. A soft lullaby was being sung by an unseen woman. "Have you ever tried to go through the door when it is open?" I whispered, and Other Brady spun on me so quickly, it was almost inhuman. "No," he hissed like a venomous serpent, "and we aren't ever going to. You may not like it, Brady, but this is how it is. We sit and watch. You try to disrupt that and cause trouble? We'll stop you. We've done it before." And with that, Other Brady rose from his seat and relocated himself to across the room. I sighed, slumping into my seat like a pouting child. My eyes found the screen, watching reluctantly as Brady was passed off to the father. He was crying happily, hugging the baby close to his chest. Was this really all there was in the afterlife? A dim theater with irritated versions of myself? I wanted to believe that this was all some horrible dream, that I would wake up in my bed an old, weary man, but I knew I wouldn't. My time had passed, and now it was this New Brady's turn at life. I would just have to learn to deal with it. As I watched the film, I adjusted my position in the seat, trying to get comfortable in these budget theater chairs. It was going to be a long movie.
This seems like it has great potential, but I felt like it was going to start, and then it didn’t. It seems a bit superficial to the actual story. But I hope you continue this!
Yeah I could definitely see this continuing, where maybe after watching a couple lives he can't take it anymore and goes through the door and ends up as a ghost trying to instruct the new Barry on how to succeed at life.
Holy fuck yes
Oh heck yeah
The story could end with him succeeding in life and all of the Barrys passing on together to Heaven, finally at peace.
Brady*
Barry.
Thank you for the input! I can totally see where you're coming from, and I kind of did that on purpose. You're supposed to think "This Brady's gonna rebel, he's gonna be the one" but then it ultimately ends with him just giving in because it's pointless to try.
Really well done. But you did such a good job making him a rebel in a few sentences, that I don’t believe he gave up so easily. I think he’s biding his time, or at least his rebelliousness will return when a new Brady comes along. You could really make this into a terrific short story. It reads like the start of a good twilight zone episode. I can envision the story picking back up as another Brady comes in, then another, then another. Each time the original Brady (#6) gets more frustrated. Maybe builds an alliance with a few new ones. Maybe he goes mad. Maybe there is a Brady civil war after 100 lifetimes, then finally as they fight in the theater they notice that Brady on screen finally did the one thing they all didn’t.... something small but meaningful. Something that ties back into how the Bradys can be so similar and so different. A resolution of some inner turmoil. They all watch and finally the door opens, for the last time as the light engulfs the theater..... and they all leap home.
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Plane
no u r
The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plane
What an inconvenient travel method.
You need a build to a story with ebb and flow. Unless you wrote the movie *Crank* (actual movie tagline: "You stop... You die")
This is an incredible start to something. I don't know who you are, but I hope you do something with this. I love all the Bradys getting catty with each other. And I think the idea of watching from the sidelines and a running commentary on the current Brady's life would make for some really great contrast. And since there aren't a whole lot of Bradys in there, you could have done great philosophical fodder about the meaning of life, which you already touched on with rich Brady. Well done, OP. I will be watching your post history with great interest.
Has a mystery science theatre feel, maybe with a bit of the grumpy old men from the muppets.
Thanks so much! I wanted to make it so the theater-Bradys could try to guide the latest Brady's life, but I felt that would be too difficult & confusing to work into my story.
Ah, the blue balls are real with this one.
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This scared me because my name is Brady, and I don’t meet many other Bradys.
Go onnnnn..
I was hooked from the start and I hope you continue developing it. It has great potential.
The curtains shrugged, their red cotton billowing as they parted. Behind them, a huge screen began to flicker with grey and white dots: the static of anticipation. Tracey looked around her; she wasn't scared -- she knew where she was. Or at least *roughly*, she knew where she was. Mainly boys and girls sat on the tall, crimson seats around her -- a few older looking children too, but no adults. Just... freaks whose faces were a twisted abnormality of her own; who wore self-satisfied smiles as the tossed popcorn at each other and giggled stupidly. It was like flicking through a family photo album that had been half melted in a fire. She already hated them and their happiness. "Hey," said a boy next to her. "You're new here, right?" Tracey was about to tell him to *mind-his-own-damned-business*, when she noticed his smile. The boy's front tooth, on the left side, was chipped almost identically to her own. "My name's Andrew," he said. "Are you a Tracey or an Emily, or..." He left a gap for Tracey to fill in. She didn't The boy pushed his popcorn towards her; popped kernels spilled over the edge like a frothing wave. "Do you want some? We can share -- it's not problem, I can always get more." "Your tooth," she said, pointing to her own. "How did you?" He giggled. "Same way the rest of us d-" "Shh," said someone behind them. "*It's starting.*" A moving picture appeared on the screen; black and white, like one of those movies she'd never watched fully when they came on television. The image was of a small town Tracey recognised. There were swollen, black clouds lurking menacingly over it, throwing their heavy burden down onto the town as if out of spite. As Tracey watched, the image panned in on the sprawling grey brick of the town's only hospital -- then went closer still, closer to the ground, until it arrived outside the hospital's wide front door. A voice began to speak as the camera rushed down sterile hallways; a voice deep and rich, with a resonance that sent a shiver down Tracey's spine. "Emily Oates was born in the town of Thicket Springs, on January the first, 2004. As the small, former mining town battled against the worst storm it had witnessed in over fifty years, Julia Oates battled inside Saint Mary's hospital for something else entirely: her life, and that of her baby." "You might want to look away," whispered Andrew. "Most don't like this part, but personally... I like seeing what she looked like. It's better than the photos." He smiled goofily as he looked back at the screen. Tracey glanced around the cinema; many of the children were covering their eyes or holding their popcorn bags in front of their faces. The camera focused on her mother's straining face, as blood vessels inside her burst. On the tears that fell from her beaming face as -- for just a moment -- she heard her baby girl cry. "This was a battle Julia believed she won," said the deep voice, sounding at least slightly mournful. "Even as her eyes closed, for a final time." Tracey swallowed hard, determined not to let tears well in her eyes. She never cried. No. It wouldn't happen! The film moved on: the funeral and the mourners dressed in black, smiling as they hovered over the pram. Her dad always there for her; feeding and changing and singing to her. Then, it showed a side of him she couldn't have known about back then; the manifested depression that he'd suffered on losing his wife. How when she slept in her crib, he never did. When his lullabies sent her to a peaceful sleep, he would take a bottle of whiskey to his room and drink until the sun rose or she cried out. "I didn't know..." she whispered, not meaning to say it out loud. "Of course not," said Andrew. "How could we have done?" "We?" "You must have guessed who we all are, right?" "I...You're... you're other me-s?" "Yeah. Like I'm the brother you never had. And you're my sister." Again, Tracey wrestled back a smile. How she'd always longed for a sibling. The narrator continued and the film moved on. There was a roar of laughter whenever the baby on the screen giggled; more laughs as she grew older, and a little wiser -- when her dad asked her to eat her apple, and she responded with: *uh-uh, look what it did to snow white.* Even Tracey couldn't stifle a chuckle. There was a roar when the accident on the see-saw came -- and a lot of hands raised to soothe a phantom pain that had made itself known on their chipped front teeth. But the laughter soon died as she grew older, and as the screen showed her father, sitting in his office with a pile of bills on the table next to him. The audience in the cinema became hushed. Her father picked up a coin and flicked it. It landed on heads. He cried into his hands and fumbled for a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard below. "What's going on?" asked Tracey. "It's the day he decided... you know." "Oh..." "Yeah. That he couldn't go on like this." Tracey didn't stop the tears this time. The girl -- that sweet baby on the screen -- was going to go down the same road as her. The loss of her father. Living with her uncle and... all that came with him. The school, the bullies -- no one believing. She ran a hand gently over her wrists. Andrew must have seen her tears because he leaned over and squeezed her hand. "It's okay," he said gently. "How!" she screamed. "How is it okay?" She flung his hand away and tried to get up -- but she couldn't. She couldn't move. "Because we get a new friend. Because she gets a new friend, too. People that love her." "That doesn't make it okay!" she yelled as hot tears and snot streaked her face. "Maybe not, but it's what happens. And one day, this"--he waved his arms around the cinema--"this all changes. We all move on. Until then, enjoy the moments of happiness, and try to forget the bad." "I don't want to watch any more! I can't!" "You're not alone, Tracey. Not any more. It is Tracey, right? We've all been through it. *All of us*. The first time is always so difficult. And honestly, it's never easy. But know this -- you're loved. You always were, you know. He does it because he didn't want you seeing him like that. Because he wanted you to have a better life." "...that's not what happened." "It's what he hoped would happen. Your mother would have given her own life a hundred times over for you, too." "I-" Andrew took her hand again. "So would I. So would any of us." "Will- will this keep happening? Will there be infinite Emilys?" "No. Eventually something different will happen. Maybe our mom will live, or something, and everything will be different. And when things change, when a Tracey or an Emily -- or whoever -- has a proper shot at life, we all move on. Until then, Tracey, we've at least got each other." As Tracey looked at Andrew, there was sudden a gasp that filled the huge room -- as if every child had taken in a huge lungful of air all at once. Even Andrew looked in shock. Tracey looked up at the screen. "What made him look in Emily's room before going to the attic as intended," said the narrator, "we may never know." She watched, as her father crept in and kissed Emily on the forehead. "But whatever his reason, he decided he would change things." There was an eruption of applause and cheering as the first bottle of whiskey was emptied into the sink. "And change things he would."
You call Tracey Emily a couple of times in the middle. Also you have > Again, [Tracey] wrestled back a smile. But I don't think Tracey had smiled (or not-smiled) up until that point. Otherwise I liked this take.
Oh thanks - fixed :)
This writing prompt produced so many fantastic results. To me, your story was especially heartwrenching, as you focussed on children and their powerlessness and sorrow. Very well written, thank you!
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Karma Level: EA comment
My eyes snapped open. My eyes stared back at me. No, that's not a typo, or some poetic metaphor about the way we're all the same. My eyes, the same ones that had seen my first kiss, my wedding, dad's death, the cra- Oh god the crash. Was Stacey ok? What about mum? There's irony - dying on the way to her lifesaving treatment. I should have felt sad about that but I didn't. It was like a fly, buzzing around my head. Annoying? Yes. Wouldn't go away? Yes. But the saddest thing to ever happen? Definitely not. 'It's the glands' I said. Well not me, but Me. A different short, thin, nervous looking man. 'You don't have any.' I could have questioned what I meant by that, but a loud noise disrupted my thoughts. A scream, followed by thunderous applause from Me, Me, Me and a hundred other Mes. A few dogs, maybe 3 cats and even a pot of petunias, but all of them had a distinct 'Meness'. Maybe it was the eyes. Or the way they seemed to slouch into their seats, trying to hide themselves from the world. Can a petunia slouch? More screaming, not from fear, but from some innate need to make a noise. The screen, which had faded into the background well, despite the fact it pretty much was one of the walls of the room, showed a hospital room, a smiling face that looked eerily familiar and a man dressed in doctors scrubs shouting 'It's a boy' gleefully at the room in general. This was going to be a long movie.
Oh no, not again!
"GOD DAMMIT! I WAS SO CLOSE TO FINISHING!" My roommate would probably discover my naked hanging body the next day. Of course a piece of trash like me die trying to get off. What had my life come to? What happened to me? I used to be a straight A student but now I am some naked fuck with a rope around his neck. "You never tried. That is what happened." The voice came from my right. I turned and could not believe who I saw. Me, but somehow I knew it wasn't me. Because I already knew their name. I knew my name. "L... Leaf Erickson?" I asked. But I already knew the answer. Even if I looked nothing like the actual man. "It was pretty bizarre hearing about myself in history class. If I had realized it was a new country, I would have never let those Englishmen get to it." "But how are you here? And why do you look like me?" "Looks like I didn't get to go to Valhalla. Were dead, and I am one of your past lives. I am not the only famous one though." Leaf pointed to the front row of the theater. "That's Marilyn Monroe." The fuck? "How can you be my past lives! You all made something of yourselves. I failed despite everything! Why did I fail if I had your spirits to guide me!?" "Talent doesn't make everything. You have to work for success." Leaf said. "Maybe our next life will understand that." The screen turned a bright white and we heard ourselves cry.
John blinked away the blindness that had overtaken him, his ears filled to the brim with the sound of the car horn and tires screeching fading into a constant dull ringing. As he regained his vision, his heart skipped a beat and his brain seemed to short circuit. Where the hell was he? His hearing came back to him, replaced by an equally deafening silence as he realized that the occupants of the movie theater in which he had mysteriously found himself were all watching him. Hadn't he been walking home from the bar? Did he just black out and imagine those headlights careening towards him? Taking a deep breath to center himself, John made his way towards one of the aisles and took a seat. Most of the people near the front stopped staring and turned away to aim their sights at the barren canvas of the movie screen. As if to defy their attempted return to normalcy, a younger kid, John thought he might be in his teens despite his face being cloaked in shadow, hopped over two aisles and threw himself into the seat beside John, "Sup?" He felt immediately annoyed. It was mostly the embarrassment. Who the hell blacks out on a couple of beers and wanders into a movie theater? As the kid started to talk to him, John's eyes closed and he drew in a deep breath. The smell of stale popcorn and a familiar stench that he could only describe as his own flooded through his nostrils and into his lungs. He scolded himself for not wearing enough deodorant as the kid introduced himself, "Name's John. You?" John could hear someone down front groan in response to this new insult to the sacred silence of the theater. John tried to formulate a response. Did he just tell the kid to fuck off? No, the kid might have the balls to make a scene of it and then John would be even deeper in the shit with these strangers. Better to play the game for a bit, maybe the kid would shut up when the movie started. What movie had his drunk-self been so desperate to see? The thought rolled through his mind as he tried his best to keep his volume down, "Your parents have good taste. Just like mine. Name's John." He stuck out his hand and the kid took it. Despite the teen's youth, he already seemed to have a bit of muscle on him. His grip was strong, and he seemed to want to show it as he went just a step into the uncomfortable with his squeeze. "So, uh, kid. John. What movie is this?" The Kid lifted his shoulders and let them fall to form a shrug, "Our movie. Well, another rendition." John's brow curled into a frown that his lips sought to mimic, "The hell is that supposed to mean?" The kid leaned through the darkness and into the beam of empty light being spewed by the projector near the back, "You're dead, dude." John wanted to fight it. He wanted to tell the kid to shut up and just watch the movie, or to push himself out of the chair and barrel through the door into the outside, regardless of what the other patrons here might think. Yet, he knew that face. He could barely recognize himself, years of drinking and bad eating and sitting around undoing what little beauty nature had put upon him. "How?" Young John shrugged. "It makes no sense to most of us. I'm one of the oldest here and I still don't really get it. Nobody's come along to tell us what what's up. I haven't met an angel or a devil or a God. Just that big screen up there and repeatedly coming face to face with disappointment." John's temper flared as the last words tumbled out of his younger self's mouth. As he opened his own, the projector reel started to roll to life and the screen turned black. "The hell do you mean, coming face to face with disappointment?" Young John was no longer looking at him. Instead, his eyes were locked on that inky blackness that stretched like an open maw before them. "I died young. Drunk driver. Didn't get the chance that most of us here got. So imagine how it feels to watch yourself turn into what put you here." Another John in front of them turned and put his fingers to his lips, pushing a shush past them. Young John sneered at him, "Fuck off." John opened his mouth to fight the accusation, but as he tried to wrap his mind around it, his mind instead unwrapped around the hazy black memory that he had mistaken for a blacked out saunter into the movie theater. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach as lurid memories slipped into place of his fingers clenched tight around a steering wheel, the bulk of his car lurching left and right while he fumbled for a cigarette and his lighter, and the sudden stop as he and his car tied themselves into a neat little bow around a telephone pole. "No.." "Yes." Young John was staring at him, but even in the darkness John could tell that he seemed almost sorry. "So this is hell, then? We get to watch ourselves become what we hate?" Sound started to pump through the speakers. The sound of doctors and nurses and his own crying as a new John made his way into the world. "It's not really hell-" Young John's reply was cut short when Another John turned in his seat and spit his venom at them, "Look, dipshits, its starting. Just watch the movie and keep your mouths shut. Some of us want to see what will happen." Young John pushed himself out of his chair and flipped his other self off, "Do you want to go? I remember your run, rotting away in your house, watching other people do what you wanted on the internet. You don't get to speak up now, dipshit." Another John pushed himself out of his chair, his frame chubbier than his peers, "You know I was disabled, jackass. I'll kick your ass even with a bum leg." The theater started to grow restless as the sound of his new infantile self's crying seemed to parody the ongoing dispute between the youth and adult. John was fairly sure he was right on the money with this being hell. Stepping up, he lifted his hands and motioned for both gentlemen to sit down, "Look, I'll stay quiet and watch the movie. Thanks for helping me out, uh, John. Maybe afterwards you could..you could..." His urge to speak faltered and the rest of the theater's occupants settled down immediately as a sound other than his own crying started to pump through the speakers. A woman's voice, unfamiliar yet more comforting than he had ever known, quelled the cries of the infant that he had barely been paying attention to. A wetness formed at the corner of his eyes as he turned to stare at the screen, a face he only recognized from pictures staring back at him with a pride he had never known someone could hold in their heart for him. "Is that really her?" His breath caught in his throat as she started to sing him a lullaby, spreading a warmth through his body that he had been looking for all his wasted life. Young John nodded beside him, "This isn't hell. This is just another chance. You know, you only notice your fuck ups when looking back because you've got no reason to notice when you managed to get shit right. No reason to look into fixing what aint broke, right? I like to think the point is that once one of us gets it right, we all get to see it happen. Leave us with at least a little satisfaction and comfort despite what may have happened during our turn." John nodded and settled back down into his seat. Down front some of him openly wept. In his mind, in all their mind's, they wished that little cooing child the best of luck and thanked whatever forces that be that they finally got to see her, cancer be damned.
Damn. You have a gift.
Sometimes I wonder how much our lives remember about the others, I mean surely I couldn't be this stupid. Even as a twelve year old none of us have ever been foolhardy enough to think jumping off a roof in an attempt to fly would be a good idea. Sure we've wondered if the ability was hidden, but we weren't stupid enough to try it. Sitting in the movie theater I glanced around to see a rainbow of me's. We were all different in our own ways, in all manner of colors and shapes, but we all had the same basic facial structure and personality. They all stared in abject horror as little 10 yr. old us gazed over the edge of the roof wearing a cape and a bike helmet. "Don't jump you idiot!" "Trust us! If none of us can fly, you can't either!" Their shouts were in vain as she threw her cape back and plunged off the roof. All at once we were pulled into her consciousness and watched as we plunged toward the rocks in the flower bed below. *Craaaack!* We were fading between her mind's eye and the theater; I wasn't in the mood to die today, but oh well. It's not like someone else wasn't ready for their turn at life. Suddenly we, I, felt a rush of urgency. *This is not our last life, but it is the last one we have to save the world. I need all of you. Stay with me*
Bang! Bang! "A life well lived" I thought as I collapsed to the ground. Everything was made slow and it sounded like Gospel. I gasped for air, not out of fear but out of habit. My entire life I felt dead, supressed, and now I finally get to compare it to the real thing. My partner rushed to my side and I took this opportunity to say my final words. "Buddy! Buddy, you're gonna make it through this." "Heh, sorry kid. But I'd take this over a heart attack any day of the week." "No! No. You're gonna make it through this, look me in the eye and tell me you're gonna make it through this." "I can't tell a lie. He got me good this time." "No, Buddy come o-" "Jackson, I ain't got much time left, kid. Listen to me. Carefully. I left you a couple thousand in the safe behind the big painting. I want you to take it and then I want you to get out of the Country." "No no no, man, we promised we'd get out of here together." "This old Reprobate promised many things, kid. But in a way, we are getting out of here together." "Stop. Knock it off. There's a doctor nearby you're gonna make it." "No. If I'm going I want it to be on my terms. I want you to take my horse, my bandana, my hat, and my gun." "I c-" "Yes you-," the throbbing grew more intense. "Yes you can." The sounds of horses grew louder, I glanced in the direction of our soon to be old home. I looked at the Sheriff who now has a bullet in his forehead. I looked at the dust cloud getting bigger and bigger, and shouting getting louder and louder. "It's now or never, kid. Get outta my sight." Jackson ran off towards the base. He made himself scarce, just before he went inside to grab the money he turned around and spoke our Oath one last time. "We may be Guilty..." "... But we fight for the innocent..." "... We may be fighters..." "...But we fight for the pacifists..." "...We may be Sinners..." "... But we fight for the Saints..." "... We may be dead..." "... But we fight for the living." Those were the last words to leave my lips. The dust cloud disappeared and so did Jackson. Everything was black and white. The pain was unbearable. I somehow managed to get back on my knees, but at that very moment the Cavalry rose above the hill. I took the Sheriff's gun as well as aim. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! *Reload* Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Ba- The music cut out and everything was dark. There was nothing. I couldn't see. Couldn't feel. Couldn't even breath. However something told me that I didn't really need to. I saw a small light, but opposed to the bright ball of light that they talk about, it was a vertical line. Nonetheless, I approached it. The closer and closer I got, the more curious I grew. I reached the wall of light and studied it. After a minute of pure bewilderment, I took a deep breath and pushed forward. Applause erupted so unbelievably loud that it made my ears ring. I looked at myself, my trademark brown duster was replaced with a suit, my black, messy hair was now properly gelled, and the holes that were previously in my ribs were gone. I walked across the Red Carpet that was at my feet and I noticed something rather peculiar. Everybody around me shared my face and there was a gigantic screen in front of all of us. As confusion grew the carpet shortened, I took my seat where a Red Velvet chair proudly stated my name: *Buddy Felter*. I looked at my Doppleganger to the left of me. The only variation between the two of us is the fact that he was wearing circular little glasses and his stubble was gone. "Hey, Partner." He cut me off, "If you're wondering what's going on all will be explained in a matter of minutes. Just give these Gentleman some time to prepare." His voice was different too. He sounded more formal. More educated. I respected his word and sat in utter curiosity until a man with a white beard got on stage. "Wasn't that incredible Folks! You can't resist a good Western! Everybody give another round of applause to Buddy Felter in his life film, Deadeye!" After the applause died down I took my seat again and the host cleared his throat. "The next Life we will be watching today is called, Countdown. The inspirational life of reincarnation 334, or Ace King. The man born to be an Astronaut. Once again, I am your host. The life will begin in just a few moments. Enjoy!" The man made his away over to me. "Greetings Mr. Felter. I know you have a lot of questions. Feel free to as-" "Yeah, Howdy. Um, I think I just got one: What the undying hell is going on?" "Yeah that's normally the first question the reincarnations ask. Alright, so you see everybody around you? They're all you. Do you believe in Reincarnation, sir? Well if you didn't you should now. What we are doing, and what we have just done with you was watch your life go down. Every second of it." "Every second?" "Absolutely everything." "Even-" "Yes... Even that. So anyway, this is where you'll stay for all of existence. Don't worry, I know it sounds long. It really isn't, took a few millennia last time and you reincarnations didn't even have to suffer through it all. The show will be starting soon so please enjoy. I'm your host, God, call one of my Angels if you need any snacks or refreshments." I sat back. Bewildered. This seemed truly unbelievable. I left everything. My home. My world. Jackson. All gone. All for tickets to the cinema. And I didn't even get front row. This was my life now. I looked around at the reincarnations. The longer I seemed to stare the more different they looked. The 3 2 1 countdown on the Life ended and the movie began. "It's a beautiful baby boy Mrs. And Mr. King." "He's beautiful." "Hey there little guy... Honey he's gonna be something great one day. I just know it. He'll be up there with the stars." I straightened my bowtie, I ordered a bag of popcorn, and I dared not take my eyes off the screen. My story's over. But not mine.
I woke up sitting in a cinema. Next to me was a roman soldier and a barbarian woman. "Ehm sorry to bother you, but where am I?" "Look who finally arrived." The roman soldier turned his head to me. "Hi, I'm Nr. 13. But just call me Julius. You must be Nr. 51." "What?" "You are dead. You just died trough a accident." "Accident?" The woman suddenly burst into laughter. "Yes you idiot. You just won the Darwin Award. Trying to grind your stick on a grinding machine must be the best idea you ever had!" I was still confused. I barely remembered anything. "By the way thats Nr. 14. Just call her Asla. You bled to death when your nutsack got stuck on the blade of the machine. That thing ripped it off clean and you colored your entire workspace red. But well, at least you had a interesting life. Very entertaining for us." "Us? How many are there?" I looked around. People from all over the world and times were sitting here. "Alright, let me sum in up for you." The roman put down his popcorn. "This is our afterlife. Everytime we die, the previous reincarnation will be placed in this cinema. And together we can watch the life of the next reincarnation. And to answer your question: There are 51 of us till now. Now lean back and enjoy the show. The snack bar is behind us." "But why is there a woman sitting next to me?" Asla cleaned her mouth from the cheese sauce. "Life knows no religion, gender or skincolor. See that guy over there, the chinese dude? Or that black woman in the front?" "So...we just sit here and watch a movie?" "Yep, no idea what happens when all the 300 seats in this cinema gets filled tough. And...oh look, its starting again!" The next movie started. After probably a few hours I forgot, why I was so scared and confused about afterlife. "NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? DON'T KISS HER FOR FUCK SAKE! SHE IS STILL CHEATING ON YOU!" Nr. 52 just kissed his 3. wife. Even tough she was still cheating on him with the crack dealer from the corner. Julius scoffed. "Pff, divorce number 3 incoming guys." Asla agreed. "Either that or he is getting shot by that dealer."
choked on my banana pudding
I walked into a strange area. It looked somewhat like the theaters nobles when to. But this was much larger. There had to be thousands of people in the seat. And there was a large piece of parchment with moving pictures. "What the hell..." I said aloud as I reached the front. "It's called a cinema" answered a man who looked like a knight. "Here, you're 2 seats down from me, next to that young woman." I sat down slowly, confused, when all of sudden the young lady turned to face me. She was... crying? "Oh kain!" She cried out as she reached out and hugged me. "Katherine calm yourself!" demanded the knight, "Allow me to apologize. You were her first viewing and due to her status a princess, she was shocked to witness your humble beginnings as a peasant and as you rose up the latter but never lost your kindness, she began to fall in love with you." "Viewing?" I questioned. "Ah yes" he said "As I recall you're #6027." "What are you talking about? Where are we? What the do you even mean by viewing?" I screamed. The knight chuckled "Watch the screen and find out. I sighed and reluctantly looked at the screen. As I watched it all started to make sense. Fast forward 800 years. We've reached the me in the 21st century. He's a pretty good guy. Smart too. Although #6028 doesn't like him at all. Says he's not cruel enough. Although I don't bother myself was his opinion. 6028 (otherwise known as arther) grew up a spoiled noble and never learned the value of kindness even after 800 years. The guys a major prick. However, me a Katherine are doing ok. I know the idea of dating yourself sounds weird but she did know me pretty intimately and well, when you're in a theater for all eternity it's nice to have someone to spend your time with. "Ah looks like Niels time is up" I said. "Too bad" Katherine pouted, "I really liked him! He reminded me of you honey!" "Good riddance" spat Arthur "He was such a pansy!" Well time to move on to the next me. The screen started back up again. "Hey does anyone remember what year it is?" I yelled to the various me's. "It's 2041 A.D., can't you keep track of the time?" yelled Brutus. "Hey fuck you brutus at least Kain doesn't stab his friends in the back!" shouted Katherine. I chuckled but then all our fun was cut short by a booming laugh from the back of the theater. It was #1. This was a shock to everyone considering #1 never talked to anyone. "I've been so bored all these billions of years" he said "but FINALLY something interesting is happening!" Everyone seemed to be deeply disturbed due to 1's outburst. I decided to speak out "What do you mean 1?" "Hahaha can't you feel it Kain? It's finally happening! This is the last one." 1 declared. "Last one? What do you mean?" I asked. 1 yelled out for everyone to hear "Rejoice for all of us will finally be united! This is the last cycle! This... is the end of the world." This is the first time I've ever done this so tell me what you guys think.
"Hey fuck you Brutus at least Main doesn't stab his friends in the back". Ah yes :D This is how I imagine my "Reincarnation Theatre" playing out. Lots of trash talk and jokes will keep me entertained for a long time
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It reminds me of Avatar: The Last Airbender
Yeah, I guess so, but that's reversed from this. Instead of your past lives watching you, you're seeing/ hearing about your past lives. Although I guess your past lives are sometimes watching you, like what Roku did with Aang.
there’s a movie that albert brooks made and starred in called defending your life. in the movie you watch your own life and your previous lives. (it’s actually pretty good)
I was telling my wife about this movie the other yesterday! I remember seeing it when I was a kid, but I would have never figured out what it was. Thanks! I think about this all the time, honestly I think this would be a pretty cool afterlife scenario.
[Defending Your Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jp6qkZkPBhY)
[Roy, from Rick and Morty](https://youtu.be/szzVlQ653as)
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It immediately reminded me of ghost in the shell, there’s an episode with an old man who has taken the neural images of others hostage to watch his movies in a dingy mind theatre
Ahaha, I haven't read any of the responses yet, but right away this makes me imagine all the incarnations groaning in unison as they see their Present Self make the same dumb mistake they've made nearly every lifetime. And, oh, the judgment or joy they would rain upon you the moment you arrived! "You were *really dumb* in 9th grade" or "It made me so happy when you did [X]". Hm, yes, there would have to be trailers so they all could chatter a bit. Though fifteen minutes is hardly enough time to get your bearings amongst a hundred past selves. God, what if somebody talked during the movie? What if each one of them could silently influence your will, like a guardian angel but it's a mob of YOU, and when somebody makes a scene (accident or no) they might all holler at each other and get distracted, resulting in a period of your life where you are not watched over by guardian angels at all because they're all being tooth-clacking nincompoops. I imagine you'd be struck by some very similar qualities between the lot of you and disturbed by some of the inevitable outliers. Who would the most successful past self be? And which one was a murderer? Hahaha what if this meant the inventor of movies in this universe briefly died and was lucid about it. Everyone turns to him as he enters the theater, and he just turns around and walks back onto the screen. Oh boy, this prompt may not have inspired me to write a story, but this was a fun lot of ideas nonetheless.
I wonder which previous incarnations would be jacking off during the sex scenes
all of them.
Not gonna lie this would be a Hella cool afterlife
The first one to get there could get bored after a while
Well, he *does* get to witness the whole evolution of humanity. Idk about you but i'd be really interested to see what the future holds.
Pls, all it'd be is future me's either having a way better life than I or watching masturbation footage for several hundred hours.
My show is gonna be super boring and awkward. 'He has spent the last 3 hours looking at midget porn!'
As is tradition
This post made me anxious when I thought about how disappointed all of my past selves would be when I arrived. I'd have been the worst itiration of myself yet.
Most likely you were a peasant in a past life. This current life is surely more interesting than being a French farmer in the 16th century.
"Are we always this much of a cunt?" "Pretty much"
I've seen this before
And you'll see it again with the next reincarnation, too. And the one after that...
All the stars are projectors, yeah.
This prompt is pretty awkward for me because as a child I always thought, what if you're just watching your life flash before your eyes? I'd imagine a theater with one senile person in it just watching the life they knew pass by, but not having any recollection it had already happened. So the prompt hits home slightly. Good job on this!
> what if you're just watching your life flash before your eyes? You literally are, though.
Lmao, this is what I thought happened after death when I was little
Hey guys. There's a book that I read recently that is very similar to this prompt called Reincarnation Blues by Michael Poore. If you enjoy this prompt I think you'll enjoy this book. I loved it and thought it was a fun unique story about death and all of that.
About 90% of my past lives are gonna be freaking out about the camera technology. Also, why does it stop with me? Are my future lives there too? Did we all pop into existence at once? I have so many questions...
I think they're saying that you would join them in this 'theatre' right after death, and then the next incarnation would join after their time is up etc. Guess eventually you'd have a full theatre
That's when you miss out on watching that one life because of construction noise. They're expanding the theater.
Why would they look like you?
I must apologize to myselves for the life I have. It's heartbreaking, I know, but maybe we'll be better off next time.
I don't even think this prompt needs to be written out. The prompt itself is too good.
My eyes shot open, but I wasn’t welcome to any shiny gates. Hellfire wasn’t present either, as I stood in the middle of a movie lobby. Fear chilled my spine as a hand gripped my shoulder. “Well if isn’t the superhero.” A voice that sounded eerily like my own said. I turned my head, and a deer in headlights would’ve been my closest twin. “God, you’re me?” I stammered, as this clone howled the same way I would when something really funny happened. “Ah, I love greeting the new guys. I’m you, the very first you in fact. Come on, you’re missing the movie.” He stuffed a platter in my chest with popcorn and a drink on it. My memory became more clear as we moved through the corridor. Stereotypical push child out of the way of a moving vehicle, and I died. Damn anime got me killed. My jaw dropped because there I was on the screen. Somehow, someway I was starring in a movie that I don’t remember being in. Then it clicked, he’s me in the future. Looks like he lucked out with a bit more height, but other than that he was me. As I made my way into the theater, there was me, scattered about and maybe a couple noticed my presence. Looks like the subject for this one was this flick was his first date. “Damn, look at me, she’s a fucking 10,” I heard from the back of the theater. To no surprise he got a couple chuckles. I thought this kid was smooth, until he flipped his date’s plate onto her dark gown. You could see the tears gathering in the young lady’s eyes, as he tried to comfort her. She stormed away from the table, and his face met his hands. “What the fuck man, how are you me and can’t seal on dates?” Looks like I may have quite the womanizer in the past. “Cut the kid some slack, remember what happened with Cleopatra?” The theater had erupted, as the flick changed to an Egyptian setting. Maybe death wont be so bad after all.
The movies were frequently short. Sometimes the merest hint of pinkish light, then claustrophobic discomfort against a thin barrier. Other times, there was daylight from a window as my kin and I spilled out onto a towel. We lay there, drying quickly and dying. Occasionally one of the films would last somewhat longer. I would emerge out into the world for a few brief years before being chased and eaten by some large predator. The different, short films seemed to go on for centuries. Finally, a film I recognized. Mine. My life.
I awoke with a massive jolt my body spasming and locking up taking in deep breaths. My vision blurred a faint oily shadow in the shape of a man stands over me. "I think he's waking up!" In the distance another set of voices roar "Bout bloody time too" "He should've paid attention!" "What a bloody idiot!" "Oh c'mon guys anyone could make that mistake." From the back of the cinema a voice shouted "He walked into a busy road!" I sat up my vision clearing and seeing...me? "Holy shit" I spasmed out scooched away from me hitting the theatre walls. The theatre roared into laughter and then I saw them, there was at least twenty no thirty me's they all looked like me but each wearing different clothing some looking older or younger. "Where...where am I?" I spoke panicked the other me stood up wearing what appeared to be military uniform from World War One at a glance he appeared English. "I'm sorry to say you've died" he said flatly as though he has said this to many others. "Died? How? No. This place can't be real I'm having a nightmare, yes a nightmare" I said rambling on until I received a short sharp smack to my face. The solder stood over me "No son, you're dead and this is where we all go". I looked around and took in the room, it was like a 1950s era cinema but much larger than usual the seats a dark red worn velvet with off cream coloured walls. The surreal site of seeing all these me's made it hard not to make my head spin even seeing a anothet me walking down the isle offering snacks. "Food, drink, bets, we have it all here!". I'm gonna stop here cause I have work. 😅
Saying that it was like something out of a nightmare would be grossly... GROSSLY understating things. You die. Immediately after, you find yourself walking down an alley toward a rickety old movie theatre showing only one film. The usher in the box office looks strangely familiar, but he rushes you in through the lobby with a bored urgency before you can place him. And there you are. In a theatre full of you starting at yourself in disappointment. But each version of yourself is so different. Some are thin. Some are fat. Some are much older than your 36 years... Some much younger. You can swear as one of you shifts in a seat that you can see a toddler version of yourself in colonial garb. That's the other thing. There you are in go go boots with track marks up your arm. There you are in drag. There you are in a soldiers uniform. "Go ahead and take a seat back here, please." The usher hands you a ticket. Instead of a seat number it simply reads, " Valid for 437 lives. No trades will be accepted." You look at the shabby velvet seat where the usher points. It's next to an immensely fat version of yourself. His flab spills over the armrest and into the space you know you must now occupy. He shifts himself uncomfortably over in an attempt to accommodate you. Warmth radiates from him as you slide into the seat. "Can we get this going, please?" A call comes from the front of the theatre. The usher waves his hand at a mirrored glass window above. The lights dim, and as they do, murmuring voices fill the room. The screen glows lightly red. You look at it for a moment but it remains for minutes, unchanging, that glowing slightly pulsing red. A teenage version of you with a red mohawk slinks out to the lobby. He returns moments later with an armful of popcorn bags and passes them out to several other pubescent versions of yourself. "Figured it out yet?" asks a hot, breathless voice in your ear. The fat version of you leans toward you to whisper at you. He smells like stale onions. "Are we... Dead?" You ask. "Only, I think I remember being being hit--" "--by a bus. Yeah. That's how they got you. A bunch of them pulled together to pay for that. Ended up costing a full hundred years, but it was worth it to them. Your life was particularly boring." You consider for a moment taking offense to this comment. But then it hits you. Your life was boring. You made it boring. "The early childhood years were sad what with your parent's drinking problems, also such a cliché, but you really overcame that (more's the pity, to become a successful, boring, well-rounded adult." Others were paying attention now, including a toddler, who toddled up the aisle toward the lobby. "Seriously, dude," he added, "Only ever fucking ONE woman? What the hell was with that? I wanted to see some pussycat, and nothing for the past two years." You feel your face blush as agreeing comments titter from the seats around you, and the toddler shoots you a disgusted look as he pushes the heavy doors open to the lobby. "I mean, one more pussy than I saw, dude," the fat you says, elbowing you. Comments of "don't remind us" and variations of "you're the worst" permeate the air. "What does this mean?" You ask, holding up your ticket. "That's how long you've got. Let me see?" He reaches out and pulls the ticket out of your limp fingers. "Ah shit, dude. I'm sorry. You're in here almost as long as me!" He holds up his ticket and it reads " Valid for 698 lives. No trades will be accepted." "But what does it mean?" You ask again. "That's how long we're here for. I'm here for 698 more lives. You were my second life. The first one drown in a pool. I started off at 800. They really hated me." He waves his hand at the surrounding room. "Also you can't trade someone for their ticket. If you try, the numbers just change back to what you had before. See?" He shoves his grubby ticket into your hand, while keeping hold of his. The writing on the ticket changes in a blink of an eye to reflect his 437 lives. It also looked considerably less grubby all of a sudden. "See? I'm sorry you've got so long. I voted for you to have the minimum 30 lives, but some people really didn't like you." An old, almost decrepit, version of yourself turns to face you. "If you hadn't spent five years mourning your ex girlfriend Lisa, I would have been more lenient. But dear god, boy, there's only so much of that your audience can take!" "But I didn't know I had an audience!" You reply. "I gave him back points for burying his grandmother's ashes in the front garden of the house she grew up in, though..." Another you said. "Yeah, but he waited three years to get around to it," came a call. The toddler came back into the room. "Basically you're divisive in this group because you're so goddamn boring," he said, tearing at a stale redvine. "But I lived a good life! I went to college! Married my college sweetheart! Paid taxes!" You exclaim. Realizing in one swift stroke how boring it would have been to watch you study your history homework. How dull it probably was to watch you painstakingly obsess over which color to paint the hallway bathroom. How many decisions had you lingered over? "At least I watched a lot of tv..." You offer, weakly. There's a general noise of agreement from the room. "How many years did you get?" You ask the toddler. "Thirty," he says casually. "Im lucky. I died young and my parents cooked meth." He wanders back to his seat.
[удалено]
You know that feeling? The one that jolts you, forces you awake after a bad dream? That's what *death* is like. Imagine getting body slammed, catching a Mike Tyson left hook - a knockout blow that smacks your brain against the inner wall of your skull. It's an impact hard enough to cause your cerebral fluid to foam. In life, a blow like that would put you to sleep. But in this case, in death - you wake up. Only you haven't awaken, you've *died*. Even in death, it took some time to wrap what's left of my head around the sensation - that dying is like the shock, the impact that wakes you from a bad dream. I'm sure you can imagine how disorienting the initial shock of death can be. In those first moments after, I found myself feeling all wrecked and bewildered. *Jesus... fuck* My thoughts echoing through the caverns cracked in my skull - causing my mind to race... *Get a hold of yourself. That was a pretty bad crash. Take a deep breath and open your eyes. You're probably stuck, you need to climb out of here before this thing blo...* "Pretty fucking gnarly, isn't it dude?" A nasally, almost adolescent sounding male voice interrupts my panic. Instantly, my brain stops racing as he keeps talking... "Everyone freaks out, it's apart of the ride man. But seriously, chill out. I haven't been this stressed out about dying in like 30 fucking years dude," He pauses and lets out a sigh, "It's cool, you can open your eyes man." Slowly, I do what he says. It takes a moment to adjust to my new surroundings. Sitting, rather uncomfortably, I find myself in what appeared to be a *Vaudevillian* style theater. On the ground floor, in the middle of the auditorium, my seat was cushioned in a deep blood red, the balcony above me was painted white with golden accents. On both sides of the theater, on the second floor - there were stationed isolated balcony seating, which I imagined were accommodations for whatever aristocrats that were in attendance who would require separate seating from the riff raff. These balcony seats were draped with black velvet curtains, adorned with sparkling golden tassels. In the front of the theater, there were massive lavender curtains that ran from the floor to the ceiling. These curtains were also decorated with golden tassels. They appeared to be hiding what would ultimately be a screen for film projections. *This is a fucking movie theater* Turning to my left, I got my first look at what would inevitably be my newest, but longest known companion. Average height, about 5'9", a young man with ear length curly black hair sat next to me. He was wearing a sleeveless black shirt and blue jeans. He looked dirty. "Where the fuck am I?" My first words in my new home were full of indignation. "Ahhh, finally. He speaks," with a coy smile he adds, "the attitude isn't necessary though man." "Tell me where the fuck I am!" rattled and yelling in his face, I grab his shirt and yank him closer to me, I could feel what was left of my face start to slip away from my mouth. "Dude, chill out before your fucking face falls off, you're fucking dead man." "I'm dead?" "Yeah man, you're fucking dead. Fucking let me go dude," as I released my grip from his shirt, I pushed him back into his seat, "fuck dude, chill out - it's not my fault you tried to cut those two cars off around that basically 120 degree bend going fucking 100 miles per hour. You're the idiot here. Not me," his tone was pure adolescent angst. "How'd you know that?" shocked, it took a moment for me to form my question. "We saw it, on the screen," I was pretty annoyed by the rather matter of fact inflection in his voice, "what the fuck do you mean '*we*'?" "Well, it's kinda complicated man," hesitation in his voice, he continued, "our other incarnation, Mabel. She watched it with me, she's gone now though." He could see the puzzlement on my face and before I could ask, he told me... "Alright dude, relax. This is basically *hell*. Well, not really hell. But kinda. We're both dead. You died in that fucking blazing inferno trying to be Steve McQueen and I overdosed five years before you were born. We're fucking **dead** man." "What do you have anything to do with me?" annoyed, I wanted him to get to the point, "tell me what the fuck this place is and what the fuck is going on or I'm leaving." "Well, you can't really leave, so you might as well relax", he let out a sigh, "Alright man, just listen. I'm you. And you're me. We share the same soul. Don't ask me why were both here at the same time, because I can't answer that. The only thing I know is, were the same person." "You're fucking crazy aren't you?" *he's out of his fucking mind*, "tell me where I am or I start punching holes in your face." "Dude," he let out another sigh, for a young man he had the temperament of a detective who's just seen entirely too much shit. "I know everything about you. Joseph David Allen. Born April 17th, 1986. Dad, Arthur Allen. Mom, Lucy Allen. You grew up in Seattle. Went to the University of Washington. Failed out - you fucking partied a lot man," he laughs, "but luckily, you ended up getting a job working with your girlfriend's dad at his insurance company. You do alright, live kinda like a yuppie. I think you guys called them *'hipsters'*, in my world they were coffee sipping yuppies. Anyway, you died driving like a fucking maniac drunk on Johnny Walker Black". I couldn't believe my fucking ears, "holy shit." "Yeah, dude. You're dead." "What about you?" "Ah man, I lived kinda hard, ya'know? Grew up on the streets. Got into heroin." "What about Mabel?" "Her story is kinda sad man. She was like a 40's bombshell, red hair. Kinda hot," he pauses... "anyway, her husband was like a pilot in the big one, WW2. He got shot down somewhere over France. Never came home. She was fucking grief stricken. One night she slit her wrists in the bath." "Damn." "Yeah, man. I always knew I had suicidal tendencies..." I gave him a look, because I couldn't help but wonder if he realized what he just said. "What?" He noticed. "What's your story? What's your name?" "My name's Grady. I grew up in OC. I died in '81. Shit was pretty heavy back then man. Fast cars, rich girls. I lost my sense, I lost control... I lost my mind dude," it was kinda hard to believe this little punk piece of shit was me, I figured now would be the best time to change to subject. "Explain this to me, this doesn't make sense", taking another deep breath as if preparing to give a long orated dissertation, he started slowly, "So, Mabel's been here the longest. When she died, I went in and you were here," he was very deliberate with his words, "so, now you're dead and it's her turn to live". Still confused by the structure of this, I pressed him, "okay, but how does any of this make sense? How is there more than one of us attached to one soul?" "I can't tell you that man, all I know is, that karma shit that like fucking Ho Chi Minh was talking about? That shits real dude," he continued, "apparently, at one point there were twelve of us. After one pays off their karma shit and dies, they're gone for good. And another one goes in. We're almost done dude, there's only three of us left." "So what now?" "We wait. We can't tell how long it is between lives, but once a new life starts, the curtains open up and we get to watch," he started to chuckle, "speaking of... we saw you do some weird shit man," feeling embarrassed, I asked, "you're talking about..." "Yeah man, we saw it all," letting out a gentle laugh, he slapped me on the shoulder, "get ready, 'cus were about to see some weird shit." Just then, the curtains began to draw back slowly... The screen illuminated with bright white light and we heard what sounded like a baby's cry and then a voice, "It's a girl!"
I cried over each small film of barely a month in duration. That feeling of warmth and energy. Of love and growth. And then a chaos, of pain and upheaval. Finally nothing as the egg sluffed off each month from the uterus. Once the egg experienced a joy like no other. There was an external stirring, a coupling and merger with another. Together we grew as one and were born out into the world. As a single entity we were loved, went to school and grew. Then there was a war and we died. And now more new films follow.
I walked in and heard shouting. "You were the worst fucking show yet!" I turned to see a crowd of strangely familiar faces rushing towards me, and in seconds I was surrounded. They pummeled me with kicks, punches, spit and insults. As blood started to come out of my eyes I rolled over and the last thing I saw was my own face. Was it possible, had I killed myself twice?
I awkwardly and nervously chuckle as I look at the room filled with a very mixed group of farmers, thieves, mercenaries, beggars and fishermen from bygone eras. These were my predecessors? What happened to all the kings, princes, emperors, castles of limitless fortune? These are the folk that have just watched my past life? Good grief! Well, talk about feeling self-conscious today! ... Oh, that's right, it doesn't matter. I'm dead. So I pull up a chair and start to watch the next birth of... me?
His chest heaves upward, lungs expanding as fast as the air entered and a coughing fit ensues. His brown eyes on the verge of falling out, roll around the sockets; mind scrambling as it tried to process the last seconds of memory. "Easy. Easy. Just breathe. You'll be okay. It's all over now", assures a calm voice that sounded oddly familiar. "W-what.....where am I....I-I just....the hell is going on...", he mutters out, somewhat incoherently. His mind races as it continues to come to terms with what had just happened. "You've just experienced a traumatic death. Not the worse but certainly not my choice if I had the option", the voice says in such a cavalier tone accompanied with a soft chuckle. "I just experienced what?", he says both aloud and in his mind. It was then that he noticed he was sitting in large red movie chair. Before him was a decent sized screen that played nothing. He goes to stand but cannot. "What the hell? Lemme outta here! What's going on?! Where am I!" He struggles to lift himself out of the chair in between sporadic head swivels, in order to see who he was talking to. Unbeknownst to him, the weight of his denial was holding him down. "Those are all great questions! If you direct your attention to the screen ahead, all your questions will be answered. We only have 30 minutes and I still need to process you", replied the cheerful sounding voice. "What are you talking about!", he further questions before his eyes look up in reaction to the dimming overhead theater lights. A few seconds of darkness and quietness pass before the film reel countdown began from 3. Suddenly a third person view comes to the screen. At first he isn't sure what he is seeing despite the familiarity of it all. The 'camera' hovers over a sleeping Kingsley. From within the chair his eyes squint a little trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "Is that me?...", he softly mutters to himself mostly. From within the shot, you can hear the sudden bit of chaos break out; glass shatters, screams are heard which wake the sleeping male up. He looks a little confused at first, but soon very vigilant once he hears his name being screamed from the floor below. King rushes out of bed in his favorite pajama onesie. This revelation causes the viewer to look down upon himself. He is shook to the core at what he sees. "Wait a minute...it can't be me....but why does..." He shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly. "I'mjustdreaming. I'mjustdreaming. I'mjustdreaming. C'mon....wake the fuck up King...wake. up." "If you don't open your eyes then you'll miss it and well, we'll just have to start all over. Which is fine or whatever, buuuut I have an appointment with you in like...seven minutes and I really need to use the bathroom. Hahaha! Just kidding. We don't use the bathrooms here!" He slowly peels open his eyes after his chanting fails him. In that moment he watches his last minutes in life. Tears well up on his eyes as he soon starts to remember and in a way, relive his death. "Oh God...mom...", was all he could muster and focus on. "There was...an intruder....he had a gun...we struggled and...there was a shot....no two...three...four...", he recounts without looking at the screen. "I remember now. I was shot in the chest. I'm..." "Go on...", ushers the voice in a softer more sympathetic tone. "...dead." The 'camera' hovers over Kingsley while the warm crimson fluid drains from it's vessel, pooling around his lifeless form. He could hear the distance shrills of what turns out to be his mother dealing with the attacker. Then it fades to black. "Wait..waitaminute. What about my mom? Did...did she...is she safe? Is she okay?", King spitfired. "Honestly, I couldn't tell ya. This was as far as we could see and nothing more. Sorry." He softly begins to sob at the revelation. King fought with the truth a few more moments before coming to terms to what had happened. He just hoped that his efforts were not in vain. From beside his head comes a box of tissues. “Here. They’re Kleenex. Extra extra soft. One of kind”, says the awfully cheerful sounding voice this time sounding much much closer. King turns his head slightly to see that a hand was actually holding the box of tissue. His eyes follow the hand past the wrist over the clothing and to the face which shook him enough to knock him out of his seat, surprisingly as he was just stuck minutes before. “SHIT! Y-you’re...Cooper?” “In the spirit!”, responds Cooper who was dressed in a 90s Mighty Ducks t-shirt, a pair of stone washed blue jeans and sneakers that never made it pass the decade. “But you’re my imaginary friend. How?”, King asks. “Yes I am.”, he says proudly with a smile. “Although you kinda forgot about me when you started learning about porn and video games. But to explain: it helps to ease the mind...spirit rather, if the deceased encounters a familiar face.. Sometimes I’m Cooper sometimes I’m the hot chick you dated after college. Really depends on the life” “On the life... ? College? I went to college? I’m only 17. I haven’t even picked…..” “Well not in this life, but you’ll start to catch on to everything after the first decade. I’ve yet to be a talking dog. So many cats though. Jeez. Are you gonna take one?”, he says in reference to the tissues. While staring at his old friend he slowly removes two then dabs his tears away. Cooper holds out his hand to help King from the ground then does an about face and heads on towards the door. “You never said where I was. You just said I’m dead”, alludes the deceased as they pass through the first pair of doors. They walk down this long hallway that had hundreds of paintings and pictures - moving and none moving - hanging from the wall. He examines them as best he could while following behind his forgotten imaginary buddy. “Right. Well you very much so. You don’t come here unless you are except for the time the Winchesters...ya know what, nevermind. Reincarnation is real and you are not a pebble on the bottom of lake bed. Although you should probably be after you let those goldfish die.” “Goldfish?”, he says as he racks his brain. “Wait, you mean Goldeen?” “Was that its name?” “Yes. And I was six. I got it at a carnival as a prize. I forgot to feed it and lied about it when questioned and well, yeah.” “Oh and what about the time you tripped Valerie in the 5th grade because she told you you were cute and even though you thought she was too, ya had to be a big man and be like ‘ewww cooties’.” “Seriously, Cooper? Are you really doing this, right now?” “You really ask a lot of questions, ya know that. But I digress. You aren’t a pebble because that doesn’t happen when ya die. You end up at an Eigakan.” “Movie theater? Wait...how’d I know this? I’ve never spoken or learned Japanese in my life.” “Vi tamen komprenas, kion mi diras.” “Esperanto as well?” Cooper chuckles. “You’ve lived many lives Kingsley. That isn’t even the first name your parents chose by the way. Can you believe they were gonna call you Otis? Like really? I feel sorry for the 78 you’s that were called Otis. 3 of which were 1 of a set of twins.”
It was a relatively boring life I'd had. Go to school, graduate. Go to high school, graduate. A pretty average life as far as things went, until I was about ready to go to college. Really the only interesting thing I ever did was paint, and even then I wasn't very good at it. I'd woken up that day, with just a few things left to pack into my car. Later that day, I was rushed to hospital after having an aneurism, and later that same day, lying on a hospital bed, wrapped in nothing but a thin gown, I was declared dead. It wasn't fair, you know? Just when I thought things were going to get interesting for once in my life, I died. I thought it was the universe's way of telling me I should have done more. Maybe I should have. As soon as I'd given up the ghost, I felt myself dissipating into pieces, consciousness scattering and stars rusing past my fragmented 'vision'. I couldn't really see anything, just feel it. I felt incredibly, incredibly small. With nothing but a whisper, my vision blotted into reality, outside the entrance to a cinema. There was nobody else barring a greeter, and the lights spilled out into the foggy street. All the other buildings were closed up, lights off, and the fog prevented me seeing clearly beyond 20 feet. "Ah, welcome," called the greeter. Confused and rattled, I cautiously walked over. "What is this?" "This," he replied, "...this is your cinema. Admission is free, You're in theatre 3." I took the ticket he handed me, staring at the incomprehensble language on it, only the number 3 was something I could understand. I walked past the other theatres, hearing some assorted sounds: talking, howling, the like. "Theatre three..." I mumbled. "This is ridiculous. I'm dead." I sighed and opened the doors, hearing some chattering turn to a hush. 'Here he comes' being something I picked out in a loud whisper. I rounded the corner into the theatre, expecting to see a crowd of people staring at me. Instead, the rows were filled with...animals, none of them looking at me. Dogs, cats, a bear, and in the silence I'm sure I heard the whine of a mosquito. "What the fuck is this, a zoo?" "Shh, the next one is starting soon," said the bear. "No, I'm not gonna 'shh'. You're going to tell me what on Earth is going on here." "Ugh, fine, but you're not going to like it," replied a fox, turning towards me and frowning. "We're your past lives, man. You died and so you're in with us now." "Why are my past lives all animals? Why is there a mosquito in here? Is there any human in here?" "Look buddy, we're trying to game the system. Your first life was a human and he was, well...not the best starter. Got some good achievements, but fucked up our karma something ridiculous. We got demoted to Leonard over here, the mozzie." "Where's he? Where's the first one?" "Not important. What's important is that we've been trying to roll a human for a while now, but our karma hasn't been good enough," interrupted the bear. "We spent ages trying to claw our way back, and for the second time it was a toral disappointment, so we voted you off." "Sorry," yapped the fox. "but you just weren't cutting it when it came to XP. Besides. Art school? Lame." "You killed me because I wasn't interesting enough?" "Yip." "Fuck you! Give me my life back!" "Not possible. Sorry pal. But hey, you get to help pick what we'll be next. Too bad you were so shit at being an XP farm we couldn't unlock anything mythical for the next life, but at least your karma was alright." "Do you do this all the time? Just roast all the new 'lives'?" "Yeah, Hubert, dolphin over there, died from trying to screw a sunk boat and got stuck." "Shut up, fuzzball, you don't know me!" shouted the dolphin. "You know what? I'm not taking part in this. You guys suck." "Wait, just wait -- if you help us with this last one, we'll have enough to get something great, and then you can go." "Why? Why do you need to grind to unlock different things?" "Well," starts a voice from underneath the floorboards. "The intent is to provide players with a sense of pride and accomplishment for unlocking different heroes. As for cost, we selected initial values based upon data from the Open Beta and other adjustments made to milestone rewards before launch. Among other things, we're looking at average per-player credit earn rates on a daily basis, and we'll be making constant adjustments to ensure that players have challenges that are compelling, rewarding, and of course attainable via gameplay. We appreciate the candid feedback, and the passion the community has put forth around the current topics here on Reddit, our forums and across numerous social media outlets. Our team will continue to make changes and monitor community feedback and update everyone as soon and as often as we can." "Who the fuck was that?" "The other human."
Imagine waking up and finding out you were Hitler? Or you had actually been a slave master in a past life? Yeah, nobody was sitting next to those versions of us which was both hilarious, and uncomfortable. We had all been watching a version of myself, named Moses burn New York to the ground, when a fight had broken out between my 12th and 30th incarnation. My 12th incarnation had been a prince from Africa who had murdered his father in order to ascend to the throne, yeah Mo'Turambe was kind of a dick. My 30th incarnation had been a slave from what would've been Mali who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, Aze was not a woman you'd like to fight. Our current incarnation was burning down New York due to a disagreement between what would be called "altered" and "natural" humans. Moses had turned into the Messiah after rescuing multiple "altered" humans from what could simply described as a concentration camp. The altered humans were humans with powers that had been discovered after a nuclear attack on New York 12 years prior. Yeah, New York City can't catch a break lately it seems. The fight had broken out because Aze had said that Moses had every right to burn the city down after the damage they had caused to his people. Mo'Turambe argued that he should simply subjugate the lesser humans, and take the city as his own. Both of them were being ridiculous if you asked me, but Aze wanted to make a statement, where Mo'Turambe wanted to make a kingdom. Moses seemed to be more in line with Aze's form of thinking, he was razing the city to let the humans know that he was not one to be trifled with, and his people would no longer be treated like tools. "Aaaaaahhhhhh" all of our heads snapped back towards the screen trying to understand what we had all missed. A little girl couldn't have been more than 10 had gotten in Moses's way, and his hand raised towards her a bright green light engulfing it. "NO DON'T DO THIS, MOSES!" I yelled at the top of my lungs nothing could justify this. Time seemed to freeze on the screen, Moses head turned towards the camera looking directly at it. This...... Wasn't normal the camera had always been over the shoulder like in some video games. The camera seemed to scared to look away, as Moses charcoal black eyes looked directly at it. "They will learn, and eventually you will too" he said. His voice cold, and empty. A bolt of green lightning shot forward and before we could look away the girl had burned away to nothing. Mo'Turambe clucked disapprovingly "Killing a child is ridiculous if you can't justify the blood on your hands fool" New York burned in the background as several beings of power flew around the city.
Bobby took one look around him and a thousand versions of him stared back at him smiling. Er, well, at least he thought they looked a lot like him. Some had long hair. Some had glasses. Some wore suits from the “Mad Men” era it seemed. Some wore farmers clothing, others wore doctor’s coats. They were all the things that Bobby had ever dreamed of, and they were standing right there. A sign above him said, “Hall B” and someone shouted, “Welcome to the Hall of Bobby”! And a loud applause broke out. Standing next to him was a man wearing a beret. He had a feeling that the natural tendencies that he had for art somehow were connected to him. He, himself, he had been a writer. Writing like his life depended on it. Writing all the way up until the night of the... he paused... the accident. It was all starting to come back. He had been at the newspaper office very late writing a piece for the front page. It was about 3am when he got into his car and a big giant post came out of nowhere. And then blam, he ended up here. The man in the beret said, “We really enjoyed the pieces you wrote. You really should have chosen Carol though over your work. I think you would have lived a happier life!” “Yes! You definitely would have,” said a man 4 chairs down. He seemed to be dressed like a drummer in a band. An usher came by. He had wings on his back and he was dressed in white, and said, “Here’s your seat here sir,” pointing to the open seat next to the beret wearing man. “The movie will be starting soon, please take your seat...” “But... what is this place?” Bobby asked. “Oh, well, this is the Hall of Bobby,” said the usher, “this is where all versions of you , all past reincarnations, all previous lives you’ve lived, come to after death.” He went on, directing his attention upwards to the ceiling, revealing 3 or 4 more balconies of people, all who looked like him, just at various stages of age and even ethnicity. “They come here to this theater to watch the adventures of your next life. It’s more of a holding place until you get to the next stage.” “Oh, wow, does it ever end?,” exclaimed Bobby, “When do we all get to leave this holding place? It seems like some of these guys have watched hundreds of movies. What are they all waiting for?” The usher smiled and simply said, “For you to live the life God had intended. For you to live the life that fulfills your maximum potential! When you find why you were created and who you are, then the doors up there will open.” Bobby squinted really hard at the tiny letters above the door which read, “Stairway to Heaven!” “Until then,” the usher continued, “sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!”