The End - Visions of Apocalypse

He gripped the blade tight in his hand. He knew the way it had to be done; up the arm, not across the wrist. He sunk the blade deep into the skin, trembling with pain and terror. Tears welled up in his eyes. Just do it. One quick motion. Blood was already flowing up out of his arm, running around his wrist and pattering softly on the white cell floor. This was the point of no return.

He looked away and ran the blade up his arm. He screamed in agony, turning back to see blood coursing out from his wrist almost to the back of his elbow. He trembled and heaved. Soon his heart was pounding madly, desperately trying to pump blood that wasn’t there. He started to feel a terrible chill. So this is death.

He could hear the nurses hurriedly trying to unlock the door from the other side. John’s eyes were twitching uncontrollably, his vision blurring. He felt very lightheaded and toppled over, his head crashing into the bloody cell floor. Then everything went dark.

* * *

June 16th, 2012

John awoke from a terrible nightmare. He dreamt he had been locked away in an insane asylum, and the only way out was… No. No, it was only a dream. He was in his apartment again, in his bed. But if it was just a dream, then why did his misery feel so real? He looked at his arm. No cuts, no scars. He took a moment to catch his breath, to awaken and let the memory fade. It didn’t.

Something else clawed at the back of his mind. A life he once lived. People he loved. Was it real?

Kara. I have to find Kara.

* * *

He marched up Sawyer Street, constantly fearful that they were looking for him, that at any moment they might find him and drag him away again. He reached her house, the one she lived in before they had been together. John frantically knocked on her door, praying that she’d know who he was. He needed her to remember.

Suddenly Kara opened the door, and there was a silent pause as they stared at each other. A smile formed on John’s face, a tear rolled down his cheek. It had been so long. So long since he’d seen her other than in his dreams. So long since he’d heard her voice other than in his head.

“Yes?” she said. “Can I… Help you?”

His smile faded but the tears kept coming. “Kara,” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“Help me, please. Tell me that you remember.”

There was a long pause. She stared at him fearfully, saying nothing.

* * *

John reached the intersection at the end of Sawyer Street. A bus was coming. He stood on the sidewalk, looking calm and inconspicuous. He could hear the drone of its diesel engine as it sped closer. He waited until the last possible moment. When it drove into the intersection, he stepped off the sidewalk and into its path. The driver didn’t have time to apply the brakes. The bumper shattered John’s knees only an instant before his head cracked the windshield.

* * *

June 16th, 2012

John awoke with a pounding headache and tears in his eyes. He left his bed, and marched straight to the window. He lifted it open, and before he could make sense of his memories, he stepped onto the sill and jumped. Within moments, he broke against the sidewalk.

* * *

June 16th, 2012

John awoke. A dream of sweet death lingered in his mind. He turned and looked at his bedroom window, still firmly shut. He inhaled a deep breath and sighed. Then he got up and went to the kitchen, grabbed a large knife from the cutlery drawer and drove it into his stomach repeatedly. He hesitated at first, leaving shallow wounds that stung terribly. Memories of Kara flooded into his thoughts against his will, tormenting him. He wished he could forget. Why couldn’t he forget?

He drove the knife in hard, pressing the blade through as far as he could, wailing in agony all the while. His hands trembled at his sides as he looked down at himself, the handle of the blade protruding from the bloody wound. He hoped to punish himself enough that he’d be forgiven for whatever he did to deserve this. He hoped to be granted peace.

John breathed heavily, overwhelmed by pain and wishing death would come soon. Blood had run down his legs and pooled around his feet over the tiled kitchen floor, more blood than he thought possible. His heart had gone from a fast pounding to a spastic twitching. His legs felt weak, his body cold. He fell to his knees, and while he was kneeling in his own blood, he prayed.

Please God. Let me die. Just let it end… Then everything went dark.

* * *

October 19th, 2019

“It’s finally ready.”

Heinrich stood back for a better view; it didn’t look like much, if truth were told. Certainly not like a device that had the power to reset time.

“I wonder if it actually works,” Werner mused. “But, I suppose we’ll never know. It’s somewhat depressing.”

“It works, Emil. You know it does.”

“But why not… Try it?”

“And trap humanity in an infinite loop? Really?”