When Andrew walked up to the door of the coffee shop he found John sitting on the ground under the coffee shop window shaking and muttering to himself. Andrew became a bit nervous seeing John like this, but he took a deep breath and said hello to him

“Hey!” said John as he scrambled to his feet. “Thanks for coming.” They walked inside and found a couple of chairs near a coffee table. Andrew ordered a latte and asked John in he wanted anything. John said he was thankful, but didn't want to abuse Andrews kindness twice in one day. Andrew came back to their spot with drink in hand and sat down.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Who was that guy you were talking about earlier? Questo-kettle?”

“Quatzequatel. He was a Mayan sky god, why?” Andrew asked.

“What did he look like?” John asked pensively.

“He was a giant feathered serpent. He carried the sun with his face and the moon and stars on his tail. The daily shift from day to night to day again was seen, in a way, as a death and resurrection.”

“I saw him.” said John, “I saw Quatzequatel...”

“What do you mean, you saw him?” Asked Andrew.

“In a dream. I saw him in a dream. I'd never seen him before, didn't even know about him until this morning, but he was in my dream. He raised the sun, but was killed and in his death hung the stars and moon. As he died he consumed me in fire.”

“Wow...” said Andrew, “that's pretty cool. Freaky, but cool. What's the problem you were talking about?”

“I... I, uh...” John tried to think of how to phrase his thoughts, he hadn't really thought about this conclusion until just then. “I think I am him...”

“How so?” Andrew asked. He was starting to feel weirded out.

“I die everyday.”

“What?”

“I die, everyday, and then I return from death, everyday. It's been happening for a while now...”

“John, I... I think I should go.” Andrew said standing up.

“No! Please! I've died hundreds of times in brutal and gruesome ways and then just as I start passing into whatever lies beyond this life I'm wrenched back and stuffed back into my body, it heals, painfully, and then it starts over again!”

“I think you should get some help, John...” Andrew reached in his pocket, pulled out his wallet and thumbed through some cards. He pulled one out. “This is a friend of mine, Dennis, he's a really good Psychologist, deals with a lot of delusions and psychoses.”

“I'm not delusional!” John said getting frustrated.

“I know what you are experiencing probably seems very real to you, but it's just impossible. You can't die and come back to life!”

“But I am... I do!” John said with desperation in his voice.

“John, I'm sorry. Please call Dennis, he can help you.”

“Don't go!” John began to cry “I can't, I can't do this anymore, it needs to stop!”

“John, the more I stay the more I'm afraid I feed into this unhealthy delusion.” Andrew said goodbye again and started walking to the door. John cried in his seat for a few moments, the rest of the coffee shop looking over at him. The bell on the door chimed and Andrew walked out. John realized he was the center of everyone's attention and got mad. He stood up and began shouting “Stop looking at me like that!” He said “I'm not crazy! This is real! This is real!” He ran out the door and saw Andrew at a cross walk waiting for the light to change. John couldn't stand the thought of being alone in this torture a single day longer. Maybe he had read more into their initial discussion than was actually there, but he didn't think so. It wasn't a mistake that he met Andrew, someone who studies his condition professionally (although not in a necessarily tangible way). He had to win him back, he was desperate; he called to him and ran over. John grabbed Andrews elbow roughly, Andrew yelped.

“Ow! John, let go!”

“This is real!” John pleaded with him “This is real! It needs to stop!” Andrew yanked his arm from John's grasp.

“You're right, this does need to stop! Leave me alone or I'll call the police!” The light changed as Andrew finished talking and he began to cross the road. John stood there, staring at Andrew, fighting back rage and sorrow and grief.

“It's real!” He shouted. “It's real! You have to help me!” John began to run across the road. Andrew looked back and burst into a sprint when he saw John running. John was shouting “It's real! Help me! Help me, please!”

Andrew didn't know what to do, or how he got himself into this. Was he really being chased and threatened by the same man who saved his life 12 hours ago? Terror and anxiety gripped at his stomach and the feeling was so drastic it made him stumble. As he centered himself he heard a loud “SPROCK!” sound that startled him further. He turned around, breathing heavily and looked in the direction he heard the sound. He expected to see John a short distance behind him; he saw instead a traffic jam happening in the middle of the intersection. He saw, as if in slow motion, people getting out of their cars and running to the middle of the cross walk. He saw people dialing their phones and taking pictures, and he saw one man beginning to cry and running his hands through his hair, staring horrified at the road, his eyes almost screaming “What have I done?” Andrew tried to make sense of it, but he couldn't, not at first. He began to walk back towards the intersection, being wary of where John might be hiding when he realized what had happened. As he walked closer his suspicions were confirmed. The loud noise that startled him was the sound of a man running his light because he was texting while driving and striking John in the middle of the road. John had folded like a rag doll, and then tumbled off the mans hood. He had hit his head badly on the pavement and was bleeding out through a head wound. It was unseasonably cold out and it began to rain; Andrew stared at him, steam now rising from the open wound. Horrified, Andrew pleaded with God in unknown words and groans to make it not so. He watched John's body take its last gasp for air and then watched the life fade from his eyes. John was dead.