Just like the others, what I saw was an old man in the park. He donned a thick tattered jacket, looking so smelly as he fixated his sleepy gaze on the pile of leaves that he sorted by their shade of green, their size, their overall quality, and by the thickness of their stems and veins. Like how one would treat a million-dollar work of art, he would tap each one carefully, blinking, clicking his tongue in satisfaction, pushing them, grouping one with the others with a hopeful sigh as his fingers memorized its creases.

He seemed so satisfied as he divided them into smaller and smaller piles of trash. All of us, I’m sure, wondered, as to how he could be so happy in this little bubble of his. Some wondered if he’s high. There were a few that grinned to themselves, thinking that maybe he’s that retarded and that they’re better. I know exactly what they felt. That’s how I figured I was infected. Anyway, all the bystanders left him to move on with their lives, except for a college student, a young man in his early twenties, who walked by and snapped to call the young man’s attention. 

His name was Jonathan, and he asked if the seat was taken. 

The old man nodded, but Jonathan thinned his lips and still sat on the other end of the bench, pushing away the man’s collection, destroying it with a simple sweep. Everything that the old man worked for in the past millennia—no, hours, minutes, have been destroyed, and his plan was set into place. 

“You seem like you’re having fun,” Jonathan said, forcing out a smile.

The old man nodded.

“Just leaves, then?” Jonathan scoffed. 

“Yes.” 

“You seem like you’re having fun,” Jonathan said, grinning, sighing in the satisfaction that the eggs he bought weren’t broken. I know. “I’m sorry about the other pile of leaves,” he added. 

“Very.” 

The old man went back to his sorting with utmost focus. It was then where a high-pitched surge of sound rang in my ear—our ears. The world dimmed, the skies turned white with the clouds turning black, staging the trees to dance, cracking as they twisted and intertwined like arms. Most of those that were unlucky enough to be caught standing screamed as their legs jellied. Their bodies were left at the mercy of the patches of blackened fingers that brushed onto their bodies instead of grass.

It would usually warrant another torrent of screams, but everything turned out fine after a blink. Yes, not one of us dared to close our eyes. It seemed that we were frozen in time, forced to experience that haunting process, the same one that put Jonathan at the edge of his seat. 

“Do you want to know why it’s fun?” The old man asked. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you want to know why it’s fun?” The old man’s voice weirdly carried the same tone like it was recorded and played again. 

Jonathan wiped the sweat trickling from his chin, his heart quickening its pace. “It’s fun to see what makes things go together?” He scoffed. “Or maybe, you just like collecting green things? That’s weird, though.” 

“What is?” The old man picked another leaf and moved it along. “I’ve come to understand that collectors exist in this period, so I have trouble understanding as to why it’s weird for me to collect leaves.” 

“I mean…”

Jonathan looked away, laughing, but he trembled. He blinked again. 

Our ears rang again. I saw everything. It’s something that gnawed my brain but I could simply not explain, but I’ve lived the lives of the very people in that park up until that very moment. I knew who they are now, what they’re doing here, and what Jonathan was thinking. Jonathan forced his eyes shut, finally feeling our gazes stabbing into his body. He started scratching his fingers. I did—we did, too.

“It’s an issue of value,” Jonathan said, but I knew exactly that his will to escape was gone. 

“Then there’s nothing weird about me collecting and being happy about sorting leaves, is it?” The man picked up another leaf. “I’ve been meaning to find you, but you could say that I was a bit distracted. 

“With leaves?” Jonathan tried to laugh, but his mouth ran dry. “That was a terrible joke and I’m sorry,” he added, continuing to scratch his fingers. “I guess I am that popular now, even with the old weirdos.”

“It’s not my fault that I looked this way and ended up liking to collect and sort leaves.” The old man laughed and picked up another leaf. The world blackened and brightened in the same second, putting Jonathan on edge. “If anything, you’re the one who’s being... What do you guys use—ah… an asshole for calling me a weirdo.” 

“I’m not.” Jonathan wiped his face again. 

His eyes wandered. The number of people in the park dwindled by the second. His will to stand up was gone and run like the others was gone. It was the eggs. He was worried that the eggs that he bought would break and that, like me, he figured that there’s no escape. 

“I’m different.” Jonathan scratched the back of his head. “I’m smart enough to be popular. I’m not that good-looking, but I’m definitely the soothing type. I can listen to anyone who talks to me, and I’m not an asshole. I respect other people’s opinions, unlike the people I know. I’m different. I’m better than them.” 

“Then, in the same way, you’re the same as everybody else.” The old man scoffed. “You’re just saying that you’re different to feel that you belong in a group that’s somewhat better.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Jonathan mumbled. 

“I wanted to know it, see it, for myself. I figured that the only thing that makes a leaf special is never found in the leaf itself.” The old man breathed out. He was referring to us. I know. “I sorted them out,” he said. “One would always be bigger than the other. There would be a case where one would have a brighter hue—be darker—in the same way. A handful would be thick, where some would be so thin that I would have to run them in between my fingers.” He scratched his beard. “I’m giving them a leeway here. I’m that patient, after all. The only way that I could group them according to who they were, if I were to follow the human lens, is to find a bigger bench. By then I would have to stand very very very far away just to see that one is definitely not so different than others. All that effort to see that we are as problematic as the way these leaves would be so different.”

“I get it.”

“So you’ve come to understand as to why I’m about to murder you?” The old man said. We know now that he wasn’t joking. “I’ve made a hundred people fight and kill each other. No matter how little, all of them are fighting for something. It made me realize the beauty of hypocrisy. After that, I abandoned the idea of killing everyone in this timeline. I needed to see everyone as an individual, and my efforts would be defeated at the moment I start to compare and relate them to others that I know.”

“You can’t blame me for the lives I’ve ruined so far in the future. I’m working on something that could change everything!” Jonathan faced the old man with courage brimming in his chest. “That’s what I’m fighting for.” 

“There was no lie there. I’ve come to understand that too, but I want to hear it from your mouth.” The old man gave Jonathan a weak grin. “We all wanted to win, to beat something, and be better than anyone else. I have no need for the Jonathan who’s different, who’s smart enough because someone’s dumb, who’s not that good looking but soothing because some are handsome and terrible, who could listen to others because others won’t talk back, and who’s good because others are assholes.” The old man picked up a leaf and showed it to Jonathan with a pure smile. “I wanted to talk to you because I want to understand who Jonathan is. I want to know who you are. I want to know what you wanted.” 

“You’re not making sense.”

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” the old man smiled. “our conversation won’t make sense. It won’t be defined as it is, but it shows that it’s just what it is. Well, at least now, you’re aware that it would neither be special nor insignificant. It matters so little in the grand scheme of things that it matters. It’s the contradiction that makes it so that we could believe in it. You could never lie to me, or the others, but I want to hear you say it.”

“I…” Jonathan scratched his fingers again as he took a deep breath through his gritting teeth. Somehow, I felt that he was compelled to talk. “I want to be better,” he muttered. “I wanted to be better than anyone else and prove them wrong. I want the world to look at me in a better light, thinking that they should’ve been nice to me. I want to prove that I could be something more than what they think.”

He didn’t lie. 

“I see,” the old man replied, smiling at Jonathan.

That’s the last time I saw them before that young man got murdered. Just like you, I know what happened, I can’t explain it fully, but the thought of… There’s nothing that we could do about it.

At least you’re aware.