They say when you die there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and while that’s true, it fucking sucks.  I swear to God if I see that tunnel one more time I’m gonna murder someone. My name is John- or was it Jack?  I honestly can’t remember.   It started with a J, I know that for sure… I think- for the life of me I can not remember it.  

Whatever, you guys can just call me J.  

You all may be thinking- “J, what do you mean by ‘see the light at the end of the tunnel again’?”  Oh boy are you guys in for a treat.  So, I was born a few hundred-million years ago in the wonderful year of 1994.  (Y’know, when grunge music was a thing?)  Anyways, it was a long time ago in a wondrous world filled with superpowers.   The only thing that made no sense to me though, is why was I not born with one?   I would ask my parents why all the time, and every time they would give me the same answer- because you were meant to do something else, and whatnot.   It was a pretty sad life; I got bullied, went homeless, died a virgin- we don’t talk about the first life.  

But imagine my surprise when I closed my eyes and still saw light.  That the same light grew ever closer as I was inevitably drawn forward, with the giant fucking hands of the doctors pulling my head out of womb.  That life was pretty much exactly the same, although this time I wasn’t a total shut in.  If I remember correctly- I think I killed myself that time, but low and behold that same light came on again with the same hand that pulled my same goddamn head out of my Mom’s vagi- you know what? Never mind.   

Then my third life started-  which I’m not going to lie, was pretty sweet.   I was super smart because I played into the knowledge I had from the previous two lives.  Invested in Amazon and Apple, became the world's first trillionaire- used all of that money to buy bitcoin then bought the Burj Khalifa with cash.  It’s safe to say I totally balled out on so much different shit.   Won’t lie I’m never gonna forget that life- just a hundred years of partayy.  

But just as that fucking old writer guy once said-  nothing gold can remain.   Which is total bullshit because have you ever seen the shit that came out of Egypt?  That stuff is quite literally thousands of years old, and guess what?  It remained.  I probably could’ve too, but I overdosed from a pound of cocaine on a hooker’s ass crack.   Probably not the best thing to do with the body of an eighty year old- but sorry, not sorry.   

So money was never really an issue ever again, after that life I was just like “Why would I ever want to be poor again?” so I wasn’t.   No loans of a million dollars or anything, just a ton of super risky money gambles which I knew would pay out.   (Is that considered insider trading?)

After about twenty or so lives, it became apparent to me that no matter what, I would always just start over again when I died, which made it tedious in certain instances (especially when trying to experiment with rope play.) but alas I digress.   The only thing that I didn’t know-which I found out quickly- was that my physical abilities carried over between lives as well.  That little tidbit I found out the hard way when I was seven years old, in my thirtieth life or so.   This may be TMI, but it was the bloodiest show-and-tell in the history of anything.  Imagine going to high five your best friend at the time and you blow his fucking arm off?   

That life I quickly put on the backburner because it was so early on, after all seven years was nothin.  It sucked a mountain of cock for sure, but that life was the thing that told me I did have a super power-  I alone stood at the pinnacle of everything that started in 1994. I was the god of Millenials! But anything before then? Fugetaboutit. 

Time and time again I experimented, what would happen if I did one thing differently?  Time and time again, I proved that the butterfly effect does in fact exist, and that karma is a planetary, gargantuan, elephant sized, bitch.  Fucking sneeze on someone the wrong way and next thing you know they’re the second coming of Adolf Hitler.   I would know this because It happened twice, and in both circumstances I got killed by a rabid mob that canceled me on Twitter, or X as they call it in the beginning of the roaring twenties. (stupid name by the way)  But not the twentieth century ones- nah, these are called the roaring twenties because the man who got elected as President came out as a furry in the beginning of his second term.   

That was one of the few lives I found to be the most entertaining, because, I mean, who doesn’t want to see a president try to pee on a newly christened aircraft carrier? 

Once again, my ADHD gets the best of me, my apology… lets see, where was I trying to go with telling you this… Oh right!  

When I started getting stronger and stronger lives, I became an absolute chad amongst the super heroes and so on- I finally had everything I wanted- a fan club, a Nike deal, Hell, even my own arch-nemesis! And with my skills at investing in Amazon and Apple I became both Superman and Batman- without the parental issues! I was quite literally perfection incarnate; good family, dark hair, buff, rich- women totally loved me for my personality, right? (sike)

I had loving parents, and always made sure they were right, because I can only imagine what a disappointing little shit I was during my first two lives-  they might not remember, but I sure as hell do.  But time continues onward- or at least for me in a giant circle.   Born, live, ball out, and redo.   

But no matter what good thing happened, there was an aching realization that I was going to have to redo everything again- which as I said before- sucked a Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, Mount St. Helen amount of dickholes.  Everything grew so repetitive, so- boring.   

But then I met her.  Solaria.  A second class superhero with anger issues and a messiah complex.  (Just what I needed, right?) 

She was the heads to my tails, the weed to my Snoop Dogg,  and the steroids to my A-rod.   And guess what, behind her masked hero name, her real name was hot too.  

(Mel.   It was Mel.)

Fuck, she was hot.   Total babe.   I honestly could talk about her for several straight lives and never get to the real reasons why I loved her so much.    I always made it a point to marry her every life after I met her, because no matter what cruel joke God was playing on me- I believe that she was- is, my person.  The woman that would finally make me want to redo life again, just so I can meet her again and fall in love all over.  That was until my most recent life- the one I’m writing to you from, because something happened, and I can’t seem to wrap my head around it.

I was born, but my mother died.  That never happened.   Ever.   

And then my father died.    Which never happened either.    

And then my love, Melanie… She was struck down by my nemesis.    

Which.  Never.  Happened.   

What the fuck is going on?