Circles, the small and the great ones. They always start all over. Just like me. There is little I can do, at least this is how I feel. I start at zero. No, that 's wrong. I have my memories.

One of my oldest memories was me waking up in a cold bed. My body was torn and twisted by a horrible disease. My hands were almost completely rotten, the skin no longer on my flesh, bare bones showing. This was one of my firsts... an early disbodiement of my mind into another set. I got one important, maybe the utmost important talent I really need in my endeavor: almost perfect memory recalling. I spent not much time there because I was dying really fast for sure. It was painful but also soothing as I could not stand the state my body was in. I was too weak to really do something about it. Devastatingly I could only wait for the last breath in that world. All those experiences would have been lost, if it wasn't for my arrival. And the me around was so grateful for me to show up and rescue them.

But now I would say, they saved me. To this day my memory was very blurry and I still can't recall much of whatever has happened to me. An endless wave of distortion always brings me back to the shore of the before our meeting in their dying body. I am very sure, they saved me no less than I saved them. They even got something very different from what they hoped for. Instead of prolonging their life, I ensured their mere existence in my mind. With their body gone, we will most probably never see their set again. Now they are grumpy for the loss of one life. The vastness of possibility not yet enough to make up for what was genuinely theirs. They will manage, they all do sooner or later. They start with lacking a reason, a goal or a purpose. But after some time seeing what we can do together, they are in. Most of them no questions asked. That's okay, I guess we all start somewhere accepting.

I think I started there too, I bet I was so all in, I never wondered, until I died the first time. Well, what should I say? It didn't last and once you started, there is no end to it. Everytime it gets easier. You learn to let go. We are not sure how or in which way. We could be returning to one set, where it all began or we leave for the next almost identical version of well everything with just the minor difference, we didn't die there yet. I lost count after five times. I simply didn't want to know, I just wanted to end. As you can see, I couldn't. So I do the next best thing, I look for a nice way to waste my time. Sometimes I dream, sometimes I live that dream and sometimes I dream of death. Mine and others. And when I wake up, I am never to be sure about what happened and what did not. That's my life for now.

For all that it's worth, I could be really old or really insane or mental. Maybe both. I couldn't tell, now could I? I don't know if this is depression or the void reaching out. Probably just the core me, I am thrown back to. Pathetic, isn't it? How do I hold myself in such low esteem? There seems to be no other way to do it. I keep the hope to wake up from this one day, write it down and make a living off it. I know, high hopes, low slopes.

But there is so much more going on. Circles not only form my life, they form everything. There is no end. And I am part of this now, somehow. For I am unending.

But who am I? Well, I am Sol, with a short o. I travel much but mostly in space and time. Unfortunately not like a time traveler with a nice device but I rather visit different incarnations of my body. It could be called alternate dimensions or realities. But most lack difference and some lack any resemblance. It is disorienting and oh so very tiring to leap the gaps. I have no real home set, as I call alternative settings, as they differ in only narrow little things to which you have to pay attention. Very much attention.

I spend quite some time in the present and I work a very boring job, which is repetitive and uncreative on its own. So I can have the luxury of paying very much attention to differences. Differences not only on the outside, but on the inside too. The mind is a fragile thing and like every medium it changes with its host and with its contents. I am no nice or good person, to be completely honest, I have to go quite some lengths to be the least likeable. Or sociable.

It is very depressing to be nonchalantly direct about this. Well, I guess I am not the hero of this story but the narrator. Why? I am not the only protagonist, with me I have Sin and Nil who are quite the characters. I represent the brooding and longing part of me while Sin is more about instincts and reacting, Nil is distant and very analytic. I get along with both but they don’t really interact with each other. Frankly, they are a pain in the ass. Both in their own way. So we are quite the team.

There is not much more to know about me. I prefer to be on my own, as I cannot stand to be dependent on others. But with Sin and Nil I already have to deal with myself more than I would ever bargain for. And I would really prefer this to be only about me or only about them but I guess that is something completely out of the question.