The End is Never The End

Firstday, Autumn 11th, 3–…4,372; Evening, 23:00 [3142910427]

Ruminate, for I have a question. A hypothetical, if you will. It's not particularly hard one, so you don't have to worry. I'm not expecting an answer anyway. It's not like you can give me one, nor will I be able to hear it. Though with you, who truly knows?

Ah, but would you be able to understand what I'm trying to tell you? I suppose not.

Then, let me set the scene.

It's the first day of the ten-day week. The final bell of Tona Academy, a secondary school for those between 15-18 human years of age, rings as the sun touches the horizon. The handful of students that remain for their after-school clubs are told its time to leave. Most pack up rather quickly, rushing out the doors without looking back. Only a few are diligent enough to clean up after themselves, having been silently coerced into the role.

One such student is a junior, finishing up another report from m-- her never-ending pile of paperwork. A sigh of exhaustion escapes her lips, not really satisfied at her progress, but not despairing either. This is simply her life, one she is forced to accept.

Like usual, she grabs her glossy black handbag, following behind the last of the students heading out. The sun -- or suns, depending on the day -- has already set, leaving only the light reflecting off the shattered moon and a few flickering street lamps to illuminate her dark path. Though, even that is swallowed up by the gray clouds hovering in the sky.

It isn't long before it starts to rain. A few scattered drops at first, staining her black blazer. Then a few more, and some more after that, slowly building to a downpour. In response, she pulls out an umbrella, trying to keep her upper half dry. Her exposed legs? Left to the whims of the wind, not that it particularly matters this time.

Then... hm... what happens next? It's a bit hard to reca-- describe. There's a bright headlight followed by a loud honk and then--

CRRAASSSSSHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

...

...

...

Silence.

At first, she doesn't understand what's happening. Her body is cold, yet an uncomfortable heat emanates from her stomach and a few others. She tries to speak, but no sound comes out, only a metallic tasting liquid. A drop of water pricks her face as some sensation returns to her head, her eyes slightly regaining their focus. Where's my umbrella? she wonders, only to see it a meter or so away -- her hand somehow still clutching the handle.

And then, she realizes. A rather obvious conclusion, yet one people usually look away from. After all, the chance of such an untimely situation is one in a million. However, she immediately comes to terms with it, almost as if a weight has lifted off her chest.

Yes, I'm dying.

Ah, sorry, I mean she's dying, though I guess I've already spoiled the surprise. I imagine you already know what's going on too, well, at least from what I told you.

It's been seventeen years -- a time so short yet so painfully long. A preamble that climaxed just a few hours ago, though most wouldn't know about it. That part of history has been expunged, known only to me... and a few others, annoyingly. As for my fading body, this time's rather quick and painless. Well, better than the agony of poison, drowning, or mutilation, in my opinion.

Of course, I do have some regrets. I wish I could've said bye to my foster parents or graduate high school. Plus, the junior prom is only a season away. I was definitely looking forward to that. Erasing my browsing history... Eh, does it really matter? Maybe someone will get a kick out of it thinking, "Why the hell did she look that up?" or, "OMG, she was into that shit?!?"

"Damn it, damn it, damn it! Are you okay?!? Agh! She's-- No, emergency services is already on their way. I just have to keep her breathing. Damn it! If I only I knew any healing spells!" A man I assume to be the driver of... whatever hit me yells into my ear, only slightly louder than a whisper. He pounds my chest in a rhythmic fashion, trying to circulate the air in my blood, but that's not doing any good. It only causes the shards of my fractured rib cage to dig further into my lungs, squeezing my life out faster. Not that he notices; he's in too much of a panic.

"Move aside, sir! We'll take it from here!"

"She's not breathing! Start the spell!"

"[Heal] the injuries of my target."

"Come on kid! Stay with me here! ----, contact her parents!"

More voices start to shout somewhere in the distance, but I can barely make any of them out. My vision blurs once again, replaced by a flickering gradient of gray and orange. A bit of green seeps in here and there, but all it does is reduce the pain. I can't even tell what's going on anymore, but that's fine.

After all, I'm destined to die today.

That's just how it is -- my punishment for the life I lived, and the life I'll live next.

Ah, right. I'm supposed to be asking you a question. It completely slipped my mind. I hope you'll forgive me. Well, there's no time like the present. So, let me ask you:

What happens after you die?

...no answer? No worries, I expected that, so let me answer for you.

See, it's rather simple:

Nothing.

There is no afterlife, nor is there some isekai to another reality. Your body remains behind as your soul breaks down into mana particles, saturating the surrounding environment, becoming the sustenance for someone else's spells. That's the law of this world -- a process impossible to stop. Ah, though I guess you're not fond of the word impossible.

Then, let's say you manage to live by modifying the information stored within the mana -- a feat only two people in the entire world can manage. It's a second chance, and you can remember everything that happened from your first go-around. What then?

Well, from my experiments, it's hell.

At first, you think you're okay, going about your daily life. Sure, there are a few things out of place here and there, but nothing that's particularly worrisome -- just a creeping uncomfortableness in the back of your mind. Then, the trauma begins to settle in, eating away at your mind. Sudden memories pop into view, causing you to subconsciously hesitate and freeze. A wall is assembled brick by brick, something you choose to ignore until you can no longer see the top. That's when the fear truly takes hold. Sure, some may overcome it, but the majority struggle, falling back down over and over.

Then follows the destruction of their ego: their personality and sense of self questioned:

"Why am I here?"

"Do I deserve to exist?"

"Am I even real?"

The wall only continues to grow. Their thoughts muddle, dropping into an endless ocean until there's nothing left. A blank slate, ready to be molded into whatever the orchestrator desires.

Of course, they may obtain a modicum of power instead, using it to prop themselves up. They're still themselves, though their shadow gradually twists and warps into something similar. That's the problem with the mind; it's quite the fragile thing.

Me? Well, you can think of this death as me making amends -- fated to relive my mistakes until I destroy them completely, until I disappear altogether. That is the punishment for my sin.

For every person I broke.

For every child I killed.

For every story I changed.

So, even though I know you won't answer me, I ask you once again, dear Professor:

What happens after I die?

Even through my blurred vision, I could clearly make him -- or I guess her at the moment -- out, staring at me with those gold and silver eyes. Her blonde, wavy hair sparkles like the sun, while the red balloon in her right hand dances across the wind. Not even the rain deigns to touch her. That's simply how powerful she is.

My judge, jury, and executioner. The person who caught me and stuck me with these chains. Though, back then, she was more of a man, wearing that oversized blue lab coat and clacking black flip flops. Nowadays, I see her or two others -- all terrible conversation partners, mind you.

Anything else is pointless to think about. I only know as much as she wants me to know. If only she let me rest... She's a real slave driver sometimes.

"How rude. That's purely your fault," she retorts, reading my mind like a book. Without taking a single step, her face instantly appears in front of mine, blocking out the disappearing world. She isn't wrong, though she could've just let dying dogs die.

"Very funny," she comments, hand waving away my quip. "Now, before we get even further off track, let's get started."

In an instant, the once colorless world turns pitch black. Even the Professor herself is swallowed into the darkness, not that it makes a difference. This is her dominion, so she's still around, although where, I can't tell you.

"Your next errand is to support the chair. Head down an alley across from the guild on your seventh birthday." Like always, the details are lacking. Who's the chair? Alley in what town? Which guild? She really does like to speak in vague proverbs, even though she knows exactly what's going to happen. I'm not even sure if that's really my task. Usually it involves some kind of cleanup, not a forced encounter. I wish she had the slightest bit of consideration. More information is required.

"And yet, with that, you always make it on time."

...you know, I really hate her. Especially because I can't refute it. If I fail once, I simply try again. And again. And again. Until I hit that one success.

I must rewrite the past to remove my influence.

Erase their memories to adjust that moment.

Fix any conflicts that arise in the timeline.

For I am the Fool, and this is my atonement.

And so, underneath a terrifyingly bright smile, I die, forever forgotten by the people I was forced to save.