The bodies - my bodies - are piled up in the rough shape of a throne. I wonder which version of myself did that, perhaps it is something I am going to do. I do not know if I should anticipate it or try to prevent it and pray that the time spectrum will be on my side... for once.
The spectrum works in mysterious ways, as the optimists will profess. I tend to disagree and say that time has no input, only the continual output of inherently flawed humans who like to screw each other over to the point where not even suicide can break their loops of theft, murder and other unpleasant delights.
Take me as your humble example. I began using the spectrum in the hopes that I could somehow influence my sister's choice to start smoking when she was just eight and, in doing so, have her alive today and not as the shrivelled corpse-in-progress that she was when I last visited the hospital.
At very single point I tried to contact her or prevent the original influencers from finding her,something or someone delayed or stopped me to the point where I gave in to the exact same violent urges that everybody does when travelling the spectrum. I promised both my sister and myself that I would just go in, do my best to help her and leave if I couldn't.
Now I'm wallowing through a river made from my own dead body a hundred thousand times over, trying to make it all stop. It's not even about saving my sister at this point. It stopped being about her when I killed her eight year old self a few hours (and/or years, days, seconds etc) ago.
I should have just smothered her back in the hospital.
The spectrum works in mysterious ways, as the optimists will profess. I tend to disagree and say that time has no input, only the continual output of inherently flawed humans who like to screw each other over to the point where not even suicide can break their loops of theft, murder and other unpleasant delights.
Take me as your humble example. I began using the spectrum in the hopes that I could somehow influence my sister's choice to start smoking when she was just eight and, in doing so, have her alive today and not as the shrivelled corpse-in-progress that she was when I last visited the hospital.
At very single point I tried to contact her or prevent the original influencers from finding her,something or someone delayed or stopped me to the point where I gave in to the exact same violent urges that everybody does when travelling the spectrum. I promised both my sister and myself that I would just go in, do my best to help her and leave if I couldn't.
Now I'm wallowing through a river made from my own dead body a hundred thousand times over, trying to make it all stop. It's not even about saving my sister at this point. It stopped being about her when I killed her eight year old self a few hours (and/or years, days, seconds etc) ago.
I should have just smothered her back in the hospital.
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