Repetition

The world is dead. She has no memory. She is trapped in a never-ending cycle that will forever haunt her. Forever trap her. And the man with red eyes is always watching her.

The world is dead.

All of it.

The sky is brown and the clouds are gone. The grass is wilted and no life is present. A wind blows, flinging particles of dirt everywhere, creating even more of a mess. Sounds are almost non-existent; not even the birds are chirping. Of course the birds are probably all dead anyway. The buildings look like they are covered in a thick brown film and just like they are falling apart.

~*~*~*~

If you were to ask me how the hell I got here I would have no answer for you. All I can tell you is that I'm trapped here in what I think is a storage room that has boxes piled all the way to the ceiling. I can see through small spaces between the boxes, though I know that there's nothing to see. I'm all alone here; I'm the last one left; the last human.

I don't remember how I got here, all I know is that I'm here with no memory of what happened.

The room is dark save at the ceiling where there is a light periodically flickers on and off, casting shadows that admittedly freak me out.

I shouldn't be here, I tell myself, I should be trying to find food, water, and a place to stay.

In the past I would complain that the day had gone by too fast, but now things are different. Now time is meaningless. Inconsequential. Worthless. It's impossible for me to say how much time has passed, but I know (somehow, whether by instinct, intuition, or otherwise) that quite a lot of time has gone by.

I have so many questions to ask!

Where am I? Am I really the last human? What happened to everything? Whose fault is it? Who am I?

My echoing footsteps are the only sounds that I can har and this unnerves me. I have never liked very loud noises, I was always a quiet person who enjoyed bieng in solitude to a certain point. But I don't enjoy this.

I unconsciously try to soften my footfalls with only minimal success, and cease trying all together when I hear another sound. It is quiet and I can barely hear it, but it's there, and something inside me shatters when I realize what it is.

Voices.

Human voices.

How? Something had told me that I am the last one so how can I be hearing voices? Was I lied to? How much of what I was told was a lie?

I have never believed in any one God; I was �" am �" agnostic. I still think that there is something out there, some higher power that controls everything. Nothing about that has changed other than I now believe that that same higher power wants me to suffer for reasons that are unclear to me.

I find my legs moving against my will and I again wonder why I'm down here. I eventually reach the end of one of the long rows of boxes and I finally manage to stop walking closer to the voices. It isn't my imagination; I really do hear voices.

My heart begins to thump loudly in my chest, so loud I wonder if those people can hear it. Creeping forward just a tiny bit more allows me to see four shadows dancing on the wall. I am now close enough to tell that they are male.

My heart continues its fierce dance in my chest and I struggle to calm myself. Sweat begins to coat my palms so I quietly rub them on my pants.

Get out of here! something screams in my mind. The voice is piercing and I wince as a result.

Emotions start to build in my chest and I can feel a sting at the corners of my eyes. The tell-tale sign of tears. I had not been certain of anything since I regained awareness other than I was the last human. That one thing I had clutched on to has been shattered and I now have nothing left to keep my firmly grounded. A feeling of nausea wells up inside of me and I swallow hard in an attempt to force the bile back doown.

“So this is what it is.”

The fast-pace dance my heart has been doing suddenly increases to a frantic pace and I really do expect it to fly out of my chest. The voice is deep and a bit raspy, almost sounding like it was being dragged out of his throat by a hook, and I think that this man must be a smoker. Two heavy hands clamp onto my shoulders and horrible images flash through my head at top speed.

Perhaps I shouldn't have read so many graphic stories in my life.

I have never fainted from pure fear before but I think I just did because the next thing I see is a man kneeling in front of me. The breath that hits my face nearly makes me faint again. This man is drunk. It takes me a few tries but I manage to pull my terrified gaze away from his face to look at the side. Two figures are illuminated by the flickering lights and my fear only escalates. The figure on the left is holding a cigarette in his left hand and he's looking at me intently. The figure next to him is shorter and I can tell that he is probably about my age. . . . Whatever that is.

I feel rough fingers grip my chin and I find my head being turned back to the drunkard. I will myself to keep silent. But I am scared. I don't like this. I want to wake up. I want my mother to hold me against her and whisper that everything is fine.

Because that's what this is, right? This has to be a dream. . . .

I steadily lose track of time even more as the man looks at my face intently, almost like he's trying to find something. I . . . I think I must have fainted again because the next thing I know, I can feel something tugging on my bonds. Panic spreads yet again through my body and I open my mouth to protest on instinct, only to feel a hand �" a smooth hand �" cover my mouth.

“Please,” came a hushed voice, “Do not make any sound. Those guys will wake up and then I won't be able to help you.”

It's the boy. The one who is probably my age. The ropes that had been digging into my side are gone now and the fear lessens a little. Just a little. The boy puts a finger to his lips to indicate that I have to be quiet. I don't really think I need to be told that. I don't really think I can talk right now if I wanted to. If there's even a chance of getting out of this storage room, then I'm going to go for it.

His hand snakes to grab mine and I notice with a start that it is cold. I mean this room isn't the warmest place ever but it's not cold either.

The boy tugs my arm, prompting me to follow him. As I look around I notice the other men. All four of them are out cold, clutching empty beer bottles to their chests. I turn my gaze in front of me and my eyes widen in surprise.

When was there a staircase in this place?

The boy does not stop or hesitate, but begins ascending the steps.

The moment I place my right foot on the bottom step, something flutters in my stomach. If I have to give a description I will say that it feels like walking onto a stage in front of hundreds of people . . . and being prone to stage fright.

Am I scared? Of those men, yes. Of these stairs? I can't be sure.

A gentle yet slightly impatient tug on my arm. I shove my confused thoughts to the back of my mind and I follow the boy again.

It is dark but I can tell that this is a spiral staircase because I am starting to feel a bit dizzy. I open my mouth to ask how long we have been climbing, but I find myself unable to bring the words forth. His arm is behind him because he still has not let go of my hand, and that is alright. The touch of another human being is comforting to me. The fact I can hold his hand gives me hope that we are not the only ones.

But how can there be more people? A voice asks in my head. The whole world is dead and you know it. You got lucky when you discovered this boy.

Of course it's more along the lines of he found me!

The grip on my hand tightens and I blink rapidly a few times to bring myself back to the present. As I focus again, I can see a light ahead of us that is steadily growing brighter. The boy begins to move a bit faster which makes me move faster as well. After a few more moments I can see that the source of the light is a large glass window. The boy and I stop in front of it and something else �" some other small part of me �" shatters.

Wh-What is this? How can this be real?

Sunlight is streaming in through the large window. I look in disbelief at the blue sky and then down so I can look across the street at what I thought would be brown buildings or remains of buildings. Instead I see a tall white building with a billboard sign on it. The building looks completely new, like it had just been finished not one day ago. I look then at the sign and I wonder why there is nothing on it. Just like with my feeling of unease, I shove my confusion and curiosity to the back of my mind. I drop my eyes further so I can see the ground and I gasp.

People.

There are people down there!

The grass is green and people are just strolling down the street without a care in the world.

So I was lied to again?

What. The. Hell?

Am I just losing my mind? I know that everything had been gone. True I did not see it with my own eyes but I just knew that everything was dead. The voice that had told me so had sounded so . . . calming; so peaceful.

I look over at the boy and I can see that he is smiling broadly as if proud of himself. He probably is.

“Come on.” He says simply, “We have to jump.”

The joy and warmth that had built up inside of me suddenly evaporates into nothing.

“H-Huh? Y-You really mean that we should just j-jump out of this window?”

The boy moves quickly to clasp a hand over my mouth yet again, effectively preventing me from speaking anymore.

“Shhh. Please,” he whispers, “We really don't want those guys to wake up.” The boy looks over my shoulder as if expecting them to be there. A few seconds pass before he looks back to the window.

“Just trust me. Please.”

I look from his face to the window and I gulp. I trust him.

“Let's do it then.” I murmur, trying to shove my fear away just like the unease, the curiosity, and the confusion.

“Just trust me.”

The words slam into me this time and I do a double-take even as he takes my hand once more. I . . . I've heard someone say that to me. . . . The words. . . . The way they were said. It scares me for some reason. He had not sounded like that when he first said those words.

A sharp jerk and I realize the boy has thrown his body at the window, shattering it instantly. I can feel my body tip forward and become weightless as the floor beneath my feet vanishes. I clench my eyes shut as I await my death. Why had I trusted him when he had given me no reason to do so? Another side of me argued that while that may be true, he had also not given me a reason not to trust him. Air rushes around me and my stomach begins to do backflips.

I am going to die! Just when I learn that there are people still alive! Fate certainly is cruel. The pain and death . . . they're coming!

But I never feel anything. My body feels lighter than air, and I wonder briefly if I'm flying somehow. Almost as soon as this feeling came, it was over. I can feel solid ground beneath my feeet and my head jerks up to find the boy. He is standing right beside me, the smile having never left his face. My eyes meet his and my head begins to throb.

Stop it! That voice in my head screams, Stop, just stop looking at his eyes! Turn your head, avert your gaze, close your eyes, just stop looking!

The headache is getting worse and I think that my head is going to explode! My eyes start to burn and I think My eyes! They're melting! Before I finally manage to bow my head.

The pain stops immediately.

The voice in my head is silent again.

Questions arise. Who is in my head? Why did my head hurt when I looked at his eyes? What is wrong with his eyes?!

I pull the image of his eyes up in my mind and a gentle throb begins behind my eyes, though it is not nearly as bad as when I had looked into his eyes directly. But I can't stop thinking about them!

His eyes. . . .!

They're dead!

When I had looked at them I noticed instantly that his eyes were glassy, and y first thought had been that he was blind. Even as I thought that . . . I knew, just knew that that wasn't it.

They. Are. Dead!

My mind travels back and I try frantically to recall if the men from before had dead eyes. I can't remember.

“What's wrong?” The question is simple but it only scares me more. I shake my head fiercely as I attempt to shove this unpleasant emotion back. It leaves, but a feeling of dread and unease remains. I realize that I have my mouth open and I am just gawking at him. His face is one of confusion and this is when I realize that he has no idea his eyes are devoid of any life. I open my mouth, fully intending to tell him, but just before I can utter a sound, it feels like something is starting to constrict my lungs. After a few seconds I just give up and shake my head to let the boy know that I am not going to speak. He reaches out to me and I automatically hold my arm out so he can start pulling me along. I let him lead me to . . . somewhere, I don't know where, it could be anywhere.

I look around, trying to get a grip on my surroundings.

Life.

It is just . . . everywhere! People are casually strolling down the street, some smiling, some scowling, some walking dogs. I look up at the sky and I notice that it is a clear blue. A very bright blue. With not a cloud in the sky.

And the sounds.

Hang on. . . . Were there sounds at the beginning? When I fell out of the window? Had I heard the glass shatter around me. . . .? I just don't know anymore.

I don't know anything!

There are sounds now. I can hear people chattering away like happy monkeys. It is a city scene. Tall buildings are the eye-catchers here; they seem to take up the most room. Almost everywhere I look I can see these tall, white buildings. In fact, I almost feel blinded by how white they are. All signs are blank, empty, not even an indication that there had been anything on them in the first place.

“This place is really nice.” The boy says, his voice clear even though he's facing away from me. “The people here are not very fancy but they are good people.”

My attention shoots completely back to the boy in front of me and I can feel my head begin to swim. It is all just so confusing. . . . I want to know what is going on! I want to know who is doing this because now I know that someone is doing this! Someone just has to be doing this.

I can see that we are getting close to the outskirts of the city because the tall buildings are changing slowly to houses. Even those are white. The boy stops suddenly and I gasp when I collide with his back. Something akin to an electric shock shoots through my body and a dull pain spreads through my nerves. My feet move quickly �" albeit clumsily �" back so I no longer touch any more of the boy other than his hand.

“Excuse me.”

It is a woman's voice and I look up when it reaches my ears. I look at her face and utter a horrified little shriek that sounds half choked.

Her too!

Her eyes!

Her eyes are glassy as well, but not because of blindness. Something cold seeps into my bones, making me shiver. Our eyes are locked and I know I need to look away but I can't! A horrifying moment passes and I begin to think that she will attack me, but the tension fades slowly when she looks past me and continues down the street into the pure white town.

The fear I had suppressed begins to trickle back and I try to throw it down again. Something just isn't right about this place. The colors are too bright and the people. . . .!

I do not think before I act (I never did much of that in the first place), and I reach up with my free hand to tug on the boy's.

I quickly avert my eyes to the ground when he turns to look at me.

“Tell me what is going on.” I say in what I hope is a steady voice. “Tell me why you were in that storage room. Tell me what happened to everything. What is wrong with your eyes . . . no . . . with everyone's eyes?” The words come tumbling out of my mouth freely just like water from a waterfall. I had started to speak in a quiet and at least moderately calm voice that is now a half yell.

“Why am I here? Who are you? Who am I? Where are we? Why was I told the world is dead when it obviously is not? Why. . . .”

The boy's hand tightens its grip on mine, bringing me to a halt in my almost hysterical babbling. I look up from the ground slowly; I do not want to accidentally look into those dead eyes of his. My gaze halts on his lips and they move as he begins to speak to me. His voice is soothing, calm, quiet.

“Do not worry.” He says softly, his lips curving into a smile. “The place where I am taking you. . . . You will get all your answers there I promise.”

His voice. His goddamned voice! Why is it so calm and understanding? Why isn't he scared? Why is this world so messed up? Did I do something in the past to warrant some kind of punishment?

I shift my gaze from his lips to look around. The people have all stopped walking and are looking at the boy and me with those dead eyes. Chills rush up and down my spine and I start to tremble. I am cold. I shouldn't be, though, because the sun is still shining brightly in the sky.

My feet start to move again, almost of their own accord. The boy must be walking once more.

None of this makes any sense! I scream in my mind.

As if on cue, that other voice starts talking. It is both mine and yet not mine. It is tinted with . . . something and I don't know what. I hate this. I want all of this to just stop and go back to how it used to be. Before I woke up in that storage room.

I raise my eyes to watch where the boy is taking me and I notice that we are almost completely out of the city. Feelings that I had successfully kept at bay begin to rise up inside of me.

Confusion. Fear. Doubt. Curiosity. Wariness.

Not all of the emotions are bad, though. . . . I feel excited for some reason, eager for what is to come. I wonder vaguely if it is just adrenaline, but I really don't think it is. These emotions might not even be mine in the first place. As this thought courses through my head, my breath hitches. There is something inside of me; I know that now. It's in my head, giving me strange thoughts and making me feel other emotions.

“Are we nearly there?” I find myself asking, sounding like a tired child impatient with a long car ride. I am sure that these words at least, are mine.

“Yes.” The boy speaks though it is hard for me to hear him because he is facing away from me. His voice still makes me feel nervous, but I don't know why.

“There is someone there. He will tell you everything, I pro-”

“Please, don't say that anymore.” I do not mean to interrupt, it just happens. Whenever he says those words I get scared, and I've been scared enough. “I-I'm sorry,” I say in a hushed voice, “It's just-”

This time he interrupts me.

“Don't worry about it,” he says, “Look! We're nearly there!”

I look past him and see a figure sitting in a chair. I swallow and then realize that my throat is completely dry. A feeling of foreboding slithers through me and I try to swallow once more to no avail. As the distance between the figure and us lessens, I gradually learn more about the mysterious being.

The figure is a man. The man is old. He is wearing what I think is a black bathrobe or something too that effect. His head is up and even though I am not close enough to see his eyes, I know that they are trained on me. And that they're alive. Wrinkles adorn his features and he smiles a smile that shows a bit of white teeth as the boy and I approach. He opens his mouth and I think for a split second that I will finally learn the boy's name.

Instead, he greets us with a slightly trembling voice.

“Hello!” He exclaims, his eyes still trained on me. His tone �" one of joy and happiness �" is belied by that look in his eyes.

Eyes that are black as coal.

Eyes that hold great knowledge of this place.

Eyes that are haunting and cold.

Eyes that make me sick.

Eyes that are alive!

My breath hitches in my chest and I wrench my hand from the boys' grip to cover my mouth as I feel the need to cough. I do not dare close my eyes; not if I am near this old man.

A wrinkly hand stretches out towards me and I panic. Amid my momentary confusion, I stand up straight and make it a point to meet the old man's gaze.

“I'm fine,” I breath. “Just a moment of dizziness but I'm all right now.”

I make it a point to avoid the boy's eyes, but although I can't see them, I know that they are trained on me once more.

“The boy said that you would tell me what's going on here.” There I go trying to take control of a situation I know I really have no control over. “Can you really help me?”

The old, smiling face doesn't change and I try in vain to swallow again.

“Yes, I believe I can help the both of you. You and the boy.”

“The . . . boy?” I ask, blinking in confusion, “What do you mean by that?”

“The boy is not completely like the others here,” the old man explains, “He can still be saved if he is removed from this place. You would be saved too, of course.” His eyes burn into mine and I shudder slightly as a feeling of revulsion goes through me. “But I need you to listen to me carefully now. This is of the utmost importance. Are you paying attention?”

I not twice, slowly.

“Good.” The old man turns in his chair to the right and I follow his gaze.

It is nothing very impressive. This is what I think at first anyway. What lies in front of me is a sort of field that is about the length and width of a football field. At the far end I can see a forest and that is when I notice the trees to the left and right of the open area. This isn't what amazes me. What amazes me is the fact that everything gets lighter the closer you get to the treeline. It is so bright at the treeline that it's hard to see past the trees. Confused, I turn to look back at the old man.

“Wh-What is. . . .?”

“This place does not have much time left.” The old man locks his gaze with mine and terror squirms in my stomach. It takes some effort but I manage to tear my eyes away from his; they still make me sick. “I know it does not look it, but this world is slowly decaying. It is impossible for you and the boy to stay here. Both of you must make for the trees and into the light.”

I nod. My body is beginning to shake slightly at the old man's words.

“Now this . . . this is the most important thing so be sure to listen closely.” This time I can't stop my eyes from meeting his. I'm terrified.

“Do not lose the boy. The boy is crucial! You must not lose sight of the boy do you understand?”

The old man's voice has turned sharp and his eyes seem to glint while he is talking. I feel a scream bubble in my throat and I just want to let it out! All of the emotions are pressing up and trying to force themselves out all at once, wanting to be released in a single scream.

My mouth opens. I don't scream. I speak instead, my eyes still locked with his.

“Wh-Why i-is he s-so imp-important?” My voice is little more than a squeak but he hears it anyway, though he continues to speak almost as if he hadn't.

“Make sure that you don't lose the boy! The two of you have to run to the trees together, and from there you can get out. Just remember the most important thing: don't lose the boy!”

Finally I am able to rip my eyes away from his. I think my heart might have turned into a jackrabbit with all the thumping it's doing against my ribcage. I look at the boy before I accidentally manage to dissuade myself. But I don't look at his eyes. Never again at those cold, empty eyes.

“We need to run, right?”

The boy nods; I nod.

“I'll introduce you to my mom, okay?” Assuming I can find her when I get out that is.

The boy nods again and I see his lips curve into a smile that I'm sure would be charming if it weren't for his eyes. I smile back and turn to the bright trees.

“Well, then,” I begin, “C'mon!”

We take off in a dead sprint. The wind buffets my face just like when I had jumped out the window. I don't look anywhere other than at the trees ahead of me.

It takes only seconds it feels like, and we're there.

“We made it!” I declared excitedly. “We really made it! We can get out! Isn't this great?!”

I don't hear an answer.

He must be out of breath or just so happy that he can't speak!

I look to my right, expecting to see the boy, obviously. I'm so happy that I doubt even looking into his eyes will destroy this ecstatic feeling I have.

Only. . . .

Wh-What? How can. . . .? How did. . . .? What's g. . . .? What is going on?

He-He was right here! Why is he gone? I turn my body completely to the right; he might have just fallen behind and is still catching up.

Right?

No boy in sight.

The old man's warning floats through my mind �" don't lose the boy! - and I utter a small scream of horror. I turn my back to the blinding trees and I look back in the direction of the old man. I can only barely see him but I do not need to see him to know that he is looking at me.

What is going on here?! Why is the boy gone?! How?!

The elation I had been feeling vanishes instantly only to be replaced by fear, terror, and nausea. Frantically I try to calm my racing heart but something interrupts me.

Pain interrupts me.

The feeling is so sharp, so sudden, that there is no time for me to prevent myself from screaming. Amidst my pain I am able to determine somehow that the only part of me that is burning is my back. The back of everything: my legs, feet, ankles, neck, arms. I'm on fire! I can even hear the crackling of the flames as they consume my skin. I-I can't move. I feel frozen. I'm scared. White-hot pricks of agony sweep through my body and I hear myself cry out again. I am driven to take a step forward, and when I do I notice that the pain dulls. I look down at my feet and turn to look at the trees.

The light.

It's so blinding! My eyes go down to the ground and I know why it felt as if I was on fire: the light. That's what burned me! And the old man had tried to lead me the-

My world fills with the blinding color of white as fire licks at my skin. I swear that my blood is boiling and a broken image of my heart exploding enters my head. I scream in fear and pain. I start to run backwards towards the town, to where the shadows will hopefully cool my scalding skin. I turn to start to sprint in the direction of the old man. I also wonder vaguely if he will laugh at my charred face and body.

This must be what it feels like to run from death. I'm running as fast as I can and I can still feel the heat snapping at my heels.

The light chases me all the way back to the old man and I notice that it stops about five feet from him. My body doubles over as I pant and gasp for air. I feel those cold eyes on me, watching me. I finally regain my breath and look up, not caring if I meet his eyes. I want to ask why he told the boy and me to run. I want to ask why the light burned me. I want to ask if that really was light.

Instead I ask: “What happened to the boy?”

The old man does nothing other than blink at me. Frustration wells inside of me and so I ask him again.

“What happened to the boy?” Again the old man just blinks at me. The next time I ask I realize that my voice is raised. “Please, sir! What happened to the boy?!”

His old, wrinkled mouth opens to reveal pearly white teeth, and I think that's a bit odd, but the thought of his near-perfect teeth are wiped from my mind at the old man's reply.

“What boy?”

I swear my heart stops. He's just joking, right? Any second his old face is going to turn into a crinkly smile and he will tell me that the boy is just hiding. Right?

It is easy for me to see the confusion in his old face and I realize that he really has no idea who or what I'm talking about.

“Can I help you, little lady? What boy might you be talking about?”

His voice.

It's different. The change is subtle but I can tell that it is different. The voice that isn't quite mine pipes up inside of me.

It's not the same old man. You asked where the boy is and he did not know. You are in trouble. You are trapped in a maze that has no entrance or exit. You are-

“Shut up!” I do not mean to yell, it just happens. The old man doesn't react to it either. It takes a lot of effort but I manage to meet his eyes.

“Who . . . Who are you?”

The grins and smiles up to this point have all been calm and peaceful. The grin that appears on his old face can't be described as anything but maniacal. Pure white teeth gleam at me from between cracked lips and his eyes. . . . Why is it always the eyes?! They are no longer pitch black but a hellish red. The wrinkly skin on his face begins to tighten and become pale, and before I know it, I am looking at a young man who might be in his early to mid-twenties. The black robe has vanished only to be replaced by a black suit. His hair, which had been gray and balding in some spots, is now short, slick, and black. He could be mistaken for a young businessman.

“Hello!” he greets me jovially, mimicking the old man, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!” His voice is pleasant and if this was any other situation this voice might soothe me. But now it only terrifies me. His hand reaches out to me but I take a step back away from him. I will not let him touch me. That maniacal grin does not fade. In fact, I think it grows bigger.

“Wh-Who. . . .?”

That grin grows wider. “I am no one that you will remember. In fact, when this is over, you won't remember anything. You won't know anything!”

Who is this man? I don't even think he has a name. The only thing I can think to call him is That Man.

That Man is terrifying. A horrible sense of deja vu hits me hard.

“Why. . . .? A-Are y-you the one d-doing this?”

My voice is weak, cowardly, and I hate it. That Man positively reeks of evil and darkness. Anyone can tell.

“I can easily answer your second question, little lady. I am the one who did everything. As a sort of game, you see. But I pity you, little lady. I can free you like I freed the young boy. See?” That Man holds a hand out, palm up, and a small glowing sphere materializes there. It is a pale blue and grows larger slowly. As seconds pass, I notice a shape forming in its center. A human shape. The boy. His body is curled up in a fetal position, his hands tucked up under his chin. From where I stand, he looks to be merely sleeping. I think that is what That Man wants me to see. I don't think he wants me to see the look of pain etched onto his features.

It's like he's having a nightmare. I think dumbly, He'll be suffering forever.

“See? He's just sleeping peacefully.” That Man beams at me and when he does, I can feel something cold steal over me.

I don't know where or how I find the strength to speak, but I do. Loudly, yet in a shaking voice.

“H-He's not sl-sleeping! H-He's in pain! S-See?!” I jab a finger at the sphere to prove my point, and That Man follows my finger, his red eyes settling on the boy.

“Well this is most unfortunate.” He says slowly, softly, a frown stealing over his face for the first time. “Here I was thinking that you would be such an easy catch. I even changed the way I showed you the boy! But alas! I have failed again!”

I blink. What is he talking about? What does he mean by 'fail'? What does he mean by 'again'? Is this man insane?!

That Man continues to talk like I'm not even here.

“It is problematic because you didn't come with me willingly again. I can't take you with me if you don't come willingly. The boy came to me; he always does. And the boy is the key for capturing you, but you are so suspicious! It makes you clever!” His hellish eyes catch me and he takes a step in my direction. My heart leaps into my throat and I take a step away. I don't even see him move! He is standing in front of me now, bending down to meet my eyes, and he cups my chin. I expect a freezing cold.

Hot!

I cringe in his grip and said grip only tightens. It feels like I'm burning, like his grip alone is killing me. The fire is racing through my body, but suddenly it stops its rampage and starts rushing to my head. That Man reaches behind my head to cup it and to hold me still. . . .

I scream.

It hurts! It burns! I try to tug at his hands but his grip on my chin merely tightens and That Man laughs at my scream.

“Hoho! You should start remembering everything!” He titters, “Even though you have slipped through my fingers again, I never grow tired of your beautiful screams!” I scream again even after hearing those words.

It hurts! Oh God, it hurts! My head. . . .!

Wh-Why is this happening to me?! Why must I be put through such suffering?!

That Man titters again.

I remember everything! But oh God it hurts to remember!

I remember where I am: my town. I lived here! I was born and raised here. Why did I not recognize it as the place where I was born?! I had been born in a cottage that was . . . that was . . . right here. . . . I had been born right here. I remember playing in the field in front of the forest. Sorrow strikes me as I realize what I had forgotten. True I had been bored some days, but I never wanted to forget!

The pain in my head worsens and I pray to God (if there is a God in a place like this!) to save me. My mouth and I start to speak, though I do not know how I manage it.

“M-My house. . . .! Th-This is wh . . . where I l-liv-lived!”

The grip on my chin tightens and I think that my jaw is going to break.

“Very good!” he congratulates me, “You remembered that so easily! That didn't hurt at all, did it?”

How . . . How can someone take this much pleasure from the pain of others?! It's . . . It's not right!

“I am . . . the l-last. . . . No, th-there are. . . .”

The pain in my head is getting worse and I cannot find the words to answer my own question. That Man strokes the back of my head, causing me to shudder in revulsion even through the pain.

“Now, little lady, I have just two more questions for you. First: Who am I?”

The fire escalates and surges down my neck and through my veins. Just thinking about That Man makes the fire hotter, more painful. Another scream rips its way past my lips and the sound appears to give That Man pleasure.

Who is he?

Who is he?!

Who is he?!

When I try to think through the pain to the answer, my head feels light and I get dizzy.

“Come on!” that Man titters, a high voice that grates on my ears, “It isn't that difficult to figure out my identity! What makes you feel dizzy and weak when you think about it?”

The voice, which has been amiable and pleasant, starts to sound impatient. The fire that is burning in both my head and throat gets even hotter if that were possible, and I utter a hoarse, choked scream. My throat has to be damaged beyond repair. Has to. I try to think again at That Man's identity and I feel weak once more. I open my mouth and manage to rasp a word out. It suddenly hurts to speak and I think that, for some odd reason, the agony will fade when I give my answer.

The fire continues its blazing path down my body.

“Death.”

His hellish eyes seem to glimmer and he shifts his position so that he is standing just behind me. One hand wraps around my throat and the other is still stroking my hair. He leans down to my ear and when he speaks, his breath against my skin seems to ignite more pain in my body, making me want to just curl and writhe upon the ground.

“Correct, little lady.” That Man laughs, “I am Death. Or rather, I work with Death to be precise. If I were Death then I wouldn't be able to play this wonderful game with you! Death is always so busy, you know!” The burning breath brushes against my ear in a sort of caress and I whimper childishly, helplessly.

It was . . . It has all been a game to this monster?

He sighs and resumes his caresses almost absently. “I wish you were as easy to take as the boy, but I dare say that this is far more entertaining! Now I have that second question for you, little lady.” That Man presses his lips to the shell of my ear. “Tell me who you are.”

Everything around me halts suddenly and my heart begins to thud mercilessly within my chest. The question I have been asking myself ever since I woke up in this familiar, yet so alien, place. His hand is still around my neck and I glance up to the sky, unconsciously searching for the blinding sun that had been there up to this point. It is gone. The sky is completely and utterly black. There is a small circle of light that surrounds us, only us, and I notice that I can no longer see the town at all.

“See?” That Man breathes into my ear again, “You are so close to remembering; all you need to do is focus a teensy bit more and you will finally find the answer that you have been seeking.”

The small circle of light is slowly moving closer to my feet and my thoughts begin to spiral down into darkness.

I-I remember. . . .

A voice slides into my mind, egging me along the path of self-discovery.

I had a . . . . a mother . . . a father . . . a brother. . . .

The circle of light closes in even further.

Thoughts whirl through my mind and my eyes open quickly �" when had they closed? - to see a world of pure darkness. My throat feels tight and I vaguely recall that That Man has his hand around my throat. He shifts, his lips caressing the side of my face, his breath scalding me.

“That's it, little lady.” He breathes excitedly, “Just keep remembering. Then we can have even more fun!”

His voice is giddy with excitement and I want to be scared, but I can't seem to find the energy. My mind slowly loses its fragile grasp on consciousness and I feel my mouth open. The hand in my hair tightens to a fist which sends sharp jolts of pain to my scalp. In contrast the hand around my throat slackens finally, probably leaving a red hand print, and instead starts to stroke the middle of my neck. I scream as black begins to invade my sight.

No!

I can't lose consciousness yet!

Not until I get my answers!

The encroaching darkness fills more of my sight and, finally, my thoughts become organized.

The world is dead. I am the last one left. That Man is the source of everything. The boy is gone. That Man is playing a sick and twisted game with me. This used to be my home. I was born and raised here. I have a mother, a father, and a brother. I remember it now! I remember my name! My name is--

“My name. . . .”

The hand around my neck and the hand in my hair tighten in excited expectation.

I gasp hoarsely in pain.

“My name is--”

The darkness takes me into its embrace.

If you were to ask me how the hell I got here I would have no answer for you. All I can tell you is that I'm trapped here in what I think is a storage room with no exit and many questions.

Where am I? Am I really the last human? What happened to everything? Whose fault is it?

Who am I?

Author's Note

This is my first publish on here (and I always fail at giving a summary of any kind about a story), and this version of Repetition is a bit outdated. The summary has been taken from its summary on another site. I've completely re-written this story and I'm in the middle of re-typing it as well. There are some grammatical errors I'm sure, cause I'm really not used to writing in first person. Any help at all would be much appreciated, though!