[ WP ] Every time you die , you are transported to the time of the first event that ultimately caused your death . One day , you are hit by a car and sent 12 years into the past .

The plan was perfect. 
 
 I first knew I was different, that I was special when I was thirteen. 
 
 I was a dumb kid, well, as dumb as any other thirteen year old boy. I was okay in school, and I could carry a conversation just fine, but somehow I thought that becoming a teenager made me just like my older brother, twice as strong, and three times as wise. 
 
 Cars don ’ t care how smart or strong you are though. 
 
 When I regained conciseness I kept my eyes closed for far longer than necessary. I could only imagine waking up to the smell of sterile linen sheets, and nurses running all around my now broken body. The car didn ’ t have any time to brake and had hit me at full speed. It was my fault. I had just wanted to practice soccer. 
 
 I wasn ’ t in a hospital bed though. I almost fell over when I realized not only was I not in a hospital bed, but I was standing, soccer ball in hand. 
 
 I was confused, but you don ’ t test your ability to survive being hit by car. I mean, unless you are me, eight years older, a full fifth of vodka drunker, and reeling from losing the woman of your dreams. 
 
 Her name was Sarah, and the night I lost her I found out that not only could I survive being hit by a car. I could also survive a head first dive off a ten story apartment complex. 
 
 The door in front of me had a small hole in it. I punched it. I recalled putting my fist through that door a few times actually, but there was only one hole in it now. I actually recalled a lot of thing at that moment, like being blacked out drunk just a few seconds ago or the car accident ten years ago, but the thing I remembered the most was what I was about to do. 
 
 I was about to walk in that room and make Sarah cry. She would cry for hours, and in the middle of the night she would leave for her parents ’ house. I would drink until my anger past and turned to depression, over how terrible of a person I was, and eventually Sarah would come back. That angel would descend into the piss covered hell whole of a life that I was building, and think she could change it. We would do this over, and over, and over, until she finally left me. She should have just gone to her parents ’ house. A pill bottle is a little too much of a permanent solution. 
 
 This time she didn ’ t cry though, and she wouldn ’ t cry again tomorrow either. That day I bought a hand gun. It came with a full box of ammo, but I only ever needed one round. That one bullet stopped Sarah from crying for a full ten years. 
 
 A funeral is an appropriate place to end up after dying. My first time at this funeral was an unpleasant one. Staring at the dead skin of another person is enough to make you afraid, afraid of time, afraid of aging, being old, and afraid of dying. Sure I had died lots of times, but I only ever went back a week at most. I always came back to the choice where it all started. That day I made another choice. 
 
 My second trip to that funeral was a rush. I was thirty years younger again. My accomplice Sarah was alive and by my side again. A few moments ago her husband had fired a gun at me. His wife had committed suicide a few days ago and he thought I was the one who convinced her to do it. He was right of course. 
 
 It had taken a lot of time to set up, but it had too. I had to make a choice that would take years. In a few days Sarah would cry again, she will cry almost once a week for the next three years, and eventually she would leave. Sure it will hurt to see her leave, I love her, but she has to go. For her to be my accomplice she will need a new husband. One that also loves her, not as much as me of course, I have spent lifetimes with Sarah, no one could love her as much as me. The one thing Sarah wants more than anything else it to help me, and I am going to help her help me. We were going to do this forever. 

