“No, not this again . . .”
A torrent of blinding white surrounded me, misty, and cold. I’ve been here before. Many times. I can no longer recall how many. I can never move, only watch. The vast whiteness always made it impossible for me to understand my own orientation. The white world never ceased to fill me with an overwhelming sense of dread, and anger. After all, it consistently, without fail, ended the same.
“He’s coming. Yet again, I’m powerless to stop him from killing me.”
A massive figure appeared, rigid, and breathtaking. His black body rippled against the white background like a hazy shadow as he came closer. He calmly reached out and grabbed hold of my arm, squeezing tightly. Effortlessly the black figure twisted his wrist, and I watched my arm come clean off.
My face contorted, not from pain, but rage.
Why . . . Why can’t I fight back?!
I looked at the gapping socket where my arm used to be. Pistons and wires flared everywhere, flailing uselessly. I could hear the churning gears in my shoulder, trying to find reason behind the malfunction.
And so it starts, again.
The figure smashed his foot on my leg, breaking it clean off. The force of the impact sent the dismembered leg flying into the white abyss beyond. I tried to see where it flew off to, but got distracted by the unsavory sound of liquid squirting out of tubes from my dismembered body.
“You must be enjoying yourself,” I said with a twisted expression full of hate.
The figure never spoke. I knew saying anything would be pointless, but it was my only way of lashing out. I hated being powerless—unable to fight back. I burned to defend myself, and push back this evil force that maliciously tore me apart. I had wondered if I would ever grow numb from this nightmare after seeing it so many times, but instead, my seething anger only continues to fester.
The figure smashed his foot down on my chest, cracking my armor. He continued to apply pressure as my chest sounded like a dam ready to burst.
Such a waste to give me an endowed figure, I scoffed to myself as the figure continued to grind his foot further into my deflating chest.
I never understood why my design was modeled to look perfect, as if sculpted by the gods themselves. It always seemed pointless to me. Still though, the act of my body being defiled only added to my growing rage.
I want to kill him!
The figure grabbed my hair, holding me up with effortless ease. My long hair of white made it seem like I was being held up by strings as it was tied off in the back.
As he held me suspended in the white void, sparks continued to fire as gears creaked and popped from my chest. He was staring now. I never liked it when he paused. It always made me think he was reveling in his work, like some mad artist.
“What are you waiting for, just finish it,” I spat heatedly.
The blank face of darkness before me then split and revealed a large red grin. Ear to ear, unnatural, and horrifying. His curved eyes of crimson broke through the deep blackness of his face upon his grin fully forming. It looked like something out of a cartoon.
Again, he reveals himself. The Man with the Red Grin.
I willed myself to act, putting every bit of strength into moving my mangled body. I wanted to resist, but it was like my body was being crushed by gravity itself. Nothing moved, nothing budged. I could only stare helplessly at his crimson sneer as I dangled before him.
“I will end you, monster,” I declared viciously.
The figure swiped his free hand across my body, and I watched my defiled carcass fall, twisting and convulsing. All that was left was my head being held up by my own hair, dangling defenselessly.
The figure cracked his neck loudly. I could tell he was laughing as his shoulders shook gently. I had no energy left—or body—to resist, but that didn’t stop me from putting on a face of scorn.
Admits my final moments, came a rustling within the misty world of white. I heard the flutter of wings, small, but gentle. That’s when I saw it.
It blended within the white world so spectacularly that I thought I was seeing things at first. Yet, there it was. So pure, and white, like fresh silk. I followed it with my enflamed eyes of vengeance and watched it land gently on the dark figure before me.
What is this? I had trouble holding back my surprise.
I saw the sinister grin of the figure grow, revealing razor teeth within. He was laughing again, as the dove calmly rested on his shoulder.
I moved to speak, but the figure tugged on my hair quickly—allowing my head to hover in the air for a split second—and quickly grabbed my face with his large, open palm. He began to squeeze as his laughter grew louder.
I peered through the gaps in his hand and just watched the dove perched on his shoulder. What was the meaning in the bird? Why was it with the Red Grin? I knew it was important. After all, the figure wouldn’t stop laughing.
“You really are a total failure.”
My eyes bulged. The figure spoke. The figure never spoke.
“How long will it take for you to remember this time?”
His words gave rise to waves of fury within me, but in that fury, a flashing image of a young girl with glasses, danced through my mind. I grit my teeth now realizing what it all meant. How could I have forgotten?
“I will find you, and I will save her. You can’t stop me,” I vented strongly.
The figure’s grin grew as his razor smile cracked and laughed.
I didn’t get a chance to speak further. Red light blinded my vision as it began to crack like glass from the intense pressure of the figure’s grasp. In one final motion, he crushed my head with his huge hand.
I always found this part odd. I was dead. I had no body to speak of. Everything turned black as I felt this odd sense of falling infinitely.
It was strange really. My fury always burned upon my death, wanting nothing more than to crush that razor grin of red. However, there was always something far simpler that came to me every time I see this nightmare. I was never able to log the data, and I quickly forgot, but I always couldn’t help but ask myself . . .
“How many times now, have I died?”