Two Centuries
Sometimes, I reveal that I’m an universe traveler. It might be an accident (never drop your act when surrounded by Sci-Fi lovers), but sometimes I just crack and tell people.
Most of the time, people are excited. I would expect fear, confusion, or disbelief, which I do get my fair share of. Yet, there are so many people who are excited at the prospect.
“That’s so cool!” they all ramble. “What’s it like?”
The truth is, being a universe traveler is horrible. I do not have the power to travel between dimensions at will. Instead, I’m transported to a new world every time I die.
Oftentimes, I travel to worlds I have read about or seen on Netflix. It is ironic that a couple centuries ago (Has it really been that long? It feels like yesterday, but yesterday it felt like a milenia.) I would have leapt at the chance of meeting these characters.
Not in this way. I get to know people, I befriend them, then I have one of my poorly thought moments of heroism, and it all comes crashing down. I die, painfully, most of the time, then find myself somewhere else. I can never see any of my friends or families ever again. At least, not until I can find some form of science that can travel from universes, but that would likely take me several more centuries.
When I explain this, I am once again meant with pity. I love to know everyone cares, truly, but what does pity do? ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything! A hug is just another reason I’ll miss them when I die, again!
At times, I feel too much. Emotions come pouring from every direction, and I feel like my heart is bursting into flames and leaping out of my chest. Other times, I am void, empty, numb. What is the point of getting emotionally attached to someone I will lose? However, I realize that this is not numb at all. This is just me hiding away.
“Are all your smiles fake?” asks one girl one day. “You’ve been so strong through everything, you’re the only reason I’m okay, and then you’re so… broken.”
Yeah, I am broken, but my smiles are not fake. I assure her that everything is fine, but she does not believe me. Apparently, the girl can spot a liar. (A good liar, if all my years as a double agent have anything to say about it.)
Not everything is fine, but I would not go so far as to say everything is not fine. I smile, real and true (at times). My laugh is loud and genuine (often). The grief, the agony and the anger are just as real, but I have found myself a balance to live in. One thing you learn when you live for several centuries is that you can not give up your happiness to stop the negative emotions. (Didn’t someone say that once? A girl sang about it in a show, right? Oh, yeah, I spent a life there, didn’t I?)
Well, I’m most certainly not going to give up. I’m like this for a reason, right? (I have to be. I really have to be.) My heroic stunts have helped so many people. That must be why I can do this. I have to help people. I am good at that, apparently (even though I am always terrified that I will make the problem worse). So, I will help people. Maybe, once I help enough people, I can see everyone again!
No, I can not get my hopes up! Still, life without hopes and dreams is not worth living. How could I have lived for over two hundred years (I forgot the exact number) and still not know how to think or act?
Oh well. I will just keep helping others, and maybe (Am I being naive or calloused? I’m not sure.) someone will help me back.
Maybe (not). I can still dream, after all (I think).