Thomas Charles Henry

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

“Your life,” he replied. “Or perhaps more appropriately, the path of your life.”

The path snaked around in a figure of eight formation, calling to mind the image of Ouroboros – the serpent that consumes its own tail for all eternity. It was surrounded on all sides by snowdrifts. Beyond them lay a vast, icy plane.

We glided down in silence and alighted near the apex of the larger curve. Tentatively, I stretched out a bare foot and stepped on to the path’s worn surface.

“It’s warm!” I exclaimed.

“Of course. At this very moment there are millions of versions of you traversing this path, making their way through life.”

I took another step and the spark of a memory ignited in my brain: my university graduation. Only it wasn’t a memory; I was witnessing this event in the lives of countless other versions of me, all at once. The images flickered and overlapped, as if from a film projector not quite up to speed. The effect was dizzying and caused a wave of nausea to wash over me. I took a step back and was treated to another reel of flickering images. This time I was celebrating my 21st birthday. Another step: my first kiss. The life events I was seeing were pleasant enough right now, but I knew they would get worse if I were to venture forward along the path. Much, much worse.

I was becoming overwhelmed.

My companion placed a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“Rest a while,” he said.

I took his advice and somehow managed to stand still, calming the motion sickness. The images faded away and the path stretched before me once more.

When my heart ceased its hammering and my breathing returned to normal, I asked: “Do I ever vary my course?”

“As a rule, most people don’t. It isn’t easy to jump the curve. Such instances can cause problems.” He paused, then pointed, “You can see there are places where the path is less narrow. In those instances, it is possible that some versions of you may have diversified slightly; taken a wider line; the scenic route, if you will. But all in all, your journey rarely differs, and the final destination is always the same.” Then, like a carnival worker preparing to punch another hole into my wristband, he cocked his head and asked: “Are you ready to go around again?”

I stared, dumbfounded. All those versions of me. How many times had we lived this same life? A life of wasted potential and bitter regret. One that I had probably spent more time hating than enjoying. One that always ended the same way. Was I really destined to relive the same mistakes over and over, ad infinitum?

Something my companion had said was echoing faintly in the back of my mind. It isn’t easy to jump the curve.

A primal urge spurred me into flight. I scrambled up the nearest snowdrift and out into the emptiness beyond. I did not get far. The infinite possibility offered by this unclaimed space was, at once, overwhelming and oppressive. Eternity stretched out before me and yet it felt as though the lid had just slammed down on my coffin. I couldn’t breathe. All around me was air, but I couldn’t breathe! I looked down. The ice was biting my toes, sending chilblains marauding across my skin like the landing party of some fearsome foreign invader. I looked back with longing towards my path; for the warmth and familiarity it offered.

My companion glided over to me. He regarded me with more interest than I had seen in him previously. I thought I saw a glimmer of compassion pass across the features that made up his face. For a moment, he appeared almost human.

“Cold feet?” He asked.