Looped

My name is Peter, and this is my story. I am stuck in a loop. I keep living the same day over and over again.

Now, let me be clear, this is not the usual time loop adventure. This is no Groundhog Day.

I actually want to die, but for some reason there is a glitch in the universe that is keeping me alive. I discovered this glitch about three days ago. Thinking I had done all the prep work necessary, I slipped my head into the noose and kicked the stool away. Then I had the most incredible rush of fear, euphoria, pain, and peace as I felt my body give up the fight and lost consciousness.

Unfortunately, there was a bright light ahead of me, in what seemed like just a minute and there I was, sat in my favourite armchair. The same old armchair I have sat in so many times before. I checked and checked again and found no sign of the noose, no lesions or any bruising on my neck and I felt perfectly fine.

Well, let's be realistic, I still wanted to kill myself, but medically, I showed no signs of self-strangulation.

Thinking that either the strangulation was a dream, my sleep has been a bit hit and miss recently, and still hating myself enough to want to end it all. I proceeded with my back-up plan. I took good few packets worth of paracetamol. I know, I know...not the best way to go. But do you really think that was what was on my mind? After my first failed or seemingly failed attempt, I was fully intent on getting this right this time.

As I swallowed packet after packet of the painkillers, I swigged at my least favourite brandy and watched as the world swirled and I felt lightheaded and sleepy. Lights out, finally I thought.

Screw you, universe. I win.

Then...I woke again in my favourite armchair. Checking the time...it was the same day. I looked around to see if there was anything wrong with my surroundings...nothing. The flat looked exactly as it always had. A bit of a dive, but it was my dive. My black fluffy cat was still sitting at the window watching the damp world outside, the carpet still had that annoying coffee stain in the middle of the room. Stupid Frank. And I was still bloody alive.

This was not my idea of a fun time, just so you know, universe, I thought to myself and mumbled out loud. When will I be free from the anguish, pain and misery? If I wasn't so furious I could have cried and just curled into a ball, all foetal like.

So, were the first two times a dream? I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror above the fireplace, but it was momentary, like a shadow or something. Never mind, third time's a charm as they say.

Not one to be deterred from achieving my wildest dreams, I went with my secondary back-up plan. I was sure I wanted to go but was also aware of my moral compass in those fleeting moments of self-awareness and clarity.

Rather than having a big old ceremony, I took the large knife from down by my armchair. Who does that? Who keeps a large illegal blade by their armchair? Me... that’s who. Well not for much longer.

I took a quick swipe at my neck to tear open the flesh and felt the pain course through my right down my spine and to my bollocks.

Once again, screw you universe, lights out, game's over.

I really wish I could have seen the flesh hanging out from the laceration across my neck and the blood seeping down my body, but alas, I fell into a deep sleep.

Finally, peace.

You may wonder why someone as handsome and debonair as me, with my salt and pepper slicked back hair and trendy little goatee, take me home eyes and endearing smile would want to kill themselves. After all, I am a semi-successful street artist and have a wicked sense of humour. I am, or was, also carrying a lot of heavy burdens of a sinful past where debauchery and distasteful acts were my vice. I could lie and say I've lost count of the amount of live I have ruined in some way, but then how could I explain that it's written all over my body in tally form.

The debonair, semi-rich guy in a crappy, homely apartment with a black fur baby is all an act. A terrible one at that. I tried to escape my past, but while you can escape the people and the situations, you can't escape their indelible markings that are left on your soul, and in my case, actual body.

The number of women I have convinced that the tallies are nothing more than some kind of joke, you probably would believe.

Before anyone starts playing the violins, the whole "killing self to rid myself of the pain" is nothing but a shrewd attempt to get away with my vile crimes. If I commit this one last atrocious act, then I will have successfully hoodwinked the world and won. I may lose my life in the process, but at least I die by my own hands, not some vengeful broad or preppy student who lost their parents in a "hunting accident".

Feeling sick in your stomach right now? Good...it's your own fault for assuming the best. I just don't want to deal with the consequences of my actions. I don't want to do a single night of time for the crimes I committed in some phony justice system that is designed to check boxes, cross t's and dot i's. I did what I did, because I could and wanted to.

The women I left crying over me, without a penny to their name, the idiots that let me into their life without being careful, were my motivation to continue what I was doing.

However, when you've done as much as I have, it has a habit of catching up with you.

Legacy is something a lot of people downplay. But imagine it...imagine the stories that are shared about me. I've already heard first hand from some people about my atrocities, with cloaked glee a woman once told me that she had heard this tale about "some sonabitch lying arsehole who orchestrated the death of a woman's husband and then inserted himself into her life, only to rob her of everything she owned, and left her homeless, with a smile and wink"

Oooh.it gives me goosebumps and chills thinking back to the disgust in her face as she pushed her teary-eyed face into my well-toned chest. We had a magical evening after that. I cheered her right up. Chef's kiss is a phrase she used when describing my exploration of her body to her friend. I mean, they were my words...but, she was an incredibly happy corpse when I was finished with her. So, details, chemtrails.

Alas... death has not been granted to me just yet. This is getting tiresome. Three sound attempts, thwarted by this glitch. How did he get past the glitch in Groundhog Day? Ah, by being a nice person and doing nice stuff. Well, universe, if that's what you are trying to prompt me or if this is some ridiculous and childish attempt to make me face up to my consequences, buckle up...you're messing with the wrong Peter.

Maybe I've been going about this all the wrong way. I wonder what would happen if...yes, that's brilliant. Peter you are a certified genius!

*

Now where is her number. Martha, dear Martha with the nice...well, she was available and willing, that's for sure. What was her boyfriend called again? Think, Peter! Where's my portfolio. Flicking through this brings back memories. You have to celebrate your wins and wins, even if they are the kind of things that would make a grown man cry. There we go, Martha Dawkins and Jimmy Matthews.

Jimmy is such an everyman name, isn't it? Like "Hey guys, I'm Jimmy? who wants to get some fro-yo" Ugh, what a pretentious little - what was her number again? Ah, here it is. I knew it was in here somewhere.

Time to ring up the lovely Martha for some...fun.

Well...tonight, ladies and gentlemen, Jimmy is going to meet his maker or at least his executioner, when his life is snuffed out with cruel and intense eloquence.

I really feel these outbursts would work better with an audience. How about you, yes you, are you suitably entertained so far? Still reading?

*

There it is the doorbell. I can practically smell Martha from behind the old wooden door and over the musty smell in my apartment. Damn landlord won't fix the issue. "Well hello Martha...did you come prepared?" Licking my lips as I look her up and down and usher the pretty little blonde, slightly rotund woman into my apartment.

Her hair is shoulder length, perfect for...well, you can imagine. She looks great in those nice pair of black leather trousers she has on that emphasise her curves and the white blouse with leather jacket over, keeping the goods wrapped up. For now. I take the jacket from her, because although I am hardly a gentleman, I do know how to be chivalrous.

As I sit down on my armchair, I look her up and down, my eyes tracking the still silent woman as she kneels in front of me, like some kind of pet.

"Did you bring the stuff?"

"Of course, sir, of course"

"Good girl. I'm glad I hired you as my assistant, Martha. How's Jimmy been keeping recently, he still working at the coffee shop like a reject?"

Laughing as I reach out to take the bracelets from her hand, I stroke between her thumbs and index fingers on both hands, watching her as the usual uncomfortableness settles inside her.

"Please don't speak about him like that. He tries so hard"

"Okay Marth, we can talk about something else. Have you taken anything yet tonight?"

"No, sir. Not...yet, I mean" she stutters. Bless her. She is definitely fighting that crush she's had on me for the last six months. Poor thing. I've heard her and Jimmy argue about my intentions. She claims I'm misunderstood, while he has me pegged as some kind of bastard or monster. We all know who's right on this occasion, don't we?

"Ah, that can be fixed soon, my dear Martha" I replied, stroking her chin as she secured the bracelets on each of my wrists.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, sir?"

"Are you worried about me, dear?" I laugh as she averts her eyes and looks down.

There is an uncomfortable, for her, silence and then I reach into her blouse and pull out a controller.

"Now, be a good girl and switch the power up to maximum, I don't want any mistakes."

Martha nods and smiles a little, licking her lips. She thinks the device has been designed to help me with my urges through electro-shock therapy. I found a special device, I told her, that would curb my enthusiasm for my debauchery.

Little did she know, some terrible people have grabbed her Jimmy while she is here and strapped him into similar bracelets. You see, I neglected to tell her the bracelets around my wrists were like a transmitter. The electricity will course through me, harmlessly and then, add the science bit, send a life-ending signal to poor little Jimmy's wrists.

She thinks she is just helping me ad likes the idea we are going to do some coke immediately after and maybe shower together. she likes the idea of "saving me". Ridiculous, right?

I mean the coke and shower are definitely going to happen and hopefully this glitch will be fixed. We will see soon enough.

If ending my life won't stop the loop, maybe ending Jimmy's will. Maybe I have been going about this the wrong way.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Had this idea for a time loop story with an awful lot of dark twists. More or less stream-of-consciousness. May write more, depending on how it is received or may just write more, anyway lol.

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