The Worth of a Life

      The smell of piss and shit diluted with buckets of disinfectant is overwhelming today. Too bad the cancer couldn’t have eroded my olfactory organ, so I didn’t have to smell all the dying people in the nursing home every damned day. 

      I am so ready for this life to end. It should be any day now. I’m amazed I’m still alive since the cancer has eaten through most of my liver, pancreas, stomach, and spleen. Don’t I need those things to live? Guess not apparently. 

      “Time for your meds.” The nurse who changes my diaper smiles at me like it’s just another day in paradise. “How are you feeling today?” She hands me a tiny plastic cup full of pills.

      “I haven’t felt anything pleasurable from the waist down in at least ten years so pretty shitty,” I say. 

      “You’re a riot. Take those pills now.” She slaps my shoulder playfully. 

      Staring into the cup, I count five pills. Three white ones, a yellow one, and one that’s a funny shade of blue. Ahhhh. That’s the good one; morphine. The day was about to get better. 

I toss all the pills in my mouth, chase them with some water then open my mouth for the nurse to verify I swallowed them all. Apparently, some residents try to spit out their pills. Hopefully not the blue ones. It would be a shame to waste those. 

      Once she was satisfied with my compliancy, she left. 

      I laid my head back, closed my eyes, and waited for the opioid induced amnesia and anesthesia to kick in. Hopefully I’d die within the next few hours, but luck was never on my side, so it wasn’t likely. 

      Wailing down the hall interrupts me when I’m just about to fall asleep. Damn. A group of people with sad faces and teary eyes walks by my room. Looks like someone else beat me to the death roll today. Lucky bastard. Not only did he or she get to leave this hell hole, but they also had someone with them at the end. 

      My life would end the same way it always did. Alone. Disappointing, but not unexpected. It’s one of the terms of my punishment. At least the next life would be my last. Finally, my torment was coming to an end. 

      The room started to vibrate. Sand poured from between the cracks in the hideous floral wallpaper. 

      “Nurse!” I yell. 

      Sand flows in impossibly fast, filling the room in no time. Within a minute there was at least two feet of sand covering the floor. 

      “NURSE!”

      Where the hell is everyone? 

      “I said get moving!” That voice. It couldn’t be. 

      I wheeled around and came face to face with him. 

      “What the hell are you looking at? I said get moving!” His foot raised up and kicked me in the gut. 

      Rolling across the hot sand, I came to a stop at the base of a large stone. Sweat dripped down my neck and my legs ached. 

      A whip cracks and pain rips through my spine. Panting against the excruciating agony that racked my back, I push myself up, but not fast enough. Another whip cracks in the air like a tree branch breaking. Another lash tears across my back. 

      I face plant into the sand. Sand? I don’t have time to consider. I know the drill. Heart pounding, legs shaking, bones aching, I grab a stone and quickly hoist myself up. Something I hadn’t been able to do in ten years, but there was no time to revel in my rejuvenated mobility.

      I look into the blinding sun and my heart dips at the sight. A half-built pyramid lay before me. “No.” The word was mine, but I barely recognized my own desiccated voice. I swipe my swollen tongue over my cracked lips but feel no moist relief. 

      Another whip crack, and another slice of agony ushered me up the steps of the pyramid. 

      Why was I here again? Was this to be my final life? The worst one of them all? 

      The sandal on my right foot slipped sideways. Only the ankle strap held it on now, but there was no time to stop and fix it or I’d receive another lash from the crackers who were standing guard every ten steps. 

      I climb the 2016 steps to the top of the pyramid with one foot exposed. I set the stone down, turned around, and headed back down to grab another. I know the drill. I’ve lived this life five times already, but I guess a sixth wouldn’t kill me. Ha, pun intended. 

       After my first reincarnation as an army soldier in World War II, I wasn’t humbled in the slightest. I enjoyed the killing actually, and I was good at it. 

      I reckon the Gods were disappointed in my lack of remorse, so for my second reincarnation they put me in Europe during the black death. I caught the plague and lived, which sounds lucky but, I got blood clots in both my legs and arms. I lived as a leg-less, arm-less invalid for twenty-three years in the 1300s. It’s just as shitty as it sounds. But I still wasn’t humbled. If anything, I was angrier, and thought I’d show the Gods a thing or two by living the next life determined to overcome my punishment. 

       That’s when they dumped me here, as a slave in Egypt building the Great Pyramid for the pharaoh Khufu. Blazing heat, whips at my back, barely surviving dehydration every single day. 

      I hung myself after the third day, thinking I could outsmart the Gods in their own game. Joke was on me though, because they reincarnated me right back in Egypt. I was a slave in the exact same time, working on the same damned pyramid for one hundred and eighty-five years. I built the same damned pyramid five fucking times! 

      By the final time, I was officially humbled. It only took seven lifetimes, but I finally felt remorse for the crimes I’d committed. And now, here I was again. Shit.  

      “Here’s your lunch.” 

      Snapping my eyes open, I faced a blob. What the hell? Blinking frantically, I tried to focus my eyes. Everything was blurry, but not because of the sun or dried out corneas. My glasses had fallen off. I felt around my chest. Not there.

      “Here they are.” The nurse set them on my nose ever so gently and she came into focus.

      “Is everything ok?” she asked. 

      “Yeah. What were the pills you gave me?”

      “The normal ones you always take. Why?” 

      “Nothing. I must have had a bad dream is all.” 

      “Oh. I’m sorry. Do you want me to see if I can get a sleeping pill to help?”

       Sleeping pills! Hell yeah! Mix those with the opioids and maybe that’ll do the trick. “Yes. Please. That would be so very helpful,” I say sweetly. 

        The nurse smiles and walks out, completely unaware of my ulterior motive. 

My head feels foggy. I must still be in the haze of the opioid high. That explains the unpleasant trip down memory lane. 

      Surveying my dinner plate, I recoil. Is that meatloaf or a dead squirrel? I push it away just as the nurse returns. She gives me another white pill that I swallow with unfettered enthusiasm then lay my head on the pillow and anxiously wait for my drug coma to kick in. 

      “Give me your arm.” 

      What the hell now? Can’t a man get any sleep around here? I open my eyes, prepared to chew the nurse out but my heart skips a beat. 

      “I said give me your arm, NOW!” The man with glasses holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers impatiently. In his other hand is a metal bracket and a creepy plier-looking device. 

Someone hits me in the back of the head, grabs my shoulders, and shoves my head onto the table. The man takes my arm and stabs the metal clamp into my skin. 

      Pain rips through me five times before the tattoo was complete and they release me. My arm now reads A6615.My assigned holocaust number: different than I remembered, but it hurt just as bad as the first time around. 

      “Move along.” 

      Following the dark hallway, I push open a large metal door, and sunlight slaps me in the face, temporarily blinding me. 

      “HEAD DOWN! INCOMING!” 

      Without thought or hesitation I dive into the mud, knocking my standard issue M1 combat helmet off. Oh shit. I know where I am. 

      A deafening boom shakes the ground, and rocks pelt the side of my head. I quickly put the helmet back on and put my head down. I did say I wasn’t humbled after World War II, but that was the old me. I’m not the same man anymore. Do I really deserve this to be my last life? I don’t want to live through this again.

       Gun fire and shouting sounded all around as men ran frantically past. In war you don’t ask questions. If people are running, there’s usually a reason. Run now, ask later. 

      I scramble to my feet and take off after them. Gun shots echo through the night. A sharp pain rips through my right leg, and I fall to the ground. Everyone runs right past me. Not one of them stops to help. Ass holes. But really, I can’t blame them. The old me would have left me here too. 

      Popping my head above the grass, I confirm no one was behind me so I get to my feet and limp as fast as I can toward my side of the field. Gun shots ring out again, and this time my chest explodes with pain. 

Collapsing to the ground, I struggle to catch my breath. The pain is so intense, I was paralyzed to the spot. I spit up fluid, blood. Well, at least this life would be the shortest. 

      Do you know how long it takes a person to drown? About forty agonizing seconds. A little bit longer when it’s your own fluids you’re drowning in, but that’s not the point. The point is, it may not seem like a long time, but when you’re experiencing it. It feels like an hour. I know because I’ve drowned several times already in previous lives. 

      It’s probably one of the worst ways to die and fitting for a man like me. I deserve it so I might as well just relax and let my final death take me. No matter how much it sucks, its going to be short and this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Bliss fills my heart as the edges of my vision close in. 

      “Have you finally learned what it is to be a good man?” A beautiful voice drowns out all the pain and chaos of the war-stricken field. I would never forget it no matter how many lifetimes I lived. 

I remembered the day when the Goddess Themis came to me nearly 500,000 years ago as if it was yesterday. She’s just as beautiful now as she was then. I hit on her back then, not realizing who she was. Imbecile. 

      Standing in front of her now, I felt unworthy. I dropped to my knees. “I have learned the error of my ways. What I did was unconscionable. That horrible man who lived 7,000 lifetimes ago is dead. I don’t even remember his name. I am a different man. I swear to you.” I bow my head all the way to the mud-covered ground until my nose is submerged in the muck. 

      “I believe you. You have paid for your crime, and you are a new man, a good man. For your last life, I lift the curse that prevents you from finding happiness. Prove to us that you are worthy of being a king.” 

      When I look up, she’s gone. I kneel alone, in a field of waist high grass. 

      “Your Majesty, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. The army is in position at the gates and waiting for your order.” 

      What in the devil? Spinning around, I come face to face with a horse, and atop the creature, a man dressed in full medieval style armor stares at me with a concerned expression. There are a dozen horsemen all with the same expressions. 

      Who are they talking to and why are they staring at me so? Wait a minute. This hill, That river beyond the tree line. I hadn’t been here in so long that I’d forgotten what it looked like. It had been about 500,000 years after all. 

      “The gates?” My voice sounds familiar. The voice of my original body!  

      “Yes. We’re ready to storm the gates of the Kataria,” one of the men says. 

      Kataria. The city that I decimated. This is the day I that slaughtered an entire civilization of innocent people. My heart pounds so hard that I think it may explode. Grabbing my chest, I verify it is contained within as it’s supposed to be. But damn, it hurts so much.  

      “Your Majesty?” one of the riders questions. I don’t remember his name. I don’t remember any of their names. If I’m being honest with myself, I bet I never knew their names to begin with. 

Finding my courage, I say, “pull the men from the gates.” 

     “Excuse me?”

      “Pull the men from the gates. We will not take Kataria today.” 

      “Yes, Your Majesty.” All but one of the men canter off.  

      “Would you like me to fetch your horse?” 

      “No. I want to walk. Lead the way. I will walk behind you.” 

      “But it’s customary for royalty to lead, your majesty.” 

      “I make the rules now. You lead damn it.” What the hell is wrong with him? Doesn’t he know who I am? 

      Finally, the man dips his head and leads the way to the castle. I didn’t want to admit that I have no idea how to get there. 

      Marching behind him, I inhale the fresh air and revel in the warm sun. This armor is heavy and suffocating though. Why the hell did we wear this shit back then? This has to go. Stripping down to my undergarments, I toss all the ridiculous armor to the side of the path. That feels better. I smile in the warm sun and spread my arms out, feeling the gentle breeze kiss my exposed skin. This is amazing. I laugh out loud and the man turns back at me with creased eyebrows. 

      I ignore him. I don’t care who sees the nearly naked king strolling down the road. I am truly happy for the first time in half a million years. The Gods are so gracious. 

My 7,000th life is to be my original life. I can’t believe it. I pinch myself to make sure I’m not tripping and still in an opioid coma back in the nursing home.

      Nothing happens. I pinch myself harder, until I draw blood. Still here. Smiling widely, I nearly skip with jubilation. 

      After my punishment started, I’d been reincarnated as a China man, African man, American, Indian, Mexican, Swedish, Russian, the list goes on. But in every single reincarnation had one thing in common. I was either born into poverty or as a slave. 

      I’ve been beaten, to death on several occasions. I’ve been starved, chained, left for dead, sodomized, persecuted for crimes I didn’t commit, and crimes I did commit, I’ve lost count of all the abuse I’ve endured, but never had I been in my original era, my original body, and most certainly never a king again. 

      Reflecting back on what I did on this exact day 7,000 lifetimes ago, I nearly cried. I had stormed the gates of Kataria and senselessly killed 7,000 people without so much as breaking a sweat. 

      Men, women, children, all of them mowed down like it was just another Tuesday walk in the park. Yeah. I was a pretty retched human being. 

      As a punishment, the Goddess Themis cursed me to live 7,000 lifetimes without ever knowing love or kindness. At first, I thought it was a joke. My punishment for genocide was immortality. That sounded awesome! Jokes on you Gods! 

      But just as they had promised, I never found an ounce of happiness. But I did discover something even greater; the magnitude with which a human can love. 

      In my original life, I wasn’t able to see it or feel it. I don’t know why. My parents were great people. I was provided all the right tools, afforded a proper education, taught all the right things, punished adequately, and rewarded appropriately, but that man was still a bad egg. 

      I cared about nothing and no one except myself. I wanted nothing more than to dominate everyone and everything around me, which is why I took Kataria. For the simple fact that I could. I had caused the extinction of an entire race of people. 

      There are approximately fifty-two extinct human ethnicities on Earth, and I am, was, responsible for one of them. I was so proud of myself at first. Boasting how strong and powerful I was to anyone who would listen. The mighty tyrant king who no one would dare contradict. Hang on a second while I pound my chest triumphantly. What a schmuck?  

      Even though I am that man again physically, I am not that man anymore. That man finally died in about the seventh reincarnation, but my punishment lived on for another 6,993 lifetimes, all of which I spent repenting for my crime. It still wasn’t enough to atone for what I did, though. There were countless nights when the grief overcame me, and I cried myself to sleep like a little baby. 

      I didn’t blame or resent the Gods anymore. The creativity of their punishment impressed me actually. But, most importantly, it worked. I am a reformed man. And now, the God’s have granted me the ultimate gift of all. I can right the wrong I committed all those lifetimes ago. 

      They told me the only way to pay for 7,000 lost innocent lives was to give back 7,000 lives in the form of punishment. That’s what was needed to balance the scales of justice. I gave them 6,999 damned lifetimes and I plan to dedicate my final life to the world and the people who have no idea what I was about to do to them today. 

 

 

​

The king did find love and he brought peace and prosperity not only to his land, but the people of Kataria, and all surrounding nations and people as well. He was an ally to everyone and a savior to those less fortunate. He was revered as the greatest king to ever live. 

He sired seven children, and on his death bed, during his final moments, he was surrounded by his children, his grandchildren, friends, and all the servants under his employ. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. 

“Do not fear death for I have died 6,999 times before. But out of all my lives, this one has been my favorite because I had you.” He bopped his granddaughter on the nose. 

“Grandpapa you have the silliest stories,” she giggled. 

The great king smiled lovingly at his granddaughter and took his last breath. His for real last breath.