“Sheesh!”


    I start to shake all over and cover myself as I notice I’m completely naked.


    Quickly moving my head around, I take in the surroundings that I recognize from before.


    A never-ending open space stretches out like a desert, blanketed in beige dust under a bright, muffled light that seems to lack any particular source. Or at least I think so—there''s a definite warmth radiating from behind me, suggesting there might be an artificial sun or some other hidden light source.


    I twist my head and torso as much as I can to see behind me, but my bottom is practically glued to the surface.


    The harder I try to unstick, the more I see my skin and flesh pulling in resistance.


    <hr>


    A tingling unease lingers around my body as memories of past suffering emerge from the dark corners of my mind, even though I feel warm, safe, and entirely comfortable.


    I blame the acid.


    So far, it’s given me this constant feeling of comfort, and despite only being on it for two days, I’ve adapted to it far too easily.


    Already, my mind is toying with thoughts of where to apply the acid next on my body to get the effect back.


    Maybe I don’t even need to apply it directly—flatheads might be roaming the desert freely, and there’s a chance I could get splashed.


    No, no, no, that won’t do. I want to avoid pain as much as possible; I’d rather melt a tiny piece of my pinky fingernail than…


    Wait! I don’t have any pinky fingers left after last time!


    Markus, Markus… trapped somewhere outside of time, and here you are, still stressing, still calculating.


    Calm down!


    This last death didn’t even hurt. How did it even happen? I ask myself, trying to remember what I last saw.


    Inhaling the neutral air, I notice the beige dust particles floating around me.


    They avoid my eyes as if I’m surrounded by an invisible bubble, so I don’t even need to squint or cover my nose while breathing in.


    So again, how did this happen?


    <hr>


    I remember just standing there after chugging from an old man’s jug.


    I frown as I recall it, feeling nervous, aware that I might be watched by someone or something while standing here naked.


    Was there something else in that water? Maybe some leftover chemicals from an air conditioner or brake fluid?


    I can’t remember if the old man drank from it, but I know I did some physical activity afterward.


    For a moment, I feel suspicious of Mike, wondering why he would do something like that to me. He can’t really be trying to get rid of me, can he?


    The thought suddenly disgusts me, and I scrub my arms and shake my head as a wave of awkwardness and guilt washes over me. I feel bad for even thinking such a thing.


    I know well enough that I’m the only one who hurts myself the most.


    I exhale deeply, sighing.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Let’s start over. What was I doing before?


    I remember drinking a lot of water and then finding a nice spot on some mossy turf that felt wet but comfortable.


    But did I do anything else?


    I keep tilting my head, trying to think.


    Nothing works here like it should; I can’t stand, so I can’t exercise, and I can’t use items, right?


    “Inventory.”


    *Nothing happens*


    “Stats.”


    *Nothing happens*


    “Alright, so it’s just me and my brain.”


    I keep thinking about how to return and which part of my body I should sacrifice with acid next.


    Staring at my pinky toe on my right foot, I know I’d rather sacrifice it for my second death, so the acid will go to the toe next to it.


    Now, the real challenge will be outrunning the flatheads if they spot me. Running in the sand was awful last time, so I’ll definitely jump, but it’s not nearly as fast as I’d like.


    They might still outrun me or manage to squirt acid from behind.


    I smirk a little, remembering the old man.


    He’s probably already driving his precious hummer out here to pick me up.


    <hr>


    Wait—damn!


    My grin fades as my jumbled memory finally unravels.


    I’d just lifted Harald’s prized hummer and stored it with myself. That’s how I died!


    You idiot! Everyone told you to stop, but no, you had to show off. Now you’re here, you can shake hands with Mike.


    I inhale and exhale deeply again.


    As much as I don’t want them to risk their lives, and especially don’t want Harald to save me, I keep thinking about everything I can do now, anything but going back.


    I raise my hands, close my eyes, and press my head with my fingers on both sides.


    I picture the area in the desert I keep wandering through.


    What will my first move look like? I’d spin in place to get my bearings, spot the forest on the horizon, and then make a straight run for it.


    But before any of that, I’ll pour a drop of acid on my next toe.


    Yes, that’ll do. I look at my pinky toe on my right foot and prepare to say, “Confirm.”


    <hr>


    But just a second before confirming, I remember the cat.


    That little jerk might know something useful. Should I save him for the desert to guide me, to warn me about the flatheads?


    “Yes!” I tell myself, changing my plan yet again and expanding my endless task list.


    I glance back at my pinky toe, and I just can’t say it.


    “You need to understand as much as possible,” I tell myself.


    “It’d be a waste not to try now.” I urge myself to focus, and then I let out a spontaneous *Snap.*


    *Nothing happens.*


    “Great. Now I’ve officially tried everything.”


    Gazing at my highlighted, semi-transparent toe, I remember those cryptic words.


    “When dead. Die.”


    *Sigh*


    Alright, how in the hell am I supposed to kill myself now?


    I start looking all around, examining my body.


    “Ouch.”


    I pinch my skin and quickly learn that pain is indeed present.


    Sheesh. I don’t want to do this, but I’m so incredibly curious.


    What might happen? I start to speculate.


    The worst-case scenario is that I die permanently, erased from the universe for good. Just the thought of that makes me incredibly sad.


    Then again, the best and worst at the same time would be waking up back in my room, in my bed, at home. I’d love for it all to be over, but the world would feel empty, somehow boring.


    The neutral yet slightly bad outcome would be appearing back at the last fire bowl, like after making a sacrifice, but missing a finger, or perhaps ending up back there missing another part entirely and having to spend even more.


    But a better outcome could be returning without losing anything, maybe even gaining a reward.


    I linger on that last possibility, reasoning that the spirit cat knows a lot and is likely in contact with some godly beings.


    After easily persuading and reasoning with myself, even though I already know exactly what I want to do, I start thinking of the fastest way to end my life.


    <hr>


    Biting my own tongue? Tearing my own flesh? I can’t imagine the pain of the latter.


    Breaking my neck? Biting open my own vein?


    "Brrrrr"


    I start shaking and shivering as I picture myself doing any of these things.


    Suffocating? Choking on my own saliva or tongue? Bleeding out somehow?


    Wow, it really is hard to die by your own hand, especially with nothing at your disposal.


    Touching my chin while thinking I remember my precious.


    Maybe I could use my new power, if it even works here.


    “Focus!” I call out while staring at my bicep.


    A bubbling sensation starts under my skin, and a strange joy wells up inside me.


    Maybe this is my key after all.


    Now, I need to think of the most humane way to use Focus to end it.


    Blow my chest apart? Burst my arms? My brain?


    There has to be a way!


    “Focus!” I repeat, feeling my neck, shoulders, and trapezius muscles swell.


    *Weird gurgling sounds*


    I can’t inhale as my own body sabotages itself. My eyes are squeezed shut until it hurts.


    I can’t let this attempt fail—I don’t want to try this again.


    *Thud, thud, thud*


    Screaming internally, I grunt and start to beat my chest with my fists.


    Maybe I can even swell my head until I finally faint.


    “Focus,” I whisper, releasing the last bit of air in my lungs.


    Colors flash behind my closed eyelids.


    *Lung whistling*


    <hr>


    *Thud.*


    My head smacks into the hard floor hidden beneath the dust.


    It feels like marble, at least, that’s what I imagine after the thud.


    My Focus deactivates immediately, and I lie there, gasping for air.


    <hr>


    “There must be another way!”


    “Focus!”


    I stretch my arms as if I’m lifting the car again.


    All the mass shifts as I decide to go after the other body part.