Succession

You didn't think of the dead as you approached it. You didn't think of the cost. The throne waiting for you, built a thousand years before by the Mad Emperor, seat of the Empire for a thousand thousand years to come, was prize enough for any cost.

You sat on the throne deaf to the cheers of your soldiers, the moaning of the dying, everything but the roar in your chest. The throne's whisper was startling in its clarity.

"I rule," you said, as the Emperor before you had, and the one before him, and the dozens before. They weren't your words, and you knew that if you could only rise from the throne, you might remember what you had intended your words to be.

The throne smiled with your face.

.finis.

Four of Swords

I've killed thousands of grandfathers in thousands of pasts.

It's easier to erase yourself when you know your parents' real names.

.non finis.

Pro forma

First you shed the bad futures in haste and fear. Then you traded the best, the unlikely ones, for a stronger likelihood of a tolerable fate. You were very thorough.

Now your future is clear and one, a succession of many scripted years, and you'd scream through all of them if you hadn't given that choice away.

.finis.

Fugue from lost time

I turned off my perfect memory. No longer would it trawl, prompted by our every word and deed, through everything we did and said as far as the world's memory goes. I was happy with you, and with the idea of you, and I didn't want us to be ended by the past.

I slept blissfully that night, dreaming without memories, until my phone woke me up in the middle of the night with the unbidden recall of how many times I had attempted this — and you — before.

I had forgotten it was programmed to do that.

.finis.