The Garden

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

People were beginning to stare. My gaze avoided theirs, for I kept my neck firmly stretched upwards towards the vast expanse of the heavens. I had no quarrel with the other humans forced to endure life.

No... it was not their puny inept behavior that became the object of my anger this unfortunate time. Nor would they ever compare to the idiocy of that bumbling fellow from the sky.

It seemed it was Him who had a quarrel with me, as it had been for as long as my mind could stretch to remember. And every so often, I snapped—as humans tend to do. Every so often I became subject to fits of torment and screamed up at the endless expanse of the domed sky. He never responded. Of course not. He never spoke to me, but I had lived long enough to know it was Him and no one else that caused me this interminable grief.

To understand my position, it is vital that one understands the position by which I came into this dreadful world. Of course, that would require me to understand the position by which I came into this world. And as long as I've been running, I cannot remember the exact time at which I befell to this game.

A game is what I have been reduced to calling it. Torture does not fit. No, neither does eternal punishment, or treacherous bargaining. As much as I would love to call this 'game' by all those colorful titles, I have no choice but to refer to it blandly less I invoke His wrath. More than I already have, that is.

But it is not my actions that brought me to this position. I am positive it is not my fault I have become burdened by this precarious predicament.

For as long as I can remember, all I have done is run. Run from my friends, my enemies, my family... even my lovers. No one understands what I have suffered through. No one wants to understand.

Standing there, on the streets of Paris, no one understood what I had been forced through. They wandered down the boardwalk and through colorful plazas without so much as a glance at the deranged, feral woman screaming up at the endless blue expanse of heavens. Everyone merely assumed I was another girl in need of an asylum and moved along with their heedless daily tasks.

Well I've got some news for you.

I'm not crazy.

I'm not insane.

I've just been living.

For endless years.

I've been killed.

Countless times.

And for the life of me, I cannot seem to die.

It will never end—not so long as there is a god in the sky and hope on the earth. Not so long as I have sinned for something I cannot seem to remember.

I can never die. I have been alive since the beginning of time—as best I've assumed.

My name is Esther Trebuch. At least, that's the name I've taken this time. Until I outlive every other member on this sunny rock, that is my name.

And this is my long, winding story—with no feasible end in sight.

I glared up at the blazing sun. It had been two hours since my last attempted death—a jump off a tower across the city. Yet here I stood—no bones broken and no worse for wear. Besides my glowering mood, that is.

I yearned to scream again, but feared I would attract the constable's attention. If there was one thing I did not need, it was another trip to prison.

Instead of continuing my rivalry with the bright orb of light twinkling above the noon-time people of the city—going about their daily tasks without a care in the world—I retreated to the nearest bus station and took a winding route back to my latest home.