Sandstorm {Discontinued}{Rewritten}

Interlude # 8

By the time he got to the 80s, he was fairly use to the routine. New life. Discover past lives. Try to escape. Fail. Die. Repeat.

It was getting redundant to say the least. Charley (because that's what is name was in this life time -- or was it James something?) had half a mind to just give up.

Let Savage (that's what Hath-Set had started calling himself now) find him. Let him kill him. He was going to do it anyways, so who cared?

It simply didn't matter anymore. Things always turned out the same exact way, and they always would. They were doomed until the end of time.

The only reason he even bothered pushing forward was because of her -- his wife Sharon. (Or was her name Shelly in this life?) At least they had managed to find each other again before the inevitable. Gods only know what he'd do if he had to go through this alone. (Actually, he had already done it alone many times, and he was not too eager to do it again, as selfish as that may seem.)

But he was growing weary of it all. It was exhausting trying to keep up with all the memories in his head, all the lives he'd lived. Was it Hannibal or Landon who had lived on the ranch? Did Hank the yogo instructor live in the fifties or the seventies? Over a hundred -- maybe two hundred -- lives. It was far too many to keep in order. He couldn't even remember what any of them actually did for a living or even if they'd lived long enough to have a career (he was pretty sure Landon was just a teenager when he was killed, or maybe that had been Luca?) He didn't particularly care to try either. It always hurt his head when he did.

Recalling past hobbies was a chore in of itself. Remembering any likes or dislikes? Nope. Just forget it. Not worth the headache. It didn't matter much anyway, those lives were over. Those people he once was, they were gone; and as far as the world knew that was the end of them. Those people would never cross anyone's minds ever again.

The apathy had been building for quite some time, and he did his best to hide it from Sharon... But of course she was beginning to sense something wasn't quite right. She was too smart for her own good.

She was always the smartest person in the room somehow. And it was excruciating, trying to keep his true feelings about their situation from her. He'd never kept anything from her before, not in this life time anyway. They'd struck an agreement, after that whole fiasco in which Charley had accidentally-on-purpose joined the mafia to help pay their rent. (Times are hard, running from immortal tyrants!) But Charley was having trouble finding motivation to bring it up.

What was the point anyways? They both already knew how this story ended -- with Hath-Set, or Savage (whatever his stupid name is now) finding them, ending them. It always happened. The ending of their story was not going to be rewritten any time soon. She could feel it too, the hopelessness. He could tell. It was in the way she held herself, how she looked over her shoulders every now and again, checking that no one was following them. It was in the way she never really slept through the night, not without waking up in a cold sweat, certain she's heard something down stairs. So, it wasn't as if she could scold him for feeling this way, as weak as it was.

Charley was just sick of it. Why should they have to put up with it? Running around all the time, hiding, living in fear. It wasn't fair. He was tired of fighting, and he was beyond exhausted from all the running. He wanted to settle down, wanted to marry Sharon. Maybe they'd have kids or grandkids or even great grand kids! He wanted to grow old with her, and move out to the country where the two of them could spend the rest of their days together. Peacefully. He wanted his life to end -- without starting all over again. He wanted it to be a good one too, not this twisted, tangled, ugly mess he was living now. (Was he even living at this point? It was hard to tell.)