Fiction Fragment Friday
This week is more of a scene than a full story. I enjoy a good Litrpg or isakai anime. It is a genre I have only tried writing in once or twice and only in flash fiction form. I find many of them after the very beginning don’t ever reference the previous life and wouldn’t need to even have that aspect in the story. Some of the best though lean into it and explore bringing concepts from home to a new world. This story was inspired by my musings on the genre and trying to give it a spin I had not seen before.
As the truck struck me, I couldn’t help but think, not again. The first time a truck killed me, I reincarnated to a fantasy world with a skill system like a computer game. I didn’t start as a child, though I looked to be in my early twenties. In that world, I gained an overpowered farming class that I managed to power game into skills that made me nearly undefeatable. I tanked a direct strike from a dragon, but it didn’t stop a horse-drawn carriage from ending my life.
Lifetime after lifetime, the cycle continued. In the next world, I was a child and grew into an adult learning magic. A lizard pulled the cart that ended that life. After that, I was a tailor, then a fisherman, a scout, and even a veterinary. The level of technology varies from world to world, but in everyone, no matter how powerful I grow, some sort of truck or cart strikes me down in the end. It has made me extremely paranoid of and form of cargo transportation vehicle.
The last world had been my favorite. I had good friends, a girl I liked, and made a fortune recreating my favorite music from home. I still think of my first life as home, even though I have spent more time living other lives than I did that one. In each world, I look for stories of others who have experienced what I have, but so far, I seem unique.
I woke up in the middle of an enormous field with a prompt in front of my eye.
Select Name.
I thought about my answer and watched as Jeremy appeared in the entry field. There were no further prompts this time. There has been no consistency to the process. Sometimes I have a lot of options, sometimes I have only a few, and others I’m given no options at all. It has gotten maddening, and I would give anything to just make it stop.
“Hello Traveler.” The voice startled me out of my introspection. It came from an old man on horseback. He had long hair pulled into a ponytail and a tightly trimmed beard, both in a shade of gray that I had not seen before.
“Hello good sir,” I replied as I got to my feet. I was wearing a dirty white shirt and brown pants. One of the more generic outfits I had come across. It still felt weird talking like I was on a bad television show that had done no research into actual old English dialects. Experience taught me that it worked more often than it didn’t if the first person I met was on a horse. “Could you per chance direct me to the nearest village?”
The old man laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather learn a bit about this world before just rushing out into it?”
This got my attention. “Wait, you know I’m from another world?”
“I called you traveler, didn’t I? So, what kills you each time? Something heavy falls on me.”
I felt something that I had been missing since my second or third life. Hope. “You’re like me?” I said it as more of a question than a statement. It gets so lonely having to keep a part of yourself hidden from everyone you meet. Living every day knowing that no one can truly understand what you are going through.
He laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you’re as unique as the rest of us, but yes, I have lived many lives in many worlds. A vicious cycle.”
“Do you know why? Who does this to us?”
“We have a few theories, but you won’t like any of them. I certainly don’t.”
It felt like a weight being lifted from my shoulders just to talk about my predicament. “You say we. How many of us are there?”
He thought for a moment before responding. “I’m not sure. We haven’t taken a census, but everyone in the village is a traveler. That’s what we call ourselves.”
“A whole village? A whole village of people who know what it’s like?” The thought was overwhelming, and I felt tears come to my eyes.
“Now look what you’ve done. How many times have I told you to break it to the newbies slowly? Get down there and hug him.” Through blurred eyes, I looked for the source of the new voice only to settle on the horse. Was the horse talking?
The gray-haired man hopped down and came over to me. “There, there It’s alright now. Welcome to Isakaiville. We’ll take good care of you here.” He wrapped his arms around me and the hug provided comfort I didn’t realize I needed.
“Thank you.” That was all I could say through the sobs. After a while, I composed myself and we started the walk into town. “You said there are theories. What are a few of them?”
“Well, Bob thinks we’re all fictional characters that a writer keeps going back to in different stories. Becky thinks we’re computer programs being used to test different video games. Neither of those quite work for me with the same method of death each time.”
“I think some all-powerful beings are screwing with us. Like a competition or bet amongst themselves.” This theory came from the horse, Mr. Edward Windfield Chesterson, the third.
“I never thought of any of those,” I admitted. “I don’t really have a theory. I just want it to stop.
The man put his hand on my shoulder. “Well, my boy, there you are in luck. Here we don’t seem to age, and no one has died since the first of us arrived a hundred years ago. I can’t say it’s permanent, but for now, at least you get a rest.” He smiled at me and for the first time since I got hit by the original truck, I felt like I was home.