As always, the beginning of the end is rather mundane and not once has it ever changed.

The morning air is fresh, dew still clinging to the leaves and birdsong still bright and lively. People are rising from their beds, the cars are moving forward to bring workers to work. The drive of a new day is unremarkable, notably forgettable and yet I know the song and dance as I know my own heart.

It will happen like this: the skies will split apart, the earth will erupt in rumbles, people will scream and cars will crash into one another; there will be blood, bodies that twist and mangle, there will be pain and there will be suffering; the God of Duality will orchestrate the end of the world, the fabrics of the universe will fall apart, and I will remain as I always have - a silent observer of fate.

People always react the same, it is always the same no matter how much he has tried to change it.

This time will be no different.

It cannot be different.

It should not be different.

And yet, I watch him try over and over again to change the ending of a plot he already knows. You see, at first I envied him and his drive to change. At first I loved him, admired him and saw the hope he so desperately clung to. After the first, three, four, five times I thought certainly this would be the one time he would prevail. A boy with the power of time on his side, in his hands, regressing to the point of no return. And truly, really, I did love him. I wanted him to succeed. I needed him to succeed so that I too may escape this Hell.

Unknowingly at the end, he has become the guard, and I the prisoner in this world that is so unforgiving.

Try as I might, though, I cannot look away.

And he is desperate, grasping at straws.

"Why is it like this again? I changed it this time for sure, I did everything right." A likely story, I have seen him and the ripples of the butterfly effect. I have seen him from the beginning and also to the end.

He does not cry, even as the same cars pass him by as they do in each iteration. He does not cry as children playfully squeal. He does not cry as he simply remains rooted in his spot, staring at the ripples in the sky as it splits and that blasphemous God rears one of two faces. The rumbling begins and all erupts into chaos. Still, he remains.

People are quick to scream, they run in the same direction and in the same clusters. They move as a unit, a hivemind. Cars are destroyed in the same pattern they always are and the boy narrowly misses being cleaved in half by one. He steps backwards into entrails, blood painting the soles of his white sneakers which bleed at first pink and then a brilliant cherry red.

There is a fire sneaking up his leg in the form of nerves, a tremble in his lower abdomen and he finds that he really, really has to pee. It's not that he actually has to use the bathroom, it is more that he is overwhelmed with helplessness. He hates it, he really fucking hates it. This entire world was falling to shit, again, and he feels powerless. Jokes on everyone though, he's never going to stop.

He can't. There is too much at stake, there is always a new thread to follow and he is convinced this time will be the last time and it never is. If he keeps trying, if he keeps trying, if he keeps-

Debris fall downward from the skies, buildings crumbling all around him and his instincts urge him to move away and to dodge. He does, but far too late. There is familiarity in the pain, like the warmth of a mother and the comforting caress at his cheek and whispers of sweet nothings that say: it is okay to die, you rotten filthy piece of-

Shit always sucks.

Evading death has never been what he wanted, idealizing a world where he could jump and that would be the end of it. It never is, and he knows it just as intimately as he knows the pain of getting impaled through the stomach. How molten metal kisses at his abdomen and lower intestines, how blood pools underneath him and leaves him feeling far too cold. He is just another body claimed and just another blink away from being right back to where he was.

This time he dodges, this time he's safe, and this time he's running through the crowds of people that follow his every move with eyes wide and fingers pointing. It's the same nightmare, the same cruel reality. He just can't wake up.

I watch him with a growing resentment. Each time, he rewinds to stop his death. Each time, he rewinds in utter failure. Each fucking time he rewinds and comes to the same result that this world isn't worth saving. This universe isn't worth saving, this entire reality isn't worth saving.

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Nothing is.

So why can't he just-

Honestly, the boy is deluding himself. Every single time I watch him fall into a depression, I think to myself that he's finally giving up. That this will all end.

It never does.

He carries himself up ruined buildings and I wonder why I loved him. He escapes death again, and I wonder why I admired him. He screams his throat raw into ruin, pleading with the Gods, and I wonder why I envied him.

Time fractures, collapsing on itself and I watch helplessly and earnestly as the same clusters of bodies pick themselves up from the ashes - they are mangled, broken, bloody corpses that speak in unison.

This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fault.

It's not like anything will change as they remember and blame him. Nothing will ever change.

At the top of the rooftops of a collapsing building, the boy falls to his knees. His shoes are soaked red, his pants are wet and soiled, and he is heaving up an empty stomach. His fingers are trembling, burned and nails chipped from a desperate act of survival. While he does not pick himself up, he is making an expression I am all too familiar with. Eyes wide, with no understanding of what's going on.

His hair was once soft but now is matted, sticking to his skin. How long has it been since the world ended with no hope for getting better, with no chance of reprieve, with Eliel ( that blasted God ) destroying the very universe he had created- days? Weeks? Months? Mere moments?

When he finally looks up, it's that very same tired gaze.

I am not sure what he's searching for. The world is disappearing rapidly. I do not know what he's seeking. Has he finally given up? Will I be released from watching a tragic play?

And I am not sure until his gaze turns and it lands on me.

At first, I was... unsure. I looked this way and that, but his gaze still stayed on me. It pierces through me and my heart quickens as I realize that in all the different routes, all timelines, all endings... this boy has never once seen me. Never once perceived me, and never once spoke to me.

Like he's doing now.

Speaking.

Lips moving.

I nearly strain to hear it, but it's much louder in my effort to focus.

"You've been watching me."

A statement that is not false. I have been watching him for a very, very long time. I remember when he was born. I remember when he took his first steps. I remember his smile. I remember his tears, his pain, his everything. Why would I not? I remember everyone's beginning and everyone's end.

I cannot speak, stunned. So I nod.

"You... who are you-"

Another question I cannot answer, still confused and shocked and alarmed at his gaze on me.

Like this, I notice that his eyes are not grey. They are a soft, brilliant muted lilac. I notice the way his lips tremble, the dried tears on his cheeks. I see him in a new light, a new way.

I blurt out an offer before I can change my mind.

"Would you like to go back?" He should not go back. This has to be the end, this has to be where he gives up. This has to stop.

And he stares at me, for an awfully long time.

"Go back?"

I cannot stop, my lips move again. "Would you like to try again, to change fate?" I need to stop speaking. I cannot speak with him, I should not speak with him. "From the beginning?"

He should say no. He will say no. He will end this. No one person can survive the millions, billions of times he's endured an ending with no change over and over. No way he will try again. He will give up, this will be the end and I will be free from this Hell he has created, that I have created.

But, he does not. He says nothing.

All he does is stare at me, observing me like I have observed him.

When his mouth finally opens, my heart slows to a stop, I know the answer before he says it.

"Yes." With a conviction of a man that has never failed. That has never known suffering. That is filled with hope.

So I smile.

"Very well, then."

Then the boy is stumbling, crawling towards me with trembling hands. I know he is on the edge of Death's door once again, but I can't help but think - I can't help but realize the reason why I watch him. The reason why I love him, admire him, envy him.

He gives me hope in a future that I have never deserved.

A screen appears as it always does, but it is glitched and broken. It is shaky, trembling. In the moment, I do not think it odd, but maybe I should have. As he presses the button that seals both our fates, I am left to watch the end of the world.

Alone.