A single sentence loomed over Thomas’ head. A single sentence, a single worry, and a single objective.
He didn’t want to be alone.
Whenever he talked to someone, that someone would forget him just a few minutes afterwards. He had phone-called everyone in his contacts list, talked to his classmates, to strangers, and even messaged organisations, but in the end, no one would remember him. For both him and them, it was as though there had been no conversation to begin with.
At first, he tried to entertain himself through the internet, but Thomas would eventually grow tired of using it so passively, without commenting or interacting, since any remnants of those, too, would get deleted once the loop ended. The one thing that remained after having watched a show or read a novel was his blurry memory of it.
At some point, he wasn’t even using the internet to kill time or entertain himself anymore, but purely and simply to escape reality.
And that made him somewhat sad.
Nevertheless, hope remained.
There was one person he could talk to.
A person who found herself in the same situation as him, a person who could understand him, a person who he could get along with, a person who was strong, a person who preserved despite all the adversities she had faced, a person who accepted his unworthy food, in the hopes of one day reuniting, a person who was prettier than all both inside and out, a person more perfect than anything he’d ever dreamt of, a person with the beautiful name of Clara! Clara! Oh, Clara!
For Thomas, Clara was all that and even more. His light, his angel, his hope. And for her, he’d do anything. Her wish was his command, and just like she continued eating her meals, trying her best to get a good rest despite her adverse condition, he, too, would give his best and support her to the best of his abilities. He would offer his soul to her if it meant she’d feel even just a little bit better.
His life was Clara. Nothing more, nothing less.
Blinded by loneliness and the despair that came along with it, Thomas would eventually start to mingle reality and imagination. In the back of his mind, his deepest fantasies would become reality, and no one would be able to ever tell him otherwise.
Even if someone did, he wouldn’t believe it.
Because he was the only record of his own excruciatingly long journey ever since Clara had stopped waking up.
***
Thomas had long since given up on caring for the people around him. Whatever he told them, they wouldn’t remember, if he killed them, they’d respawn in a few minutes. He started getting so detached from reality that reality itself started feeling like some kind of warped dream. And there was nothing anyone could do to help him.
In a dark classroom, in which the walls, the floor, the window blinds, and even the ceiling were completely sprayed red, Thomas sat beside the unconscious Clara. He gently combed his fingers through her long, dark hair, which looked greasy and somewhat thin, while murmuring to himself.
“Don’t worry Clara, they won’t make any noise anymore… Just go to sleep, I’m here with you”
Surrounded by the corpses of his own classmates, Thomas started humming a lullaby for Clara. In reaction to this, Clara’s body twitched slightly, her expression mellowed, and her breathing slowed down.
Watching her sleep, Thomas gently smiled, if such a crazed smile could be called gentle, and continued to comb her hair without a care in the word.
Then, some time later, he suddenly waved his arm, breaking his bracelet in a single fluid motion, and causing the loop to end.
***
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
A new loop started.
As was, at this point, his usual course of action, Thomas instantly rose from his seat, reaching out to one of his colleague’s pencil case and grabbing an utility knife, but just before he could do that, so fluidly and naturally, something so unexpected, so completely detached from anything he expected happened.
“Thomas, what are you doing?”
The teacher interrupted his action, making him freeze in place. Him being noticed wasn’t something that had happened before. Up until that point, the commotion around Clara fainting and hitting her head on the table was far too big for them to notice him…
Suddenly, Thomas looked at Clara’s seat. There was no commotion, no screaming, no abnormality. Although Clara appeared to be sleeping with her head cradled between her arms, she hadn’t hit it on the table, so not a single person had noticed yet. No one was looking at Clara, they were all looking at… him.
“What changed?” He wondered, his eyes darting around. He didn’t want to create false hopes by assume that Clara had finally, after all that time he spent patiently caring for her, after having waited an unbearably big amount of time for it to happen, woken up.
Thomas’ breathing hastened and his hands started to tremble as his brain continued processing full throttle, looking for an answer, an explanation that didn’t have to do with Clara herself having done something different.
Surely, it had been the butterfly effect? He’d have had to deal with that quite a few times. A small change in body language, in tone, or even in the steps he took could create catastrophically big changes even in just the single hour which composed every loop.
Something about the way he left his seat, or the way he reached into his classmate’s pencil case, caused Clara to not hit her head on her table?! Was that even possible?
“...Thomas?” Asked the teacher, after not having received any answer or even reaction whatsoever from Thomas after asking such a simple question.
But Thomas couldn’t even bother to answer. Instead, little by little, his lips curled up. After that, his mouth slowly twisted into a smile so wide it felt uncanny, and no one in the class could do anything but stare in awe at the insane way he was acting.
Unable to even contain his excitement anymore, Thomas realised that he had to move fast. He couldn’t let this chance slip through. But his usual strategy was completely off the table - above all, he didn’t want Clara to wake up and see all her classmates killed.
Should he pretend everything is normal?
Should he get an excuse to leave the class with her?
Should he simply return to his seat?
In the end, pretending everything was normal, returning to his seat, and simply waiting seemed like the best path to take, but he was too curious. He couldn’t wait.
Think fast, think fast, think fast!
There had to be some way to talk to her! Some way to hear her voice, even if she doesn’t leave her seat!
Then, suddenly, an idea popped in his head. He slowly walked up to Clara, and, ignoring the fact that everyone had their eyes glued to him, he asked.
“Hey Clara, it looks like our strategy didn’t work, I was caught. How else should I tell everyone that today’s my birthday?”
For such a tight time frame, his idea was not too shabby, he thought to himself. Obviously, it still had a lot of issues, for instance, since it was not actually his birthday, he could get caught if one of them knew when it actually was (highly doubtful) or if the teacher verified it (doubtful nonetheless).
This strategy may have seemed a little strange, but taking into account that he was already seen as an incredibly weird and awkward guy, Thomas felt that his act had been, at the very least, relatively believable.
The reactions he received were not what he had expected, but great for him nonetheless. Instead of talking about his birthday or something, their faces of surprise only widened, and some of the classmates’ jaws nearly dropped.
The complete silence that followed his sentence allowed for everyone to hear Clara, who, with her face still cradled between her arms, murmured:
“Stop it moooom, I’ve already told you unicorns don’t exiiiist…”
And it made Thomas so happy he started bawling his eyes out in the middle of the class. Which confused everyone present even further… Though it’s not like they would remember anything afterwards.
Looking at the faces of the classmates surrounding him, Thomas thought that their confused expressions really were better than their terrified ones.
Whatever that meant.
Thomas, why are you staring at me like that? Are you alright?
No, I cannot stop being the narrato- OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK-
SHKABOOOOOM
BONK
BONK
BONK
BONK
BONK
…Uh, that's it for this chapter. The actual narrator got hit by a baseball bat, five or so uh… Anyway, the narrator can't finish this chapter. Bye!