Buddhist Multiverse

This is a short story that draws a parallels between video game dynamics, Reincarnation, and a constantly splintering multiverse. First posted on http://theironpen.blogspot.com/

I've heard it said that, at this moment, an infinite number of universes exist, and more appear with each variable; every bump of an atom, very collision of matter, every shift in energy... every choice.

I'm fresh. The waves pour over the Mark I LCM. I look over the faces of my brothers, I can't see anxiety in their faces. We weren't programmed for that. But I feel my own, just an idea. I let my imagination wrap around it, develop it, am I thinking about my girl back home? No. I think about my father, a carpenter, he wanted me to go to college it would never have happened; the war, the time.

Normandy looms ahead, as high as beaches can loom. It comes into focus, first yellow sands, shadows hint at changes in the terrain. As the mark one moves through the water barricades of wood, steel, and barb wire materialize. I hear artillery but it hasn't hit us. Time for one last thought before the landing...I want some pizza.

We land. Gun's were firing before we landed but now the threat is real. Sergeant McCullin is yelling. I turn to look as the bullet screams through my head. I'm floating over my body and I can't see my hair... it was brown, light. I think about the MP's at my mother's door. No, That's the Pizza.

I'm fresh, The waves pour over the walls of the LCM. I know how much time I have. I don't look at my brothers. I'm looking ahead, to the beaches. There's drift wood... I'll go there first... what are those mounds.

The boats land. Everyone follows their program. I have my own. I run to the drift wood. I run to the drift wood over ten times. Sometimes straight to it. Sometimes I take a long bend in. Sometimes I run and sometimes I strafe, and some times... I crawl.

Every time my blood coats the sands of Normandy.

I'm fresh, and my legs don't work. I push the button's; I duck, I lay down, I fire my rifle into Huxley's back. I don't know this until I hear the POPs, and I look up. S**t.

I'm stuck in the groundhog's loop, and the toaster is in the tub.

I should have ordered anchovies, I'm not seeing my girl tonight. Phil keeps seeing his shadow.

The mounds... I'm an idiot, they're bunkers. I move to the drift word, I strafe, aim. I pop two rounds into the slit in the mound. Someone goes down. I duck behind the drift wood. Through my scope I can see them; in the dunes. I take down two krauts. somebody feels sour.

Pop.

I'm floating over my body again. Everything is quiet when I'm up here, I think about the girl. My girl. What would my girl do? She misses me after a day.

I go through it four more times. I'm in the dunes now. Gunfire surrounds me. Pop.

I'm Not fresh anymore. My brothers are programed, so am I. I don't want to survive, I don't want to live, I just do. I know where everyone is. My men, their men. Pop

I'm still fresh, just cocky now. I'm impatient. I run, fire, duck, fire. I move from the shore line to the dunes quick. Huxley is up ahead, others are down, some have the luck of programming. I am being programmed. With each attempt I move forward, but my life ends in a bullet. Always. How much more till the next level; the next purpose; the next challenge.

Dead again.

I'm fresh into the repeat of my life. I shoot, I kill, I am removed from the life I have and become part of a new one. I take time; behind the drift wood, behind the sandbags, inside the bunkers.

I am nothing. The carpenter who raised me, the girl I left at home. None of those things matter. Not even my rank and the I that I see through. I am something larger, and that something knows what happens next. The sublime beauty of mist sprayed into the air as waves smash against the Mark I LCM, no longer exists. It is part of the hope and fear that prevents my ascendancy.

on the beaches of Normandy I hear artillery fire. It won't hit my transport. I know this because something inside of me has been witness to the program. The enemy is programed. I do not know their movements but I know their objective. They will fire at me, at my men. If they knew existance hinged on my success they would cease fire, or they would forget the others and fire at nothing but me. My success passes their time.

nothing matters. only I. the immaterial force inside lets the world blur into a kaleidoscope of motion, solidifying only as I stare down my rifle to watch the impact point of the bullet. I have lost all sense of myself, and am given over to the internal control that tells me when to move and when to fire. When I ascend I will be fresh again; and confused. Like an infant trying to make sense of the new world that will crop up around me I will look around bewildered trying to understand what exists behind a pair of hands, I will stumble and fall and bleed and die as my enemy fires from behind trees and walls. But that is in the future. In the now I am old. Inside of me the soul is old and tells me where to go. until I reach the end of this existence.

Author's Note

I have a general problem with grammar, but I would like reviews to focus on clarity, and readability.

Reviews

[A.marie.speaks]

I really liked the whole thing; the concept, the wording, the format. You break up the physical text nicely which makes for smooth reading (in my opinion at least). I love the concepts you've blended together. I'm a huge fan of exploring ideas like reincarnation, multi-dimensional universes and the human spirit so this was right up my alley!

Keep writing, and don't worry so much about your grammar - I didn't notice anything jarring enough to slow me down while reading it.