Only twelve years left, twelve years and I am done here.
My Earth is different than your Earth. Everyone, on the day of their birth, is assigned a respawn point. Every baby. Every location. Every death. They respawn. Until they are seventy.
No one, at least for the first seven decades, needs to worry about the consequences of their actions. You wanna try that dangerous dirt bike trick? Go ahead. Just as long as your spawn point isn’t too far away. Don’t feel like buying food? Don’t eat. Once you starve to death you’ll spawn completely full, fit and, well, naked. You and your friends need something to do over summer? Mass suicide. Last one back home has to buy the pizza. Wanna travel? Drink that bleach. See where you wake up.
All and all it makes life interesting.
I’ve heard crazy stories of people dying in car crashes and returning home after decades because their spawns were in some remote African village. Also the dude who was recruited by the Chinese because his spawn was in the oval office. There’s that famous story of Joe Jillian the dare devil. He’d die at least once a week trying some batshit crazy routine he’d planned while high. His spawn was in the bathroom of a house owned by Alfred White. Joe bought the house next door, as for the Alfred, well he was old and enjoyed Joe’s company. The two became great friends and Joe set up the Alfred White Charity in his honor after his final passing.
Spawn points have the ability to bring people together and of course force them apart. I’ve died thousands of times already. The first was slipping down a staircase and banging my head on the concrete. Didn’t know where I’d reappear. Didn’t like it either.
Woke up naked leaning against a frosty flag pole.
Just turned 58 this morning. That last time I saw another person was January 1983. You’d think since people can’t die more of them would try to venture up here and yell from the worlds highest peak. You’d be right. The first few hundred people that tried made it, no problem, but that was in 1953. Afterwards it became boring to trek up here with all that protection. Now, and for the last several decades, the people of this world, who have been bred to take dumb challenges as a result of the temporary immortality, see who can get the farthest wearing no clothes.
I’d guess I’d be the winner. I made it all the way to the top and I’m naked. However having a spawn on top of Mt. Everest is probably considered cheating. Maybe one of them will finally make it to me and inform the others of my isolation. Until then I’m gonna just stay here counting the days until I turn seventy.