A short story by BW Derge, written in 2022 – "In Another Iteration of the Universe: The Jogger in the Woods” is about how little choices can reverberate across multiple versions of the cosmos. The story is told from an omnipresent first-person perspective that has knowledge from several universes about the consequences of varying actions. The choices of one jogger vastly alters the narrator's fate.
In Another Iteration of the Universe - The Jogger in the Woods
When it comes to trees, I am far from an expert. I know the names for some of them, like juniper, oak, hickory... But honestly, when I observe a single specimen, only three categories come to mind – you’ve got your pines, leafy ‘not pines,’ and well, let’s go with ‘miscellaneous’ for the third compartment. So, despite the fact that I didn’t know the specific type of tree this was, I confirmed it was fundamentally sturdy. And a strange kind of beautiful – that’s what I liked most about it. For its beauty and its sturdiness, I had chosen this tree.
I can say that at the time, I held zero interest in learning what kind of tree it was in the scientifical sense. I chose it for its girth, which I perceived as structural integrity, for its aesthetic appeal, and because it was in an isolated location – resting deep in the wilderness, at least half a mile from any marked hiking trail. I approached it and noted it was a leafy tree – a ‘not pine.’ Its leaves were starting to turn orange already as the seasons neared autumn. I’m sure I could go on about the tree, I believe an arboriculturist would be able to fill several paragraphs describing and identifying the thick tree, but to me, it was just a suicide tree.
For matters concerning this particular remembrance, the only universes that matter are those in which not only was I driven madly to kill myself, but also fully committed to carrying out the act in that forest in that particular spot. I don’t feel it too necessary to delve into the circumstances that led to the decision, but to merely communicate that it was a conclusion I had reached with resounding conviction.
There is one such universe where a jogger ran by as I was tying the noose to one of the thicker branches. The fellow stopped a moment to peek through the trees at me, but probably couldn’t tell what I was up to, and went on with his jog. Such was his routine, after all. Most likely in his thirties, possibly former military as suggested by his physique and haircut. The fact that he was exercising off-trail hinted at survival training and strengthened the evidence for such a supposition. His white shirtless skin glistened beneath two blue eyes that shined like a beacon from a shrouded, serious demeanor.
In this variation of the cosmos, the young man ran around through the woods, barely pausing to acknowledge one of my last conscious moments before I hung lifeless from some sacred tree. However, because this man frequented this part of the forest often, he naturally heard the news of my deceased corpse after it was discovered, dangling lifeless for hours in the late summer breeze. Upon hearing of my death, and realizing he was the last soul who could’ve saved mine, he became riddled with a deep depression and overwhelming guilt. For too long, the man obsessed over that day in the woods where he could’ve saved a life. At the darkest depths of this sadness, this possibly militaristic young man would fantasize about stopping his run and from there, all the ways he could’ve tried to stop me.
In another iteration of the cosmos, the man did in fact stop jogging and took the time to fully acknowledge what I was about to do. His blue eyes gazed at me. “Why are you doing this?”
My right foot was already on the sturdy tree, about to step on a thick branch. The leaves rustled lightly in the wind. “Excuse me?”
“Well…” This guy then exposed a weird smile. “Are you about to kill yourself?”
“Obviously.” I presented my beautifully tied noose, which took months to learn how to tie from videos on the internet.
“That’ll do the trick,” he commented. Another cooling gust blew past us in the following silence. “May I ask why you want to do this?”
“Existence,” I spouted stupidly. “This whole fucking life. I’ve been driven to madness – what business of it is yours?”
The intruder took a moment to ponder on my response, then asked, “What drove you so mad?”
“What do you care?”
“Well,” he said. “It seems to me that this is your last moment on Earth anyways, why not take a second and make sure you’re… sure.”
“Pure madness,” I clarified. “Nothing more.”
“I understand, but what drove you to such madness?”
With the noose still clutched in my grasp and now both feet back on the tough prickly grass, I gave this stranger a flat stare. “A woman,” I finally answered. “What else?”
“What?” He wondered, “So your death is her punishment?”
“No,” I snapped. “Merely the suffering she caused still tortures my soul and I can no longer tolerate the excruciation. Death will be my respite.”
“Tell you what.” Another odd smile breached the expression above his muscular build. “Let me buy you a beer. We’ll talk about this she-devil. And then after, if you still want to die, I’ll escort you back here to complete your self-sacrifice to madness.”
Fighting swelling tears, with a stinging in my chest, I nodded at last. “Fine.” I coiled the rope, admiring the tightness of my slipknot, and thought it’d be such a waste to not allow the rope to fulfill its purpose. We took a solemn stroll through the woods. The only sounds to reverberate were our crunchy steps on the woodland floor and our panting heavy breaths. The scenery eventually broke to reveal signs of civilization, abruptly approaching the damp asphalt of a road wettened by a recent drizzle. We walked over to a big black pick-up truck. “Get in,” he said.
At a nearby chain restaurant’s bar, our conversation continued as two tall draft beers were served by a cute waitress. “I just don’t want to be here anymore. I hardly even care what that woman does with her life, I just don’t want to be reminded of her and everything we once had and how I ruined it all… everything in my life reminds me of her.”
“How long were you together?”
“Eleven years,” I said.
The stranger sipped his pilsner. “May I ask what happened?”
“I fucked up, that’s all I can say.”
A long quiet stillness pervaded. “Well,” the man said at last. “I don’t know what I could say other than whatever you did, offing yourself would be the bigger mistake. When your life becomes worth living again, and trust me – it will… that’s when you’ll realize what an awful fuck-up hanging yourself would have been.”
After that evening, in one singular universe at least, the pair of us became close friends. The little bastard also turned out to be right – life eventually got back to a place where I was happy to still be breathing. In almost all other similar universes, however, the man never even jogged by me. He decided to go a different route or left for his routine run at a different time, missing my attempted suicide completely.
In the majority of worlds where I had been driven to that tree to die, it was not an attempt.
That’s exactly what happened.
Disclaimer –
If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts or a crisis, please reach out immediately to the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 or text HOME to the Crisis Text Line at 741741. These services are free and confidential.
Written by BW Derge, All Rights Reserved 2024
© USA
This was a short story composed in 2022 called "In Another Iteration of the Universe: A Jogger in the Woods" - For more writing by BW Derge, check out the store.
