Crapometer Volunteer #5

The light saw him. It was a long way off, but seeking him avidly. The
voices were whispering again, despite his best efforts to silence
them. Even though the light was far away, the voices were around him
as always. Muddled and murky, they warbled through his mind like
ripples on the surface over fish just underneath. His mind and senses
were befuddled once more, but at least it was peaceful there.

He knew this peace couldn't last. The end was near, and then the
beginning would follow. The two were an endless cycle for him,
separated by the distance of twenty-two years. Although they always
seemed to last such a short time, in their unending repetition they
formed an eternity. The fates called to him, and beckoned him back to
his current reality. He sighed within his soul, and floated to the
surface, as he thought to himself, "here we go again." The light
enveloped him and ripped him upwards.

He gasped -- a rasping sound in the still air. His eyes remained open,
unblinking as he stared at a fixed point in the distance. His
breathing remained strong and steady for several minutes. Lost in
reverie, the past years played through his mind. It was all wrong --
so much needed changing. He sighed inwardly, contemplating where to
begin. Nothing could stay the same. Everything must have its
alterations, its improvements; but where to alter, where to improve?

"There's nothing you can alter, nothing you can improve."

"Silence," he thought to himself, "everyone should be optimistic at death."

Yes, it must all be redone to be more fitting and correct. Too much
sadness, too much pain, had crept in. This time would be perfect: he
was certain. This time he knew what must be done.

well, maybe it's just me, since I don't read science fiction much but what the hell is this? Some poor sot is dying, while he sees a light and hears voices?

Also: generally time is not measured in distance. You wrote "distance of twenty-two years". Light years are a measure of distance but years in general, no.

As usual, y'all bury your leads. Here's yours "This time he knew what must be done."

Give us something to hang on to in the first sentence, rather than all that amorphous description.

I'd read page two, but I wouldn't put my calls on hold to do so. You'd probably get it back with a "we don't handle this" anyway.

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