Ninety-four years wasn’t too bad of a run, thought Certus.

It was indeed a good run, a good life overall. Certus was a man of little worth in the sense of being worth money. He had little need of it, really. He was considered homeless by most. However, he thought himself less of homeless and more of being free. Free to roam where he pleased; be it the streets of New Orleans or Central Park in New York City.

Certus was currently in that space where neither time nor space was available. All was dark, yet light at the same time. The ticking of the clock had little value as there was no force to remind you of the length in which it tick-tocked away. This wasn’t purgatory, per se, but it was definitely in between something, somewhere.

The last thing he remembered doing was laying down on his mattress of cardboard under the I-95 overpass. It was cold outside Washington this time of year, and though he’d been dressed for the weather, there was no warming up in the snowstorm that raged on. Many of his fellow wanderers were of the mindset that it was times like these that they should take advantage of the generosity of others. Not Certus though, his take on the matter was simple enough; if I take that food, that bed, or those clothes- well- that’s one less person in the world that would benefit from the giving.

Instead of walking the four blocks to the shelter he huddled upon his cardboard one last time not knowing that it would, in fact, be his last time.

“Ninety-four years wasn’t too bad of a run Certus,” came a soft stern voice.

The voice. It seemed oddly… notorious to him. Certus’ vision still lacked sight. No black, white, or otherwise. He couldn’t speak to call out to the voice to let them know he wasn’t scared but wasn’t feeling himself.

“I can understand that,” came the voice. “You’d think you would all get better with this process eventually. Alas, the erasing of one’s mind indeed prevents such a memory. However, for you Certus, this process will be different.”

Certus could only remain content with the situation. He had nowhere to go and nothing he could say. He waited for his judgment, if that was what this was.

“This may be your eleventh resurrection and your last for sure. You, my old friend, are being given a single last chance to grace this universe with your presence once again. Your deeds of past have never failed to impress upon me the importance of doing good. Certus, it is your namesake to say yes, but I give you a choice, do you wish to be reborn into this world? As an eleven you are also given a choice to keep your memories, would you wish to keep those as well?”

The thought of being reborn had never occurred to Certus. He wasn’t a very religious person but understood right and wrong. He could do right by his fellow mankind with his knowledge. He answered yes to the questions at hand.

“Ah, wise choice Certus. I have given this choice to other in the past in hopes that they could change the ways of the world. You’ll be the first to do this since Anjezë Bojaxhiu. I wish you luck.”

With a boom of light and sound, he faded.

I sincerely hope you’ll be the one, the last before Anjezë was Adolf Hitler, the voice said as Certus’ current being faded to bright colors and sounds.

Categories: Short Story

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