Cataclysm (noun): a violent change

Every time he died, he woke up in a different body.

The curse manifested itself five years ago—he had been an old man back then, forgotten and unwept as he counted his remaining days in a gray apartment. When he felt his last breath slipping from his lungs, he was relieved and happy to part with his lonesome, monotone life.

But as if he had simply taken a nap, he was soon opening his eyes again.

His first “transfer” landed him in the body of an accountant: awkward, talentless, and so average-looking that he wasn’t even ugly enough to be memorable. The second time, he was a high schooler who liked gaming—he played too poorly to stream or sign contracts with esports organizations, but he had enough interest and skill to hermit away within the darkness and instant noodles of his own room. All of his previous memories stayed, too.

The longest he’d ever lasted in a new body was two months. No matter how much he stayed away from other people and kept his nose in his own business, some unfortunate accident would strike him down like an unseen predator. Murdered. Struck by lightning. Stroke. For a while, he simply laid down in whatever new room he found himself in, and waited patiently to die.

Not today. Today, a little girl grinned at him as she dragged him by the hand across the street, her pink backpack with a unicorn keychain bouncing joyfully on her back. Her hand felt unbelievably warm in his—the first touch of another person that he had in decades. Skipping and hopping, he quickly found himself laughing with her, his voice as childish and high-pitched as hers, ringing through the air like a pair of dreamy wind chimes. He had never been reborn so young and so… alive.

And the car struck him.