The Ballad of Johnny Bishop

My name is John Bishop and I cannot die.

Not in the romantic, vampire, live on in eternal melancholy sense, because I do die. But I cannot stay dead. On February 8th, 2017, my fortieth birthday, at 10:07 PM, I suffered what I believe to be a massive heart attack and passed away. I left behind my wife Grace, and two children, Lee and Michael.

As bad as that was, what came next was worse. I woke up on my fifteenth birthday, February 8th, 1992, at 7am. I have lived that portion of my life hundreds of times now, and no matter what I do, I cannot change that.

The first couple times, I tried desperately to recreate my life with Grace and the kids, my heart burned for them, but the reality of it was my mind, even in that first time around was almost sixty years old by the time we met, and she was twenty. All the things we loved about each other were so keyed around traits that I no longer possessed, and she wasn’t the woman that I loved on the day I died, she was the woman I fell in love with on the day we met. Those changes were insurmountable. It was heartbreaking and terrifying as I continuously pushed trying to recreate a life that could never be.

I have tried everything I could think of, I have attempted to stop the 9/11 attacks, prevented countless tragedies, I have played the stock market and made myself billions on knowledge of coming events, I have traveled the world and explained my story to every holy man, shaman, faith healer and psychologist that would listen. I have prayed at the feet of every statue, swallowed more than my fair share of bullets and cyanide.

I have loved and hated, but none of it brought me even the slightest answer. One moment I was laying in bed next to the love of my life listening to her snore softly, the next I was endlessly repeating my life, over and over and over. What a creative and endless hell. But I have found no god, at least not one evil or caring enough to tell me why I am suffering, why I cannot stop this torment.

So now, I will prepare to die again and be reborn, not like some messianic figure, but as my boring, ridiculous self, tired and broken in spirit, and prepare to once again fake my way through my teenage years as to not break my mothers heart with an early death. Maybe I'll be a rockstar next time, that's always a fun way to spend a lifetime, pretty girls, loud music, no one judges you for drinking, and I already know what kind of music will be popular and when, I can crank out hits someone else has already written and be lauded around the globe as an innovator. If I am not going to get answers from whatever god doomed me to this eternal hell, I can at least be adored by millions.

J.B.