To whom this may concern,

You should know that this one and only statement rings true: I think, therefore I am.

You think that you are safe in your home, tucked away from the cruelties of the world, standing up against the small injustices that creep into your view. This is what you think. However, you could be locked up in a padded room dressed in a cracked leather straight jacket, rocking back and forth as you shout obscenities about the cruel treatment of animals or how the people of the world should be following the latest diet craze. Whose to say?

For those who believe this story to be untrue, maybe you should take a look at your own life first before coming to piss on mine. I don't particularly care how strung out this may seem or how cliche it is for you. This is my life and I've decided to share it with you. If this isn't your kind of tea, then kindly fuck off. Excuse my French.

I think, therefore I am. Keep it in mind.

Sincerely,

Wren

The first life was like a memory of a memory.

Russell Thompson was a chubby kid hidden beneath a mop of dirt brown curly locks. Small glimpses of his pale face revealed cheeks spattered in freckles and acne. He wore oversized hand-knitted sweaters that easily hid his figure and made him appear larger than he actually was.

It wasn't unusual to find him walking home from the corner store with a bag filled with junk food or hiding from the stereotypical bullies that lived up the street and prowled around like they owned the place.

At the ripe old age of 16, Russell's body had been found sprawled across a park bench and beaten beyond belief.

The second life was a delusion.

Liesel Klum was a reedy girl with auburn hair pulled back in a braid. She wore peter pan-collared dresses and pastel knee-high socks as she pranced around her room, dancing along to the music blaring from her radio.

Downstairs, she could hear her mother sing along to her daughter's music as she flitted around the kitchen making dinner. Her mother always liked to dress her up in sweet little dresses like this; like she was her own little living doll.

But behind the ever bright smile a darkness laid waiting. Liesel sometimes felt like she was dreaming; that she shouldn't be the daughter of a single mother but instead a chubby boy instead. Now wasn't that just a kick in the ass? Especially when no one else seemed to understand.

It was the summer of 1994 when Liesel Klum was found hanging by her neck from the top of her closet, a leather belt slipped around her neck.

The third life was brief.

This time, human didn't even factor into the equation. Caramello was a small tabby kitten adorned in patches of grey, brown and white. As the runt of the litter, she was always having to blindly fight to eat and her siblings did not make it easy.

She didn't even get to open her eyes when her world moved from the warmth of her mother's pelt to the cold, wet darkness of death. Needless to say there is a reason cats don't like water.

The following lives weren't worth a mention. Boring little adventures that melted together in a haze of blurry images, like a video on maximum fast forward. There were lives filled with horror and mistrust and others that were dull and bothersome. Some where they were on top of the world and others where they were scraping along rock bottom.

It appeared the old adage was true; no matter who you were life was like box of chocolates, you never knew which one you were going to get. There was no guarantee that they would ever be human of course or even sentient.

The only thing that ever remained the same was that every single time, no matter what they were be it foliage, animal, person…a single scar no bigger than then length of your thumb ran across the face of the new body. It was like the birthmark myth; the place where you were killed in a previous life only this seemed to apply to the original life.

Funny huh?

These lives were both wickedly boring and wickedly intriguing; there would be times where they were born into different timelines, in different dimensions, in parallel universes, in fairytales and stories. But no matter what, when it all came down to it, every single existence was the same: Birth, death, rebirth. Over and over again. Every. Single. Time.

Eventually they arrived here, and now in this new life; one full of pain and promise. Oh and did I mention? They weren't alone in this cycle, not one bit.