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Jon walks into the room (always the same room), holding the knife (always the same knife). Jon is set on ending things instead of passing it on. His resolve doesn’t waver (always the same resolve). The door closes behind him without making a noise and he steps forward.
And it feels like a fever dream.
Suddenly, Jon is aware of what will be.
Of what could be.
Of what was.
Of what wasn’t.
It’s an odd recollection of scenes and moments that could have been memories (possibilities?) but are not quite that.
Suddenly, Jon is aware that he’s been there before. In this same room with this same knife after making the same decision.
And he goes through with it.
And he doesn’t go through with it.
There is blood on his hands (he hasn’t moved yet). He becomes a god. He dies with his maker. Nothing changes. Everything ends. It goes as planned. It couldn’t have gone more wrong.
Jon sees it all as if he is outside of time. Jon sees everything (and it’s too much). He doesn’t understand any of it.
This is the first time.
Jon falls to his knees. The knife falls to the ground. His resolve wavers. It is an ending. It is a beginning. It is simply a continuation. Either way, what lies ahead is beautiful and he cannot stop it.
On his knees, Jon looks up at Elias. No, not Elias: Jonah.
Jon is aware that Jonah is no more than a placeholder for Jon himself. There is something beautiful about it. There is only horror in it. The world has ended once. The world will end again. It’s not the time and place to find god (love?). There is nothing beautiful about Jonah’s actions (except there is).
On his knees, without a weapon, Jon watches his puppeteer with what could easily be mistaken as adoration. There is nothing to it. He reaches out but he doesn’t call for him. He reaches out, but the knife is on the floor and Jon doesn’t take it again. This is the first time.
Jon cries.
Jon laughs.
It’s only desperation. It’s only regret. It’s only relief.
Jon walks into the room. Jon falls to his knees. The knife falls to the ground with a muted sound. Jon looks up at Elias. Not Elias, not anymore: this is Jonah.
On his knees, with no weapon, Jon reaches out to Jonah (or to The Eye, others would say).
“Take me, too.”
It is his truth (and he wants it to be no more than a filthy lie).
On his knees, Jon reaches out for his knife without looking away.
“I’m sorry.”
It is a lie (and he wants it desperately to be true).
Jon walks into the room. He holds the knife. This is the first time. This is the end as he designed it. Jon looks up at Elias (Jonah) and his heart aches. There is a longing for Jonah. There is a longing for Elias (never Elias, always Jonah).
There is a soft ache in his heart: it’s broken.
This is their salvation. This is their damnation. There is only the emptiness of dying. There is no more than the horror of living through this. Either way, what lies ahead is violence.
Revenge is meaningless. Revenge is the whole point. His grip on the knife is tight. He must see it through (for himself? For all the others.). Jon hesitates. He drops the knife. He falls to his knees.
Again?
Jon falls to his knees and looks up at Jonah with something that may be mistaken for regret. It cannot be longing for someone who never really existed (it is). It cannot be love for someone who manipulated him every step of the way (it is).
“Elias,” Jon calls for him like it’s not Jonah: just Elias.
The world ended once, and it is about to end again.
In fire.
In blood.
In starvation.
On his knees, Jon hesitates. This is the first time. On his knees, Jon reaches for the knife. On his knees, Jon reaches out for Jonah. This is the first time. Jon walks into the same room, holding the same knife, reaching out for the same person. Again and again.
It is time to end it.
And it ends in blood and death. It ends in violence. It ends with a kiss. It ends with a knife. It ends with giving up on meaning. It ends with giving up on Jonah. It ends with giving up on himself.
Jonah falls to the ground, bleeding. There is blood on Jon’s hands. The knife falls to the ground. There is blood on the knife. Revenge should be personal. There is no such thing as selfless vengeance. Jonah dies. Jon ascends.
And it starts with fear. It starts with murder. It starts with love that wasn’t mean to be. It starts with Jon’s broken heart and Jonah’s lifeless body in a pool of his own blood. It starts with wanting something dark. It starts with not being the person he wished to be.
This is the first time, and it feels like a fever dream. It’s no more than repetition. It’s breaking old patterns. It’s failing to change. It’s changing and still failing to move on.
Jon walks into the room (unaware). Jon holds the knife (still unaware). And he hesitates. Out of love: Jon hesitates. Out of love: Jon goes through with it.
Jon isn’t aware that this isn’t the first time. Jon isn’t aware of what was and what could be. Jon doesn’t know anything. Jon walks into the room with an unwavering resolve so end this nightmare. Jon walks into the room, knife in hand and broken heart, and he kills Jonah. After everything, it should have felt better (did he forgive Jonah?). After everything, it shouldn’t feel like shared pain (did he understand him?).
After everything, he shouldn’t grieve.
Jon falls to his knees. The knife falls to into the pool of blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this (Jon doesn’t want this). It was the obvious ending.
“Let me try again,” he begs.
This is the first time.
Jon walks into the room (that same room), holding the knife (that same knife). Jon is set on ending things instead of passing it on. This is what must be done. His resolve doesn’t waver (that same resolve).
This, too, is the first time.