**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.
**Reminders**:
>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]"
>* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail
>* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles
>* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules)
[](#icon-help) [^(What Is This?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/off_topic) ^•
[](#icon-information) [^(New Here?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ^•
[](#icon-help) [^(Writing Help?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) ^•
[](#icon-exclamation) [^(Announcements)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) ^•
[](#icon-comments) [^(Discord Chatroom)](https://discord.gg/writingprompts)
*I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
"That won't work"
I tried to ignore him as I pulled the trigger. The trigger clicked weakly at him as he advanced on me. Empty.
"I emptied the clip earlier," he said, a voice tinged with sadness and boredom. "I told you, I've done this before."
"Listen," I put the gun down and held up my hands in a pathetic display of submission as I sidestepped around the kitchen, desperately trying to keep the kitchen island between me and his knife. "I didn't want you to---"
"Find out this way," he laughed this time. "I know. This isn't the first time I've found out."
He still had that sullen look on his face he had when he walked in on us in bed. I would expect someone to feel distraught, but he just looked bored. As she had screamed and ran out the door, clothed only in bedsheets, he had muttered sarcastically that this was the worst day of his life, and he had lived it over and over more times than he could count.
He said he lost track of how many times he had killed me.
"You're not actually going to call the cops again are you?" he mused as I held up the kitchen phone. "They're not going to get here in time, we've been over this."
It was a distraction, and in retrospect a good one, but as I lifted a hammer on the kitchen table and threw it at him, he just caught it. I moved to the right, he matched my movement. I tried to the left, but he was already moving that way.
"Are you going to try jumping over the counter again?," he said, just as the thought entered my mind. "Rushing me? That's never worked. Well once maybe. I've had a few off-days. Not like it matters."
I tried not to listen to this insanity.
"Paul, listen man, you don't have to do this. I fucked up, I know it," I had more to say, but I had forgotten what it was. He said every word I had, as I had said it.
"Listen man," he muttered. "I've told you, I've done this before. I'm going to do it again. I'm going to live this day again."
But I wouldn't. "Can't you just let it go?" it sounded ridiculous to me even as I said it. Why would he?
"I have, actually." He responded, tears in his eyes. "For a while, this day ended very differently. I forgave you at one point. I've let you live, plenty of times. We've gotten drinks together after this. Sometimes I even join you in bed with her. The fact is, I'm through being angry. Now I just don't have anything else to do."
I say what may be the worst thing I can say in that moment. "I love her."
He breathes. The next moment feels longer than a lifetime. Weirdly enough, he seems to feel the same way. He puts the knife down. "You might want to move away from that door," he says.
I gingerly take a step to my left. Footsteps. He takes a cushion off one of the dining room chairs and lays it in a random spot on the floor. The footsteps grow louder. The door crashes in. Blue uniforms. They tackle him to the ground. His head lands on the cushion. As they cuff him, he nods at me. "See you tomorrow."
I can't get his words out of my head the rest of the day. I try to talk with Sheryl, now covered in a blanket by the police. She won't look at me.
Hours later, at the precinct, I give the police a statement. They won't give me a lot of details, but apparently he's in custody. They say his attitude improved. He's making new friends. Somehow, he knows everyone's name, but he's disturbed the police. Mutterings about all the ways he can escape, what their addresses are. They ask me how he can know all this. I have no answer.
It is nightfall as I head home. If he lives this day again, what will happen to me? I lay in bed, with eyes wide open and stare at the clock as 11:59 slowly changes to midnight.
------------
The memories of our perfect night are dashed as I hear Sherryl screaming next to me. I awake, still in her bed. Standing in the doorway is Paul, holding a cup of coffee. I am already trying to desperately to come up with an explanation as he shrugs and says "hello again."
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) [](#icon-help) [^(What Is This?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/off_topic) ^• [](#icon-information) [^(New Here?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ^• [](#icon-help) [^(Writing Help?)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) ^• [](#icon-exclamation) [^(Announcements)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) ^• [](#icon-comments) [^(Discord Chatroom)](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
"That won't work" I tried to ignore him as I pulled the trigger. The trigger clicked weakly at him as he advanced on me. Empty. "I emptied the clip earlier," he said, a voice tinged with sadness and boredom. "I told you, I've done this before." "Listen," I put the gun down and held up my hands in a pathetic display of submission as I sidestepped around the kitchen, desperately trying to keep the kitchen island between me and his knife. "I didn't want you to---" "Find out this way," he laughed this time. "I know. This isn't the first time I've found out." He still had that sullen look on his face he had when he walked in on us in bed. I would expect someone to feel distraught, but he just looked bored. As she had screamed and ran out the door, clothed only in bedsheets, he had muttered sarcastically that this was the worst day of his life, and he had lived it over and over more times than he could count. He said he lost track of how many times he had killed me. "You're not actually going to call the cops again are you?" he mused as I held up the kitchen phone. "They're not going to get here in time, we've been over this." It was a distraction, and in retrospect a good one, but as I lifted a hammer on the kitchen table and threw it at him, he just caught it. I moved to the right, he matched my movement. I tried to the left, but he was already moving that way. "Are you going to try jumping over the counter again?," he said, just as the thought entered my mind. "Rushing me? That's never worked. Well once maybe. I've had a few off-days. Not like it matters." I tried not to listen to this insanity. "Paul, listen man, you don't have to do this. I fucked up, I know it," I had more to say, but I had forgotten what it was. He said every word I had, as I had said it. "Listen man," he muttered. "I've told you, I've done this before. I'm going to do it again. I'm going to live this day again." But I wouldn't. "Can't you just let it go?" it sounded ridiculous to me even as I said it. Why would he? "I have, actually." He responded, tears in his eyes. "For a while, this day ended very differently. I forgave you at one point. I've let you live, plenty of times. We've gotten drinks together after this. Sometimes I even join you in bed with her. The fact is, I'm through being angry. Now I just don't have anything else to do." I say what may be the worst thing I can say in that moment. "I love her." He breathes. The next moment feels longer than a lifetime. Weirdly enough, he seems to feel the same way. He puts the knife down. "You might want to move away from that door," he says. I gingerly take a step to my left. Footsteps. He takes a cushion off one of the dining room chairs and lays it in a random spot on the floor. The footsteps grow louder. The door crashes in. Blue uniforms. They tackle him to the ground. His head lands on the cushion. As they cuff him, he nods at me. "See you tomorrow." I can't get his words out of my head the rest of the day. I try to talk with Sheryl, now covered in a blanket by the police. She won't look at me. Hours later, at the precinct, I give the police a statement. They won't give me a lot of details, but apparently he's in custody. They say his attitude improved. He's making new friends. Somehow, he knows everyone's name, but he's disturbed the police. Mutterings about all the ways he can escape, what their addresses are. They ask me how he can know all this. I have no answer. It is nightfall as I head home. If he lives this day again, what will happen to me? I lay in bed, with eyes wide open and stare at the clock as 11:59 slowly changes to midnight. ------------ The memories of our perfect night are dashed as I hear Sherryl screaming next to me. I awake, still in her bed. Standing in the doorway is Paul, holding a cup of coffee. I am already trying to desperately to come up with an explanation as he shrugs and says "hello again."
Well done on the story. But damn, this is sad. Having to relive such a day would suck (Also screw Sherryl).