Chapter 3: Breaking the Rules

I started letting myself go, doing things I never dared to do before. After all, the outcome was set; dying just meant going back a week.

That knowledge was a kind of superpower—and a curse. I stopped worrying about the rules. What was the point?

With no consequences, my morals blurred. I used the loop to try everything—fights in the hallway, sneaking out, even stealing my principal’s car just to see what would happen. I confessed secrets, pranked teachers, skipped every class. By next week, the slate was always clean.

But freedom without risk is just another kind of prison. It got boring fast. The thrill faded, and eventually, even troublemaking lost its flavor. I started losing interest in everything.

Soon, even rebellion was dull. When nothing matters, nothing’s fun. Just an endless parade of empty choices.

I was stuck in eighth grade for a year and a month.

That year stretched on forever. I watched classmates celebrate birthdays, fall in and out of love, fight over homecoming—only to have it all snap back, like none of it had ever happened. I was the only one not allowed to move on.

In those 395 days, I dove into every dark corner I could find, testing the boundaries of my own humanity. When even that lost its thrill, I just drifted. Time became a blur of sameness.

That’s when I realized: time erases all desire and greed. In the face of endless repetition, humans become insignificant.

Everything that once felt urgent—fear, lust, ambition—became dust. There’s nothing more humbling than realizing you’re just a blip in an endless echo.