Endless Love 6,200, Romance, Fantasy. Adult. (standard:romance, 6318 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 16 2020	Views/Reads: 1361/995	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Despite many tries, a near immortal can’t seem to win at love.

Nerves on edge, face pressed to an oval porthole, I watch from a window
seat of a Douglas DC-3 as the aircraft circles a small island in the 
Marianas.  It's February in the year 1953, less than ten years after a 
vicious world war.  Another is raging in Korea but I've managed to 
avoid that particular altercation. This cycle, I'm an 18 year old 
civilian. 

With a "Screeching" of brakes, swerving a bit on hitting a
corrugated-metal military runway, the aircraft lands at the only 
airport on the island, one that shares space with military and civilian 
flights, and clatters over to a Quonset hut used as a terminal. 
There'll soon be another field but the other – also formerly Japanese 
-- is still heavily damaged from the Big One. 

I, along with a dozen other passengers, stand and shuffle uphill to an
open door, to exit the aircraft through a set of steps wheeled up to 
the doorway.  It's hot outside, more so than when we boarded in Hawaii. 
 We  have to wait for our luggage to be brought out from a space 
beneath passenger level on the aircraft.  It's to be lined up 
haphazardly on the runway beneath and behind one wing, waiting for us 
to find our own and claim it.  Workers help a few older passengers with 
theirs, but most of us simply carry our bags into the terminal. 

At a scarred desk sporting a placard saying "Customs", a uniformed
guard, bare feet up on a desk and reading a Japanese porno magazine, 
casually waves me past his post to another official.  That one in 
American military uniform. 

"You got any dirty pictures, explosives, or large amounts of American
money on you?" a bored lieutenant asks before noticing my civilian 
passport. The island is under American Military Law as part of the 
reparations agreement with Japan. 

He grins. “Pako. One for you. A civilian.” 

I finish back at the first desk, basically the same questions.  Being a
young American I was initially thought to be military. 

Small as such islands go, with a population of 150,000 -- half American
military -- the island is becoming crowded. There are two army bases, 
along with a small air force contingent at the airport.  The first two 
times around I'd been in the army and stationed at one of the bases. It 
hadn't been bad duty, but I'm tired of the military bullshit. 

This time, my fourth life cycle, I'm well set up, a millionaire at
eighteen. Money is the least of my problems.  During my third lifetime 
I'd made a point of memorizing certain facts, such as winning sports 
teams and lottery numbers, as well as paying attention to stock market 
fluctuations. This time, my fourth, I considered myself prepared.  
Hopefully, I'd finally win her love.  Dear God, how I prayed for 
success. 

Somehow, for some Godly reason, every time I reach my eightieth
birthday, I wake in my own  ten-year-old body. Over and over, 
endlessly.  All I retain are memories and, inexplicably, eventually 
find the article in a National Geographics magazine that brings back 
old, old faded memories.  Memories of Amiko, lovely Amiko.  Somehow, it 
eventually shows up after my transformation and is, of course, 
recognizable. The ways of the gods are strange. 

The photo was taken in March 1969, in front of Grandma Yoshiko's small
store in the village of  Shansabaru.  It's a group photo of most of the 
villagers and myself  ... including Amiko.  Dear sweet Amiko. 

All I care about is finding Amiko. All I've EVER cared about is Amiko.
The very name gives me chills, brings back tender memories and 
stretches raw nerves. Maybe this time?  I can only pray. God must have 
a  purpose in this eternal torture. 

Standing in unremitting heat, I take out the faded photo showing me with
an arm around her in 1969, a long time ago in the future. No, not a 
mistake, 1969. Married to her then, it's the closest I've gotten to the 
girl in the last 180-plus years. I have no idea how that photo got into 
a magazine in 1950.  I remember posing for it in the year 1969. 



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