You would think, wouldn't you, that you'd want as little bad stuff in the previous lives as possible? Most people think that what employers are looking for is the most basic, milquetoast person they can find - means they won't commit a crime again, right? Not so.

See, what they're looking for is a pattern. Your last five lives, have things been getting better or worse? Reincarnation is a massive cycle, a rolling wheel of death and rebirth - but some scientist at a fancy university said that you could tell with 70% accuracy which way the wind was blowing for a person. There were two kinds of people - those going up towards heaven and those going down towards hell.

I rubbed the card in my pocket with my thumb. The lamination had already begun to peel from its surface from my constant worrying. Maybe soon I could rub it all the way off, and I'd finally get a job.

... Not likely. They'd print me a new one. The last five lives were on my birth certificate anyways, divined from putting the placenta through some machine. I sighed, and headed in through the door.

"Mr. Patel," the lady at the counter said, flashing me a brilliant smile. You only got a smile that good from years of customer service, plastering a smile on even when you wanted to bash someone's head in. "Please, take a seat."

I took a seat across from the lady, watching as she shuffled her papers. There was a bit of a tell to these HR types - I knew I'd already lost the job.

"L1 was a businessman, I see. A lot of donations to charity," she said. L1 - your first past life. He must have been trying to drag our collective karma up as much as he could with the money he'd made. I didn't think it'd worked.

"L2, a firefighter, L3, a war hero," she continued, the same spiel I'd heard a hundred times before. I braced myself for the next two.

"Then an orphanage caretaker... And our first president," she said, delicately.

She couldn't say she was disqualifying me because of it. But she was. Of course she was. It should have been an honour to be reincarnated from him, but no - these people were convinced that these things would even out in time. That some equally horrendous crime would occur in my lifetime before the cycle could put itself back into sync.

"We regret to inform you that due to the morality quotas placed upon all multinational corporations..." she began. I tuned out. I'd heard it all before.

"Perhaps we'll meet again in the next cycle," she said, cheerily.

"Yeah. Of course," I said, numb to her words. I left the office behind me, shaking my head.

"Could've left some luck for me, Henil," I murmured to the statue in the city square. Of course, he just stood there. Silent, unmoving, as he had for decades.

I shook my head and kept moving. There had to be some other place that'd hire me. And if not, well, there was always next cycle.

The station was packed with multi-colored folks who clung to pieces of paper. They moved around each other like currents in an Ocean, ensuring they got a good look at everyone’s face. Some lunged into excited conversation and others passed by each other without a second glance. We couldn’t explain it… the connections. But as the memories came back and so did the old loves and friendships. It was all a very confusing and intense process.

I sighed as I fumbled with my own stack of paper. Actually, it was thick enough to be a book. It was bound together roughly and contained details from every life I had lived on Earth. It was strange to be holding all your lives in the palm of your hand. It made each life feel less grand, somehow. As if being able to write everything I had ever done down so neatly took away from their significance. I’m not sure how… it was just a feeling.

My eyes wandered back towards the evermoving current of people and I began to people-watch, something that had become quite a bit more interesting as of late.

It was an odd sea of diversity; each individual being different from the next in both physical appearance and choice of fashion. It only took about two days after the Activation for the fashion of the times to be completely abandoned. Seamstress’ got a sudden influx of orders they had not prepared for as women and men alike felt a deep yearning for a time long past.

I smiled as I spotted a group of women who were flocked closely together as if sharing a very deep secret. They wore clothes that looked straight out of the Victorian period, with purple and green stripes, skirts that were fully, and overly decorated hats. They fanned themselves as they looked around nervously, it seemed their lips never stopped moving.

A few men in the crowd were dressed in armor and carried weapons at their hips. Their eyes were sullen from years of war they just suddenly remembered and they walked with a stride I did not recognize as from “this time”. It was odd to see which lifetimes people cherished and which personality they felt the most connected to.

Most of their lifetimes had been similar, of course, since you only change so much between lives. But one thing it seemed everyone shared was a special connection to one or a small set of lives. It’s hard to explain, but certain time periods and fashions just feel more natural since the Activation. Even I had a lifetime that felt the most “me”.

I glanced down at my own 1920s style dress, long coat, and shoes.

A sudden loud noise and echo alerted me and I looked around. The crowd began to part as a man and woman walked into the room. I rolled my eyes and sat back down. The “Royals”.

These were the most annoying people. When they got their memories back they suddenly remembered the many lives they lived as royalty. It took them only about five seconds after this realization to declare themselves the “rightful rulers” and try to force everyone to treat them like seventeenth century Kings and Queens. And some people were! It was getting out of hand frankly.

Bored with their display my eyes wandered around the small café. It was a smart business model frankly. The café had been set up as a “meeting spot”. Each person can rent out a table for a period of time. While they are renting it they can display four to one hundred lifetimes where there is someone they are looking for. Other people at the station can come and see if they recognize any of the lifetimes. It gave me hope, but somewhere deep down I knew that it was mostly futile.

I glanced around the café at the other miserably hopeful souls who were waiting to be connected with their lost loved ones, just like me. It was weird to be so ordinary in such a unique situation. Everyone, it seemed, was looking for their soulmate.

A waitress delivered my coffee and I blew on it as I watched the people go by and found myself thinking about my Peter.

We’d only been married for three years when he went to war. Our second daughter was on the way, though we didn’t know it was a girl yet. He didn’t want to leave, and I of course wanted him with me. He went missing in action, I’m not sure what happened to him. I suppose I was looking for closure too. I wanted to know where he vanished to.

“Excuse me?” A voice said from behind me and I turned suddenly to meet the kind eyes of an older woman. She pointed to the chair across from me. “May I?” I nodded my head.

“I am waiting for someone,” I said, “But you’re more than welcome to wait with me.”

“Well,” the woman said, leaning back. She was dressed in a style of clothes I did not recognize. It was simple but flowing, it looked very comfortable and was fastened at the waist with a belt. She had many objects hanging from the belt but it was hard to get a good look. “I may not be who you are looking for, but I think you might be happy to have found me.”

I furrowed my brow as I took a good look at her. Nothing about her in this body and life felt familiar, but there was something inside my chest that flickered when she met my eyes.

“Mom?” I said, feeling like suddenly all their air had been knocked out of my lungs. Her eyes creased as she smiled. That was it, there was something familiar about her eyes.

“One of them,” she laughed. “Maybe the oldest one.”

“From…” I paused as I thought about the life that was on the tip of my memory, but still far away. I remembered pure river water, fireplaces outside, the sweet smell of flowers, the wind in my hair, the way I felt climbing trees and fishing with my father…

“It was a long time ago,” Mom said sweetly, placing her hand on mine. “It might take some time to remember. It was also so much different than this,” she motioned to the café and the busy train station. “Out of curiosity, who are you waiting for?”

I blushed slightly and looked at my hands clutching the mug.

“Oh,” I said, “He was a past love… maybe one of my true loves. Maybe my only true love. I lost him in the Great War.”

“I am sorry dear,” Mom said. “I hope you find each other again.” I smiled weakly.

“I remember you telling me to trust in Mother Earth,” I said, “The language was different… and so much else is foggy. But I remember you saying that life is like a river. We can only control so much. Sometimes we are in calm waters, others we are in rough conditions. But we’re always flowing forwards and learning on the way.” Mom’s eyes filled with pride.

“I’m so happy you remember,” she said then added, “My daughter” in that old language fondly.

Mom’s eyes moved over my shoulder and her eyes softened. She handed me a piece of paper and kissed my hand as she stood up.

“Let’s catch up sometime soon,” she said, nodding to someone behind me. “I think you two might have some stuff to talk about.”

I turned, Mom’s paper still clutched in my hand, and saw him, and knew him right away. He was different in this life, taller and with darker features, but he was my Peter. Tears filled my eyes and I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him. He dropped the flowers I didn’t realize he was holding and spun me around. The people in the café clapped and whistled as my feet hit the ground.

“Peter,” I said, touching his face fondly. “It’s really you.”

“I told you I’d always come back to you,” Peter said sweetly, “I’m just sorry it’s been so long.”

The Report Card I carried was sparingly bare. It has to be. Each of my lives was increasingly more mysterious.

My karma was exceedingly high for someone with barely any information. I am constantly stopped by security personnel looking to get higher in the next run. In Gatherings where people can find previous connections and people who were important to them, some dangerous characters always seem to find me.

Some can remember their past lives but not me. Those who can are common but are always fascinating. And so many who do seem to remember me.

They beg me for answers or thank me for getting them off the path they were headed. A former dictator that ruled some ancient kingdom approached me with fear in their eyes, stating that they hoped that I would stay dead. They blamed me for ruining their lands and ending their people.

The most intriguing part of my Report is that my appearance rarely changes, at most changing every dozen lives. I don't get even feelings about my past lives but I'm known around the world.

There's someone who can help recall past lives, but they refuse to see me. They tell me that they can't help but I know they can, they've done it before for many important figures.

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