In every vision, you are near the tracks with a lever that has somehow materialized into your hand, witnessing a disaster that is inevitably going to happen. A trolley hurtles down the tracks, becoming faster and faster every passing second. You can't stop it. All you can do is move the lever, shift the trolley to a new track. When you move the lever, another disaster occurs. Every track is a tragedy waiting to happen. One person dies. Their family appears and cries and looks at you accusingly, disgustedly. You know they want to kill you but they are not as cruel as you are. You can only offer a silent apology and your absence. You take your position beside the tracks. You give in to the motions, move the lever again.
The trolley derails, falls off the tracks, and kills six people this time. The point of the trolley problem is to choose to save one or save five. You can't save anything. You destroy everything. You are trying your best but you can't stop it. You keep making the wrong choices. Your family appears now, and looks at you accusingly, disgustedly. You run from the lever but it always, always rematerializes in your hand. You are stuck in a dream that never ends, and you don't know how to wake yourself up. You keep getting entrenched deeper and deeper into the trolley problem.
In many ways, the fear that you are a bad person is always at the back of your mind. You feel it sting at you every time you say something hurtful that you didn't mean and your mother's eyes turn a little redder and wetter, every time you forget to call back your brother because you are too busy working or sleeping or trying to navigate the motions of life, every time you are an inconsiderate or oversensitive or demanding friend. You have tried to squeeze yourself into boxes of 'ideal', of 'normal', of 'good'. But you are not. You are not ideal or normal or good. You have never not questioned your goodness. This questioning is something intrinsic to you, as baked into you as having tea every morning or looking back when someone calls your name. You are near the tracks with a lever in your hand again, and you hear someone call your name.
Your best friend is on the tracks and the trolley is hurtling down faster than ever. The same friend whose shoulder you have cried on several occasions, who you exchanged friendship bracelets with, to whom you revealed the nuances and breaks of your character in ways you never thought you would never reveal to anyone is on the tracks. You turn the lever, almost as an instinct, and the trolley hurtles down another track and you hear screams. You don't know who you sacrificed. A crowd is surrounding you, calling for your blood, and your best friend has disappeared from the tracks. Her sister appears from the crowd and refuses to look at you. She calls for your blood.
'But I saved her!'
'You could have stopped the trolley. You didn't.'
'Where is she?'
'You could have stopped the trolley.'
'I didn't know I could have. Where is she? Is she okay?'
She does not answer. She is crying and you are scared and you want an answer. You try to call out for her. She disappears into the crowd. You turn behind and face the tracks again to find the friend who broke your spirit on one track and the lover who broke your heart on the other. They both loved you and you loved both of them. You have shared meals with both of their families. You have wasted hours of your life with both of them. You have written them poetry, written poetry about them. This time, the crowd gazes on. They wait for you to make a decision. You see their families. From the tracks, they both stare at you, a silent plea in both their eyes. You cannot decide. The trolley hurtles down, faster and faster. You let go of the lever and close your eyes.
You hear your brother screaming now, but not how he would shout at you when you steal his candy and use his iPad— a real, terrified scream. He is on the track, too. The lever chooses this moment to not materialize in your hand. You run towards the lever but you cannot witness whatever is going to happen. So you run away. You run and you keep running but the knowledge of what has transpired is something you will never be able to run away from. You never see the whole picture. You don't think clearly. You never make good decisions. You hurt people. You hurt your brother. You are a bad person. You trip over a lever and fall down and you don't want to get up.
You open your eyes and you are on the tracks. You feel like you cannot move. You look to the other track and there is no one there. There is no lever. You are no longer a third person. I deserve this, you think. You take a deep breath. You nod and resign yourself to what you rightfully deserve. You hear the familiar hum of the trolley on the tracks. This time, you feel it on your body too. On your fingers, your thighs, your cheeks. The blood rushes to your cheeks. The trolley comes closer and closer and closer. An older, wiser being tells you to make a good choice. You won't scream, you decide. You won't cry. This is correct. The trolley is hurtling towards you now, it is inches away. You look at your arms, and there are no chains. No ropes tying you to the tracks. No mechanism guaranteeing your fate. Make a good choice, they repeat. You did not save anyone else. You cannot save anyone else. You can save someone, though. You can save yourself. You will save yourself over and over again. You will learn how to be good. You will learn not to repent. You roll to the right, and you feel the trolley graze the ends of your hair.
You open your eyes to black and warmth and the familiar smell of your best friend's hair...
'We all made good choices. That's why we are here now, together. It's all okay. Don't worry.'