Vol.1 Seth Rogen: Tired Topher !

Seth Rogen was finished, not just as a fat, privilege idiot in hollywood.

or for his pirate laugh that sounds like he struggles to inhale after every life?

but his betrayal to many in all the things he should of kept as pillow talk with Lauren!

and this time nothing Evan, Michael, James could do for him.

Seth did not remember everything but he do recall three men in his house after a late night!

The chair was an old oak thing, its grain rough against Seth’s wrists where the industrial zip-ties bit into his skin.

At first Seth thought it was therapy?

Seth was sure about one thing was due to finally being arrested for all the inappropriate and sexually exploitative behavior, his mug shot as one of the sexiest man alive was unforgettable for sure.

Seth falling into a deeper uncontrollable high, wondered if his old friend would do this to him?

Seth could only stare at the blurry fade of his captor through the dim, red & yellow haze of the light from the growing hell fire .

A hand, smelling faintly of surgical spirits and ozone, clamped his jaw.

Seth’s teeth were pried apart with clinical precision.

A single chalky pill stick snaps with the release of a unknown substance, bitter as crushed aspirin and copper, was shoved onto the back of his tongue.

Seth gagged, but the hand held his throat until he was forced to swallow.

While trying to find a known pill or something to compare it with in all his fear.

He couldn’t move , couldn’t scream!

The darkness of shadow didn't come immediately. Instead, the world sharpened.

The edges of the living room began to peel away from all the books, framed photos and achievements like wet blood as wallpaper.

Crack.

The sound was internal, a deafening splintering of bone.

Suddenly, Seth was standing on a frozen lake, the ice beneath him transparent and impossibly deep.

Confused about if this was heaven?

Or in hell while on the drug taking full effect?

As he is being killed in his apartment with no one able to hear him?

He watched, detached, as a jagged fissure raced toward his feet like a lightning bolt.

The ice gave way.

He plummeted into the freezing black, his lungs screaming for air that wasn't there, the pressure squeezing his skull until his eyes burst.

He gasped…a ragged, wet sound and than he was somewhere else!

After drowning Seth was in an alleyway, the smell of rain-slicked asphalt thick in his nose.

While he could feel his foot being removed with a saw.

A shadow moved—a flicker of motion—and then the white-hot searing of a blade sliding between his ribs. He felt the steel grind against bone, felt his heart stutter, then stop.

He drifted into the gray, his blood pooling into the gutter, mixing with the grime of the two men.

Seth gasped again, dreaming that he grabbed a knife to free himself from all the numb pain of him dying to the hands of an old friend.

He was falling from a great height, wind whistling a high, mournful tune in his ears.

The pavement rushed up to meet him, a grid of grey concrete that transformed into a tombstone.

Impact!

The world turned into a jigsaw puzzle of broken limbs and shattered vision.

He snapped back to the chair, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He was gasping, sweat slicking his forehead, but the room was wrong.

It was shifting, the walls melting into the scenes of his death.

He wasn't moving?

He was still tied to the chair, the zip-ties still biting into his wrists, but his mind was caught in a gear-like loop Fire!

He was burning, his skin blistering, the scent of his own charred flesh filling his nostrils.

Water.

He was chained to an anchor, dragging him into the crushing silence of the abyss.

Suffocation!

A plastic bag tightened over his face, the slow crawl of carbon dioxide poisoning turning his veins to lead.

With every "death," he was slammed back into the chair, only to feel the pill begin its work again like all the retakes in films that he never deserved to star in.

(It was a rapid-fire kaleidoscope of ending)

Every time he died, he didn't wake up; he simply reset.

He was a moth fluttering against a lightbulb, dying in the snap of the current over and over.

The realizations hit him with the force of a physical blow?

Seth: “I am not being threatened, I am being erased.”

He looked down at his own body.

His hands were becoming translucent, fraying at the edges like old film stock.

His captor was gone, or perhaps had never been there at all, it didn't matter.

The cycle wasn't a punishment; it was a process.

His consciousness was being shattered by the pill, spread thin across a thousand different timelines, each one ending in a violent, definitive halt.

He tried to scream, but his mouth was no longer flesh; it was static.

He died under the wheels of a train. He died in the cold silence of space.

He died in his sleep, a whisper of a heart stopping.

As the final shred of his identity dissolved, Seth realized the cruelest truth of the experiment: he wasn't dying different ways. He was experiencing the heat death of his own soul, one agonizing, repeated conclusion at a time.

The last thing he felt was the zip-ties snapping.

Not because he was free, but because he no longer existed to hold them.

Vol.2 Seth Rogan: A Day Of Honest Goodbyes

Unlock: TBA!