Vincent stretched and climbed out of bed. He made his way to the corner of the room and gingerly stepped out of the frame of the picture, carefully gasping the sides, and lowering his body to the floor below. The hallway of the museum was semi-dark, but Vincent could make out the details of each of his works that hung on the walls.

He had no way of knowing that his evening wanderings were within the confines of the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, nor that it was the largest collection of his art in the world. All he knew was that during the nighttime hours, he could emerge from his yellow bedroom in Arles and explore some of his favorite familiar haunts, from the south of France to Paris to the Belgium of his youth. Loneliness was a familiar companion, but he had his work and certain friends he could visit on his nocturnal wanderings. Depending on his intended visit, Vincent would don his favorite straw hat, or when he planned a visit to Madame Agostina Segatori at the Cafe de Tambourin from his Parisian days, he carefully placed his gray felt hat at a jaunty angle. Vincent could still step into his studio and dabble with his brushes and canvases, but for some reason there was never any completed work anymore. He could still seek out his brother Theo, with whom he bore such a striking resemblance, and converse about the art market for his works as if time had stood still.

He occasionally dropped in to see his friend Paul Gauguin, with whom he had shared an apartment in Arles before their falling out. He recalled this as if it were yesterday and was puzzled that he could reenter Paul’s presence by stepping into the frame of his portrait, and still engage in heated artistic arguments. Van Gogh spent his youth in Belgium, and he still admired his work of the common man and the honest labors of the field workers. Tonight, he entered the world of his Potato Eaters. The family had the simplest of means and sat as always huddled around their meagre meal of potatoes that they had just cleaned and cooked.

Despite their frugal bounty, they met Vincent’s entry with a cautiously welcoming gaze and a seat at their table. “Will you join us, sir?” He would defer their offer of food but welcomed their simple company and to learn of their days’ activities and honest day’s work. He would return to the Yellow House, stepping into the street in front and exchanging pleasantries with the neighbors he would pass by enroute to his house. “Greetings Vincent!”, offered the local postman. “I’ve left you a post from your brother”. “Thank you Monsieur Roulin, I bid you a pleasant good night!” Vincent had to follow the same sequence each night to arrive home, first entering his street scene with his home in Arles, then crossing down the hallway to the portrait of his room. Entering his private domain, he could sink into his bed and let sleep overtake him. Today he planned to visit Madame Segatori at the Cafe. He shared a special connection with her in his Parisian days, and her colorful presence brought him enjoyment whenever he stepped into the cafe’s picture. There she always sat with her red hat, buttoned blouse with long skirt, and pitcher of beer. She h ad helped him mount an exhibition of his Japanese prints in the cafe.

“Good evening, Vincent.” “A pleasure to see you Agostina. How has business been today?” “Ah as well as I could hope my friend. For a rainy Friday.”

Vincent could not see outside and had no concept of the weather, the day of the week, or even the year. He had grown accustomed to these mysteries, accepting his current existence despite its confines. He had his memories and could revisit where he chose.

Perhaps it would be a walk along the Seine, a stroll through the olive orchard and a visit to a neighboring farmhouse, sending his greetings to the workers of the field sewing hay, or shearing sheep. At night he would sift through the piles of French novels he had collected, picking one up at random to enter a different world, an escape from his own. His provisions were scarce, limited to his own artistic creations. He could enter his still lifes of apples or grapes and have his fill of the fruit that always seemed fresh, and the bowl curiously was never depleted each time his pangs of hunger prompted his evening visit.

He returned to his room, buoyed by his visit to Madame Segatori.

The next night Vincent explored further down the darkened corridors, and hesitated as he saw the entrance to the asylum at San Remy. He recalled his time here and stepped inside feeling immediate regret. There was the one-eyed man who was a fellow inmate there, casting suspicious glances in his direction.

Vincent left through the entry vestibule and went into the garden. His time in nature always lifted his spirits, admiring its bounty, whether in the beauty of a pink peach tree or the sunflowers or irises he loved to paint.

The only exception was when he walked through the wheatfields and scared up the crows, who frightened him, making him feel a sense of foreboding, providing somehow a reminder of his own mortality. Sometimes he was still startled of late when he saw his bandaged ear in his looking glass and recalled he had cut it off after a furious row with Paul. This morning Vincent awakened not in his room in Arles in his familiar bed, but with a view of the Garden of the asylum at San Remy. He froze, not remembering how he had arrived here, as he did not like the restrictions here though he had been able to do some of his most creative work in these surroundings.

Vincent looked for the exit but found none. He imagined the worst. He searched for the square picture frame that would provide his escape to another aspect of his life but found only an inky black void.

“Theo, are you there?” No response. Vincent sat alone in his thoughts, contemplating his own mortality. Oh, but for one more glass of absinthe with the company of Madame Segatori. Instead, Vincent heard the distant cawing of the crows in the wheatfield and reached for the revolver he had carefully hidden amidst his belongings.

He took hard his sense of dwindling creativity in his painting. Tomorrow he would venture out into the fields with his easel, looking for inspiration in the quiet of the field and the swaying wheat. But tonight, he stared into the darkness, his fingers gripping the pistol tightly.


  There was silence before the birds began to sing in fear. Above them, storm clouds rolled in the sky, causing the forest to undergo a dark tone. Lightning bolts striked and thunder screamed accros the forest, threatening to set trees aflame. Squirrels, birds and other animals quickly ran off for shelter once thunder began to echo throughout the valley. It was only a matter of time before the wind would pick up and destroy anything on its path. None of this mattered, however, to Jack, who continued to run below nothing but a couple of leaves. Jack knew this forest. He had spent more than half of his life exploring it in his free time. It should’ve been a maze to him—the trees all looked exactly alike and there were barely any landmarks. But, he could tell exactly where he was and what way he needed to go to get to his rustic cabin called home.

The leaves began to sog underneath the pouring rain, no longer providing comfort for Jack. Heavy raindrops soaked through his sweatshirt and jeans, making it more than uncomfortable to continue running. He ducked underneath branches and jumpedd over logs. For once in his life, he was thankful that his father had made him run track when he was a kid. Dim lights shone through the huge fog. There were only a few hundred yards between Jack and the small cabin when a lightning struck. It didn’t land near him, but it released a bright glow, showing Jack that he wasn’t alone running.

Within the trees was a man watching Jack run. The rain blurred a lot of his vision so he couldn't catch the man’s face. Once the lightning faded, the man’s silhouette was still visible. But he did not move.

Jack swerved around a tree and looked back at where the man had been. No one stood there anymore. The boy shrugged, assuming he had imagined the whole thing in his head. Finally, he reached his ratchet fence and jumped right over it, landing with a thud on the ground below. He ran straight into his front door, but came to a stop before he could slip. The door creaked as it opened, light enveloping the boy’s figure. He smiled at the sight of his mother, curled into herself on their living room couch. It was a flimsy old thing that they had found on the side of the road the day that they were leaving the city. His mother said it was some kind of sign that they had to take it. It was more of a purple lump rather than a couch, but the two of them loved it.

Jack shut the door quietly behind him, locking it and then proceeding to bolt it shut. Carefully, he slid off his muddy sneakers, dropping them on the floor. His brown hair fell all over his face, invading his line of sight. Drops fell from it, leaving a small trail behind him as he wobbled into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed an apple from the fruit drawer. He threw the apple into the air, watching it spin a few times before it softly landed back into his palm. Jack grabbed a knife from a drawer and hummed with happiness as he placed the apple on the counter. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and the storm he endured made him ravenous for food. He continued to cut the apple into small pieces popping each one into his mouth. A few minutes passed as Jack ate his apple in bits. He was putting the knife in the sink when a loud bang from behind him startled him. He turned around quickly and scanned the room. His heart rate had skyrocketed and his hands were shaking. His eyes fell on the door. It was still closed, making him less worried. “That hallucination must’ve really gotten to me,” he laughed to himself. He looked down at his bare feet, only to look right back up when he heard a groan. “What the—” Jack took slow steps. He creeped over to where his mother was laying on the couch. She was huddled in a ball on the rug that sat beneath the coffee table, holding her head.

“You alright?” Joey asked, with a humorous tone. “Fine,” his mother spoke from where she lied. Jack bent down and, helped his mother get up “Did you shower?” Joey looked at his mother, confused. “You’re all wet.” He laughed, “There’s a storm outside. Can’t you hear it?” At that exact moment, thunder struck from above, shaking the small cabin. Fear spread through the houes. “Someone’s at the door,” his mother muttered, staring straight ahead.

Jack only sighed, lifting her from underneath her arms and placing her back on the couch.

“No, mom. That’s the storm.” “It doesn’t rain out here in Hawaii, sweetheart.” “We don’t live in Hawaii, mom.” “Let your mother go back to sleep,” was the last thing she said, her voice dropping a few octaves too low. Jack gave up and stood, leaving his mother to sleep her day away on the couch as she usually did. He made his way back to the counter, where his unfinished apple sat. Biting into it quickly. So fast, he bit his lip Jack walked toward the bathroom at the edge of his cabin. Stepping on the cold tiles, sending shivers down his spine. Rust chipped off the faucet as he twisted the handle. Getting in under the water turned his back numb. CRASH. “What was that ?” Jack thought. He stopped showering abruptly, slamming the faucet shut. He tiptoed into the kitchen, bending beneath the counter. He jumped up to see the living room. Glass had shattered all over his gray rug. In the middle lay a red brick. Jack carefully observed the object in his room. He slowly picked the brick up. Flipping it over to the side where in small letters one wrote, “I'm watching you.”


A bright, white light fills my vision. I wince, gritting my teeth as the shine fades and I focus on what’s happening. But as my vision clears, all I still see is white — a thick, white blanket of snow, stretching in every possible direction.

I don’t understand. What happened? I don’t even remember how I got here… I had a couple beers but definitely not enough to end up alone in a big, open field. I look up to find a pale night sky with a few glittering stars above me. Yeah. Something crazy must’ve happened. I clamor up to my feet, stretching out my arms to balance. I might be hungover and there’s too much stupid snow everywhere. I don’t wanna fall. But as I start walking forward into the snowy wasteland, I don’t feel unsteady. I still look down at my feet, just to be sure. I freeze. I’m walking. I know I am, I can see it. Left foot, followed by the right. But no matter how many steps I take, how far I walk, or even how hard I try to ram my feet into the snow, nothing changes. The fresh snow beneath me looks untouched.

I’m not leaving any footprints behind. Okay, now I really don’t understand. I must’ve been really drunk or high or something. This can’t be happening. But my head feels clear and I don’t feel like I’m gonna puke. No, no, no… What’s happening? Why the hell can’t I remember anything? I plop down into the snow to sit. But my body doesn’t sink in. I don’t even feel the wet or the cold of it. It’s like the snow isn’t really there, like it’s not real. I rub my temples and try to remember.

Oh. It was Padma’s birthday. We rented a cabin nearby to go skiing. I hop to my feet and hurry in a random direction. I think the cabins were this way. I need to find the others. If I can talk to them, they’ll know what’s happening. I think. I don’t know. I just can’t be alone out here right now.   “Can you just pretend you wanna be here?” I remember Padma saying to me earlier. “Come on, Pia. Don’t be like this.” I was sitting on the fluffy red couch across from the cabin door, where Padma was standing. I felt like I was putting distance between us, making some kind of statement. Thinking about it now, I probably looked more like a child than a 23 year old adult.

“I’m not into the snow,” I grumbled. “Just go on without me. I’ll catch up later.” “Pia, sometimes I wonder why you even come out with us,” said Ana. She was Padma’s favorite friend. And for me… she was my least favorite acquaintance, to put it kindly.

“Because Padma is my sister,” I answered shortly.

“How touching.” “Please, can we go now?” Padma whined, looking between me and Ana. “Pia, you spent the money to come here. You might as well join us.” I groaned, nearly stomping my feet as I followed Padma and Ana out into the snow. The wind was biting, nipping at the exposed skin on my face. I shuddered, my teeth clattering in an incessant rhythm that gave me a headache. I strapped on my skis and fell as soon as I tried to balance myself. Ana laughed so loud, her voice echoed across the cliffside. I wanted to kill her. But Padma helped me up and dragged me along. I didn’t understand how that could be fun for anyone.

As I hurry off, I think of how cold I was just a few hours ago. It’s night now, and I see the strong winds blowing plumes of snow past me. They gust into my face but I don’t feel the cool dampness. The wind rages all around but I don’t feel it on my skin. I can’t. I can see the snow. I can hear the wind. But I can’t touch or smell or taste it. Am I hallucinating?

On the distant horizon, I see the dark outline of houses. I can’t be that far from the cabins. I try to run for it, but soon find myself rolling down a dip into a ravine I didn’t see. I hit the snow at the bottom on the canyon but still, I don’t even sink in. My eyes screw shut and I grit my teeth, waiting for the immense pain to wash over me. I fell at least 25 feet straight down. But… The pain doesn’t come. Now I really don’t understand. I jump back to my feet, completely unphased, and hurry onward. A massive hill towers over me. I start to hike up it with ease. I knew I was in shape but this seems… very easy. But the elevation here is incredibly uneven, and it’s dangerous. As I think this, I remember.

“Don’t be such a baby,” I groaned. “We used to go sledding all the time as kids.” “Not on mountainsides!” Padma squealed. “It’s dangerous!” “And not to mention, we’re not supposed to be on the hills at night,” Ana added in her usual snooty, annoying tone.

I snorted. I sipped my wine, the tart flavor filling my mouth and the familiar burn tickling my throat. I think I was on my second glass at that point. Or… Was it my third?

I put down the glass of wine and sauntered over to my younger sister. My thick snow boots clattered against the hardwood as I walked, echoing through the dense silence between us. I wondered if I was pushing her too far. No, I didn’t wanna come this weekend. No, I wanted to be home in the city, spending my Saturday drinking wine in a lounge, not in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. No, I was not having fun. But I knew that telling Padma to go sledding out in the mountains with me would stress her out. At least she could feel some of what I was feeling. “You’re 21 now,” I said with a little scoff. Padma frowned. “The least you can do is act like an adult, not like a baby.” “Stop it,” Ana growled. “You’re ruining this weekend. This isn’t about you!” “No,” Padma interrupted. She didn’t look at me or Ana, just at her fluffy boots and the floor. “Pia’s right. Besides, this is my big birthday bash. Would… would it really be a party if we didn’t do something crazy?” Padma smiled shakily. I remember being in shock. I didn’t think she would actually agree to go out there, after midnight, when we had been drinking. I couldn’t even think straight. I just wanted to rile her up a little. I peered over her shoulder through the single cabin window. A layer of frost coated the glass and through that hazy layer, I could see thick white snowflakes falling. The wind howled outside, practically shaking the tiny wood cabin as it roared. I didn’t understand why Padma would even wanna do this. “Let’s go!” she exclaimed.

She slipped on her jacket and threw open the front door, a barrage of snow rushing inside. I yelled for her to stop and that I didn’t mean it. But Padma, pushed by me and too much merlot, was already outside. Ana shot me a glare and hissed. “You better hope she doesn’t get hurt.” Still rushing through the cold winter air toward the cabins, I scowl. How could Ana think I wanted something bad to happen to Padma? I was tipsy. I was messing around. I didn’t want anything to happen. I stop running. I look down at my feet, still resting atop the snow and never sinking in. But what if something bad did happen? What if everything went wrong, and my brain

can’t process it right now? What if… What if something happened to Padma? I dash forward, the dark outlines of the cabins bigger now, but still too far away. I smack my temples hard, but the pain doesn’t hit me. Come on Pia… You need to remember what happened next. I keep running and the silhouettes in the distance blur. For a second, I think it’s snowing. Then I realize that I’m crying.

I… I don’t remember the last time I cried. I know we went outside after Padma left. A blizzard was brewing, the wind whipping into us and thick snowfall making it hard to see. Ana and I called after Padma but she was too fast. She was already at the car, pulling the sled out of the trunk. It plopped out, snow kicking up into the stormy air, and Padma began pulling it by the string. I remember being cold, trying to push myself deeper into my thick jacket somehow. It didn’t help. I think… Ana ran ahead and tried to stop Padma. But she was too stubborn now, not listening to either of us and bounding toward the ravine. Dammit, why can’t I remember her voice anymore? Why is everything so hazy? I look down at my feet. Still no footprints. Have I lost it? Have I lost Padma? I clutch my stomach as I run, wondering if I’ll puke. My eyes can’t focus anymore and I can’t think straight. What happened? What did I do? How do I fix it? Why why why… “Pia!”

I stop. That’s Padma’s voice. Am I remembering it? I don’t understand. Why now?

“Pia, no!” I hear it again. Her voice echoes through the air and I know it’s not a memory. Padma’s calling for me.

I reach the cabins, following the direction of Padma’s voice. I ran for so long, yet I’m not out of breath. It must be the adrenaline. I hurry toward our cabin, the last one in the second row. As I get closer, I tense up. I see Padma, draped over the hood of Ana’s car staring blankly at her hands. Next to her on the snow-covered ground is the sled, just sitting there.

“Oh thank god!” I laugh, running up to her. “You have no idea how worried I was! I woke up in the damn ravine, Padma. Did you leave me there? How could you even come out in a blizzard? Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was?” Padma doesn’t reply. I know she’s out of it and probably hungover, but it isn’t like her to ignore me. Wait… Is she mad at me ? “Padma, come on,” I moan. “The silent treatment? Okay, I shouldn’t have made you so upset. Sorry. But you were reckless, and I’m not apologizing for that.” Silence.

“Don’t ignore me. That’s disrespectful. Hey, are you even listening?!” Nothing.

I don’t understand why I’m getting this treatment. It must’ve been stupid Ana, telling my stupid sister not to talk to me anymore. I growl and look around for Ana. The cabin door is open and I see her inside, sitting with a man in a dark uniform. What? Who’s that? I ask Padma but she doesn’t respond. I try to step closer to the cabin but I can’t will my legs to move.  Then it hits me like an avalanche. The memories. “Padma, stop,” I yelled. “If something happens to you, mom will kill me!” “God, all you think about is yourself,” Ana hissed at me. It’s blurry but… I recall us getting closer to the ravine. “You always make everything about you! You made every effort to make today suck for us, and now, it’s your fault we’re out here.” “My fault? I didn’t tell the birthday girl to go out here!” “Yes, you did! You’re so oblivious to how horrible you really are!” “Um, guys,” Padma called out from in front of us. “I don’t know if this is a good idea anymore.” She stood at the top of the cliff, looking down the steep drop at the rocks and snow beneath her. Man, I was tired of snow. I was tired of chasing after Padma. And I was really sick and tired of this damn trip. I stormed toward Padma, fists clenched at my sides. It was hard to see her through the thick snowfall and it was hard to see the cliffside or the ravine. Ana reached out to grab me but I shook her off. I was so over everything at that point. Now Padma was too scared?

“You don’t think this is a good idea?” I snarled at my little sister. “Really? Aren’t you a genius.” “Pia, please, I… I-I’m sorry!”

“You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“I didn’t mean to! And you’re the one who wanted to come out here!” “Ladies, can we please head back?” Ana interrupted. Through the blizzard, I just made out her face. She looked nervous. I remember thinking that she had never made that face before, and I didn’t understand why. “Don’t blame me for your choices,” I snapped back. “And don’t talk to me like that.” “But you always talk to me like that! Please, for once, just stop!” “No, Padma! You forced me to come out here to this damned mountain, and now you’ve forced me out of the warm cabin. What’s next?” “Please, just stop!” “Pia, I think you should come here,” Ana said hastily, reaching for me. She tried to grab me but slipped and fell into the thick snow. I turned back to my sister. Through the wind and the snow, I could see her dark eyes. They were wide, wild almost. I knew then that I had pushed her too far. I knew I had to stop. And yet… I didn’t. I never did. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m selfish, but I don’t think so. I think you’re the selfish one, Padma! It’s you! It’s always you!” “I said stop!” I felt her hands on my shoulders. For a split second, I thought she was grabbing me. But then, I was weightless and all I saw was the gray sky overhead, the wind thrashing the snow across the air. Was I… falling? I wasn’t sure then. All I knew were Padma’s hands, then the sky, and then… white. I blink. I turn back to Padma, still staring at her hands with eyes that were still wide, still wild. I wanna ask her, but then I understand that she won’t answer me. She can’t.

“...and then she fell down the cliff,” I hear Ana tell the uniformed man inside the cabin. Ana’s voice is quivering. To him, she probably sounds sad. But not to me. No, she sounds scared. “It was an accident.” An accident… I reach out to Padma, my fingertips grazing her arm. But she doesn’t respond. I understand that she doesn’t feel it, and that I can’t either. I look back toward the ravine, watching as the wind whips the snow in front of me into the air. I wanna rip off my jacket, not bundle into it, so I feel the wind on my skin. I wanna feel it through my hair. I understand that I can’t though, not anymore. Why… Why could I never stop? A loud wail leaves Padma, a shudder rippling through her body as she shakes and falls into the snow sobbing. Ana runs out to her as the man stares, a sad look on his face. I can’t watch this. I turn away from them, walking back to the ravine. Where else could I go? As I walk, I watch my footsteps on the ground. Left foot, followed by the right. They don’t leave footprints behind me. They leave nothing behind me.

And finally, I understand.


This is a story I first wrote about a year ago and i never really knew how to release it, but it took me a decent amount of time and its really been on my mind for the past few days so I hope you guys enjoy it. Also this is the first time Ive ever even been on reddit so please bear with me and correct anything ive done wrong. Im also just copying and pasting from the google docs this is on so tell me if any of this comes out weird. Captain’s Log Captain’s Log Day 1 I’ve discovered a journal in this despicable wasteland. The strange creature still wears a hat made of aluminum. I’m curious to why he does this. The Giant continues to make strange deep and ungodly noises. I don’t know where I am, but I believe both of these beings are anomalies or something pertaining to the topic. I can’t remember anything. The strange crown has now been transferred to other strange creatures and then returned to the original wearer. All these subjects now display strange behaviors. The Giant one disappeared for a sizable portion of time. I’m not sure where he went within this time period, but I believe it was a dimension out of my knowledge. The more I write the more I can begin to remember, but to my knowledge there are only 5 known dimensions. This took many years of research to discover. Out of these two subjects, the one with the aluminum hat seems to be the less sophisticated and more submissive one. The Giant, although quiet, when he speaks I believe no words are wasted. This may prove to be incorrect because of the language barrier. These beings speak a language I cannot comprehend. This is the end of today's entry. Captain’s Log Day 2 The two beings got into a small disagreement over something I cannot comprehend. The language they speak is one I've never even heard of. I can only decipher what’s going on through their body language. Whatever they were speaking about was important. I MUST know more. The key to understanding them is out there somewhere and I will find it. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 3 I believe there is another being somewhere out there in the universe. From what I can decipher it appears there was once a third being, but he left for reasons unknown to me. The other two have tried to explain to me why and where he went, but their language is strange and alien to me. From what I understand though, the third being is a prophet. I have decided to name these three beings. The one with the strange hat like device will be known as Silverstein. The giant will be called Trognog. And finally, the third and most mysterious will be called The Prophet. I hope to learn more about these beings. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 4 I have decided to put on Silverstein’s strange hat. I will either do this with or without his permission. I hope it will reveal more about him. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 5 I have put on Silverstein’s strange hat. Many would wish to have this hat. I understand everything that has been said. There is a plague, the worst one this planet has ever seen, and its spreading fast. There’s not much time. This is why The Prophet left. He has gone in search of the cure. The Prophet is the only one that knows how to stop the plague. He believes the cure is in an unknown realm. From what I know it’s in the worst dimension ever discovered. I hope he returns soon. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 6 It appears that the planet worships a god named Jah. Apparently, The Prophet is a direct messenger from Jah himself. The Prophet was sent down to protect this planet and all of its beings. I am skeptical of this religion and its beliefs. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 7 I’ve realized that I have failed to describe any of these beings. The one I call Trognog is extremely tall. He is also a strange gray color almost like stone. He has a fungus or moss like substance that grows on his head in place of hair. The only articles of clothing he has are dark rags, ripped from many years of battle. He is always hunched over. 📷 The being named Silverstein is equally strange in appearance. His entire body is hair. From head to toe he is hair. It trails behind him like a glorified wedding veil. One characteristic of Silverstein is that he hates to be apart from the strange hat like crown he wears. 📷 End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 8 The whispers of impending doom grow louder now. They are a white noise to every conversation. It is steadily growing from quiet whispers into a dull roar. I hope The Prophet returns soon. End Of Log \*\*\*\*PROLOGUE\*\*\*\* Captain’s Log Day -3 LOG ID NAME: Cap-Ta-Ins HEIGHT: 5’11 WEIGHT: 170 LBS DESCRIPTION: AGENT HAS BLONDE HAIR AND GREEN EYES. AGENT ALSO HAS SLIGHT BUILD. AGENT APPEARS TO BE AROUND 20 YEARS OLD. MOTIVES FOR JOINING LOG: “All of my family died in the second war after the vietnamese took over after winning the first. Earth is gone and we’ve gone to using portals and other dimensions and space travels, so I figured why not join LOG. My main objective now is to spread and complete the motives of LOG.” END OF STATEMENT End Of Log Captain’s Log Day -2 We have hidden Jah far away where only one will be able to find him. That is my main target. I prep to enter the planet Zing today and will enter through The Garden Of The Seventh Gate in 2 days. There is a strong chance I may lose my memories by entering this way, but LOG insists that it’s the most efficient. The planet Zing has been under attack for many years so this is the easiest way to infiltrate Zing. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day -1 I enter through the gate tomorrow. All that is about to happens is for the future’s own good. He is coming and it will be glorious. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 0 The Seventh Gate is found on an island in the inner space region of Zing. The Gate is located in a very nice garden. The gate is a dull gray color with hints of yellow, while the portal itself is like shimmering water. I wish I had more time to fully study this place, but my time has come. For the Future. \*Transmission cuts off\* End Of Log \*\*\*\*END OF PROLOGUE\*\*\*\* Captain’s Log Day 9 News is spreading that The Prophet has returned. The rumors speak nothing of The Cure. I now have a detailed description of The Prophet. He has a body that glows the whitest white. On him are star like objects that absorb all light. He also has a grape for a head. The only reasoning for this that I can think of is that Jah is also a grape. 📷 End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 10 I have spoken with The Prophet and he has big plans. He has strange abilities and powers and claims he can help return my memories. I think he is a great being. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 11 Today The Prophet began the initiation process to regain my memories. He removed one of the black stars from his body and placed it on to my forehead, where it then got entirely absorbed into my skull. As soon as he did this, I was transported into the past. \*\*\*\*The Vietnam War- Asher’s Story\*\*\*\* It’s been around 40 days since we first got deployed. There are 7 of us all together. Our platoon is made up of Sergeant CD, Colonel McCrusty, Jacob, Hunter, Devin, Sam, and yours truly.There used to be more of us, but they’re all gone. It was on the 12th day when we lost 3 other members, Nathan, Chris, and Shane. We were walking through jungle when we started to hear them, The Vietcong. We heard them from all directions but couldn’t see a single one. We started to pick up the pace, but so did they. We stopped for a second to catch our breath, when suddenly everything exploded with movement. Nathan, Chris, and Shane were seized while the rest of us ran. 3 days later we found their bodies strung up out in the jungle decapitated and decomposing. We gave them an improper burial fearing for our lives. I gotta call it in for the night. Vietnam Day 41- Asher’s Story We found a river while moving camps. It was risky making a stop like this, but water is water. We continued moving up towards higher ground after refilling our water supply. We were at some high cliffs at a bend in the river. It was a very long way down. Most of us were taking in the view when suddenly, Sam started screaming about a President and something about the trees coming for us. This went on for a few minutes and none of us knew how to react from a lack of sleep. Sam stopped screaming and turned his head quickly towards Sergeant CD. Sam then grabbed Sergeant CD before any of us could react and he threw CD right off the cliffs, he himself holding on to the Sergeant as they fell into oblivion. The cliffs were so high, that they were dead before they even hit the ground. Sam and Sergeant CD died that day… End Of Day Vietnam Day 44- Asher’s Story It’s been three days since anyone has spoken to each other, what happened there on those cliffs has shaken us to our very cores. End Of Day Vietnam Day 50- Asher’s Story It’s been 6 days since I last wrote anything down. Over the last six days I've gotten about 3 hours of sleep all together. It's been non-stop fighting and running and killing. I can't even tell if any of the blood on my clothes is mine… \*\*\*\*Night\*\*\*\* Lately, the other men have been seeing a man in a suit and red tie following us through the jungle. I haven't seen him till now. I'm questioning my sanity… It has been 3 hours. He's just staring. He's gradually moving closer every minute. He doesn't blink or move anything. He just sort of silently glides. Is he real or am I just dreaming? I'm going to get some sleep. Vietnam Day 51- Asher’s Story When I woke, he was leaning over me, not in a threatening way, but more like an inquisitive way. He said “ come with me” and when I asked for his name he just said “ call me Mr. President”. as soon as he touched my shoulder, I saw a flash of red light then we were in total darkness... \*End Of Vietnam\* The Cave Day ?- Asher’s Story As soon as we were transported into the cave, all I could see was Darkness with some light reflecting off of water. I’m chained down and tortured every half hour. The only thing Mr. President says is “Where is He?” over and over again. I don't understand. I have to stop writing he's coming back… The Cave Day ?- Asher’s Story There is no sense of time here, so I've just started using a ? instead of a number. He's removed my fingernails and toenails. He has slowly plucked every hair off of my body. There are now needles in my knees and feet. I started to scream “ Mr. president you can't keep me in this cave forever! Release Me from these chains! Let me out Mr. President!” as soon as I said this the chains were released. I started to swim after I crawled into the water. Each agonizing inch was more pain than the last. As soon as I made it through the entrance, I found myself in an ocean… \*End Of The Cave\* The Ocean Day ?- Asher’s Story I've been swimming for hours… and so have they, the sharks. They’ve finally caught up to me. They have started to attack. I only have a few minutes left, but I have noticed something strange. on the side of the sharks there are three letters, CAP. What does this mean? This is the end of me. \*End Of Asher\* Captain’s Log Day 12 I woke to a start. I found myself in a field under the open orange and green sky and so is he, The Prophet. “Good” he said. “You found the first step to unlocking your memories.” “Yes” I replied, “but what does it mean?” “That’s for you to find out.” He said. He then touched my forehead and then everything went black. End Of Log Yad Eno- Rehsa’s Yrots I like to explore places. It's not like I have anything better to do. Sewers are my favorite because it's nice and quiet down there. I like being underground more than I like being above ground, it's nicer and a little more relaxing. And up until recently I thought I was the only one that liked going down there... Dne Fo Yrtne Yad Owt- Rehsa’s Yrots I'm always alone down there, no one follows me or anything and none of my friends want to go with me. The other day, I was exploring and such when I heard a noise. It was some sort of sloshing noise. This surprised me of course because no one comes down there, but none the less I continued my day... Dne Fo Yrtne Yad Eerht- Rehsa’s Yrots I keep hearing that noise, almost like someone's following me. The more I hear it, the more I feel like I'm being chased. I've decided to go home. As soon as I began to go home, and ungodly shrieking began for the sloshing sped up. I began to sprint through the tunnels. I only look back once and what I saw was truly terrifying. It was a Hound. A huge black one. It's hair was shaggy and trailed behind it through the muck and filthy water that came from the city up above. It chased me all the way to my manhole covering that led to my cul-de-sac. When I got out it also got out, it turned into a man wearing all black just standing on the man hole covering. I ran inside. My parents weren’t home that day because they were out at dinner . He must have stood there for about 3 hours before my parents got home. Once they made it inside, I explained the situation. They called the police, but by the time the police had arrived, he was gone. A few days after the incident occurred, I revisited the site where he stood for so long, and on the manhole covering the word “SEWER” changed into “TA”.I don't understand what this means. I live in fear now, I see him everywhere. I'm beginning to question if this is some sort of coping method or if I'm actually seeing him. \*Dne Fo Rehsa\* (Note: Rehsa disappeared under mysterious circumstances a few days later) Captain’s Log Day 13 I woke with a start once again. All I could see was static, but it was the normal world. There were shapes of things, but at the same time there weren't. It was like everything blended in but also stood out. Once again, The Prophet congratulated me for finding yet another key to my memories. I asked him where we were and he replied The 5th Dimension. I shuddered. I had heard the 5th Dimension, otherwise known as the darkness realm, was a hellish landscape infested with a number of maniacal things. Just as I was trying to remember more about the dimension. A nightmarish creature that looks like a swirling mass between a rabbit, Eagle, dolphin, dear, and other unknown creatures charged at us. I began to flinch, but then once again The Prophet tapped my forehead and I was plunged into darkness. End Of Log \*\*\*\*Known Dimensions\*\*\*\* is there an infinite number of Dimensions, but to LOGS knowledge there are only five. First off, the sand realm. Everything, including you, is made out of sand. Entire cities and even more are entirely made of sand. The second is the mirror Dimension. Basically, it's an infinite House of mirrors. If you get trapped here, you will most likely die. They're creatures that reflect all light and can travel through mirrors. These creatures will hunt you down until you are eradicated. The only way to escape the dimension is by finding the cracked mirror. The third dimension is the world we currently reside in. It's our normal Dimension and it doesn't have many dangers. The 4th Dimension will transport you into a random place in the past or the future. The only way to get transported there is unknown. Many speculate that portals of some sort have a part in the transport, but no one actually knows. The 5th Dimension, also known as the darkness realm, is one of the worst and most confusing Dimensions. Everything is made of what looks like TV static. Everything is dangerous in this Wasteland. Only two known beings have made it out alive. This is a chaotic dimension. There are many more dimensions, but these are some of the most well-known. \*End Of Known Dimensions\* MEYMNAWOD Note: All of what you are about to read has been translated from Yaso. I used to live in a house, it was a large house in a nice location. There's a creek nearby, lots of Wildlife, and it was in the middle of a clearing in the forest. It was a normal house and it was a very big house. Sometimes it got a little lonely, but when there was company, it wasn't the kind that you wanted… The guests were fleeting shadows in the woods at night. At first I just dismissed it as my imagination or maybe I hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before. Oh how I wish that's what it turned out to be... The first encounter was deeply unsettling. I've been out in the shed all day woodworking. I was making all sorts of different of wood things. It was getting dark so I decided to call it a night... All is normal for a while. I ate dinner, shower, all of that. It was when I was getting ready to go to bed, when I heard an inhuman streak all around me. It was deafening. This went on until I temporarily went deaf. I don't know how much time that was because I passed out... When I woke up, there was a thumping coming from upstairs. THUMP THUMP THUMP. I grab my shotgun conveniently hanging on the wall, loaded it and slowly crept up the stairs. There was a strange Red Trail leading up to the bedroom. Was it blood? I crept closer to the door. THUMP THUMP THUMP! The thumping grew louder with every step. THUMP THUMP THUMP! The door was cracked open. I leaned in slowly pushed it open. The thumping was definitely coming from here... The room looked normal. I looked out the window and there it was. A dead deer that had been decapitated now hung by its hind legs. It was being pushed by the wind crashing against the window, so that's what the thumping was.I vomited at the sight of it. I was beginning to wonder how it had gotten there when I heard a little girl laugh. The laugh was coming from behind me... I slowly turned my head and there she was. She had long dark hair that went below her shoulders. She wore stark white robes that stood out against the dark wall behind her. Worst of all, she had a deer skull for a face. The Laughing increased and then she slowly faded away. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD Since that encounter, I've been hearing and seeing strange things. They speak in a language I can't understand. I see odd apparitions here and there. But at night, is when they are most active. I'm trapped in a dream world. They can control what I do and I'm confined to live in this house in the surrounding Woods. I'm losing sanity. All I can do while I work work is carve out faces screaming in wretched pain. I put these wooden statues around the house and it seems to scare off the spirits a little. The dead deer are steadily appearing around or in my house. The smell is unbearable. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD In this house there is a small, but extensive library. And in this Library, there is a book on the family that used to live in the house before I did. I believe this will explain everything. And in the book I found the family tree. I believe the family all killed each other. They did this because of a dispute over a prize-winning buck. I believe their Spirits now haunt this house in the surrounding area. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD The only way to escape this dream reality is to dance around a fire with the spirits and chant the reverse spell. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD The day has come, tonight I escape. The time has come. The fire is burning. The spirits have come. LALNKMAANKW LALNKMAANKW LALNKMAANKW WALK MAN MAN WALK MAN MAN WALK MAN MAN I've been transported into a desert I have named INS. The chant has worked and I am free. \*NNKWTDAALEFNMMAHOE\* Captain’s Log Day 14 This time I woke slowly... I remember everything. What the plan is, where Jah is... My real name. My real name is Cap-Ta-Ins. And I was sent to save or destroy the planet Zing by any means necessary… End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 15 Jah Is trapped in the 5th Dimension. If I fufill my mission, the world ends, if I don't the universe ends. It's an easy Choice. The lives of millions compared to the billions upon trillions. The planet Zing is a relatively small planet. Lately, it's been in many interdimensional wars. There's not much trust around here. The climate of Zing fluctuates with what's the color of the sky. It's a swirling mass of orange and green. When it's swirling, the temperature is 79 degrees Fahrenheit. When the sky is orange, it's very cold. When the sky is green, it's extremely hot . The flora here is a variety of colors. They can be normal or inverted depending on the sky. Usually everything here slowly turns from one color to another. The fauna out here is composed of fish that fly in the sky. Birds that swim in the water. And lizard-like creatures that can create invisible walls and spin web-like homes within those walls. I will formulate my plan tomorrow. End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 16 I have made my choice. I'm going to kill Jah. It's the only way to save the universe. I need to formulate a plan. End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 17 LOG Has hidden Jah in The 5th Dimension, he is going insane as I write this. Once he is released, we need to somehow expose what's inside of him. I believe I can use Trognog and Silverstein's abilities to do so. The Prophet May prove to be an issue later on because his loyalty lies with Jah. There's been rumors as of late that The Prophet has the key to bringing back Jah. The Prophet Must Die… End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 18 We will be able to destroy The Prophet by putting him in a trance-like state using Silverstein's strange hat and then turning him into stone with Trognog’s abilities, Then we will destroy the statue... Tomorrow is the day... End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 19 Today is the day... Trognog and Silverstein are completely on my side. We have full control. LOG’s objective will soon be complete. Using their abilities, we can increase our chances of success tenfold. Trognog Controls an army of stone that he created back when he was Trognog the Destroyer. He is now Trognog the Peaceful , but is willing to return back to his old ways to help LOG. Silverstein will prove to be valuable by lending his strange aluminum crown to the cause. he will be the one using it because he has the most knowledge and control over it. Most of the skills are unknown to me, but I do not doubt him. We must prepare... \*Some Time Passes\* We've been preparing for hours. This is going to be one of the hardest things we will ever do. We must get him now. I will describe what happened today, tomorrow if we survive. End of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 20 Awful things have happened... Never in my life have I witnessed the death of a thousand Souls at once. Many lives were lost including that of my comrades. We could have never predicted the level of mass destruction that occurred that day. Yesterday, Trognog, Silverstein, and I invited The Prophet out to a field. He believed we were going to discuss the plague, but in reality this is when we were going to make our move. The plan should have been foolproof. Because of one mistake I lost the lifes of all my comrades… As I've written about before, Silverstein's strange crown will temporarily immobilize a new user while I'm unlocking the knowledge of the crown. That was our plan, we believed that The Prophet had never put it on, but we were mistaken. When we placed it on him he said “My friends, why would you try this?” Then he grew 100’s of feet taller and cloned himself into an army. There were hundreds, possibly even thousands. Thankfully, we had Trognog on our side. Trognog Commanded his army to attack. They charged with the force of a small earthquake (or should it be Zingquake?). The Prophets did not react. They gathered miles away, the monsters we once knew as our friend now smiled psychotically... Waiting for the slaughter to begin. For reasons unknown, The Prophets Allowed the Stone Army to hack and slash at their legs, this actually did ruin a good portion of the beast, but that's when he chose to attack. Stars of the darkest night flew from the prophets bodies, obliterating all in their path. In an instant the Army was destroyed. One of the Giant Prophets then charged our Group. His arm beganto morph into a sharp point. just before it was about to hit us, Silverstein jumped in the way of Trognog and I. The Prophet Stopped short, then slowly picked one of the black stars off of his body and created a portal and thrust Silverstein and into it. Trognog And I found ourselves to become paralyzed and forced to watch our friend become part of the sand from the First Dimension. The Prophet Then turn towards Trognog. Once again pulled a Blackstar off of his body, created a portal and thrust Trognog into it. this time the dimension was the 2nd Dimension Also known as the mirror dimension. At first Trognog tried to find his way out, slowly going down every passageway, every Twist and Turn, but it was all the same. He stopped for a brief rest when suddenly, one of the reflective creatures attacked.Trognog destroyed it with one blow, its body shattering into millions of pieces. He began to continue his journey when the pieces began to move. Slow at first, but then quicker. They were the smashed pieces of the larger creature. They crawled all over him biting, stinging, and driving while doing so. That's when Trognog lost it, he began to brush the tiny things off, but he was in a confined spot and being the giant he is, hit the walls all around him with his massive fist. At first the sound was quiet, but then it grew louder and louder and louder. The maze was cracking. Huge chunks of glass crashed down on him. The screams were terrible. It was not a quick death. The Prophet turned towards me and said “ I'm sorry it had to be this way, but it was the only way. I must join them now with you coming only shortly after. Goodbye Cap-Ta-Ins.” and with that he began to fade away, but not before saying “ take this key and return to the Gate.” he handed me a key and finally disappeared. I'd never felt like this before. Sure I had lost my parents and other family and the second war, but this was different. Upon closer inspection of the key I have found it to be spiraled at the end. It also has a number 7 on it or the gate it corresponds with. I found myself to also be fading. I was transported to the Garden of the seventh gate. Back to Where it All Began. On the gate there was a keyhole that looked like a flower with the symbol first second third Zing fourth fifth. I inserted the spiral key in Twisted to the symbol. The portal change from what looked like a mist to what now look like television static. I heard a big boom and that's when I saw him. The broken God, Jah. He looked the same, but something just felt off. He was insane... Jah Spoke softly like a Lost Child would and he said “ have you made your choice?” As he grew to his actual size. “Yes” I replied. “But was it the right choice?” He asked. “Yes” I replied. “Everything is going to change now, you know that correct?” He said. “Yes” I replied. “Very well, you know what to do.” He spoke. As he said this, a black star descended from him and gently touched me. ‘‘Become the True Last Prophet and fulfill your destiny.” And with that you banished. The plague is still out there, but I have made my choice and will become The Prophet.


This has been going on for years. The first time I saw him, I stood in one of those pharmacy cum general stores which every town had. When he first saw me, I don’t know. I became aware of him just as I planned to slip a magazine into my inner pocket and duck out. They never expected magazines to get shoplifted so I felt pretty safe. No one bought anything there. The whole store was crammed with stuff no one wanted. But then there’s this guy watching me, but not looking at me. He didn’t look like plain clothes, or what they call a ‘secret shopper’. I mean, were they going to make a federal crime out of a magazine? Our eyes didn’t make contact. I’d catch a furtive glance. I don’t know, I had this feeling. So I flipped through the mag and put it back on the shelf with a dismissive murmur. It’s not like I’m a thief. They wouldn’t miss it. I thought of it as more of a momentary lapse. Not a habit. And anyway, I didn’t take it. Big deal. I didn’t think much of it and had no reason to remember him after that. Until sometime later I sat in a diner with my date. She excused herself and I noticed the waitress eyeing me. So I made a face and made her laugh. It wasn’t anything anyone would take to heart, except maybe my date. But then I see this guy again. What’s he watching me for? I didn’t do anything anyone should care about, stealing sugar packets or anything. But there he sat in a booth across the room and I know he’s got his eye on me. So I cut the crap and drank my iced tea. Let him look at the chalkboard specials. Then another time I’m in the park playing dominoes with some friends. Chaz claimed I cheated. I told him I prefer to call my play ‘strategic’. I mean, can you really cheat at dominoes? What would that look like? So I like dominating a suit. Is that a crime? But who do I see reading the paper on a bench? You guessed it. Same guy. He can’t see my bones. What’s his problem? But it’s driving me crazy so I play to Chaz’s draw. Happy?  You won’t guess where I see him next. Right. While passing the plate in church. My fiancé brings me to this peaceful place and I’m feeling stalked. He’s the usher, in a church, no less. I’m trying to be good. I put money in the tray when it floats by.  So this usher stands there holding the plate and kind of hefting it like he’s judging its weight. As if he thinks I should sweeten the pot a little more. I looked up at him and he gave me a wink. The nerve. Like he’s my old buddy. So I dropped another sawbuck into the plate to get him out of my face. He finally got the message and moved on. Who is this guy? A few days later I see this homeless guy. He’s in his twenties and looks like he works out at a gym. He could get a job if he cleaned up and got a haircut. I walk by him and look down the street. Of course, my shadow is looking down his nose at me. He’s so superior, why doesn’t he help the guy with the bulging muscles and the sign? So I judged a homeless man with a cup. Okay, I shouldn’t judge. But who’s this mug, judging me? Am I his personal morality project? Every time I turned around I’d feel his eyes on me. I have nothing to feel guilty for. Why doesn’t he lighten up?

It all came to a head one night. I took my wife to a favorite eatery of ours. Not too fancy, kind of crowded and bright but the food is fantastic. Waiters glided around effortlessly, while holding giant platters over their heads. I’m trying to eat. I’m minding my business. No way, anyone could think I’m anything but an appreciative customer trying to have a night out with my beautiful wife. But I felt eyes upon me again. I scanned the room. It took a minute but through the crowd I saw his beady eyes staring at me. Fed up and tired of getting stalked, I threw my napkin onto the table and stood up. Startled, my wife reaches for my hand with wonder in her eyes. I nodded to her not to worry. “I’ll be right back.” I navigated toward him through the tables jammed together.  There’s barely room to walk. Then I realized he was approaching me. I wondered, would this lead to a physical confrontation? What did he want from me? A little over weight, he had as much trouble as me snaking through the narrow spaces between tables and chairs. But our distance had halved. How do the waiters do it? Every time I looked, he had his eyes on me. We got closer. I saw a gap. I strode toward him. I wanted to know his game. We rushed at each other. I wanted to take him out. Bam! I stopped. I could go no further. As if an invisible barrier had descended between us, I walked directly into it. Like a bird flying into a window. My nemesis made the same mistake. I would have laughed at his pain. He put his hand up to his nose. But we both held our noses. We were eye to eye and smacked into this – mirror. We exchanged hard looks and then it became obvious. The stranger, my nemesis was me. You should have seen the look he gave me. I heard laughter behind me. I turned to see diners and waiters failing to stifle their mirth at my clumsiness. I could only laugh too. I turned and pointed at the mirror. Trying to salvage the situation a little, I gave my reflection a high five. The whole restaurant exploded into hysterical guffaws. A waiter handed me a towel and clapped his hand on my shoulder. He took my elbow and gestured toward the back, to the restroom, where I could compose myself. I stood in the loo looking into the mirror. I looked a mess but you should’ve seen the other guy. Only I was the other guy. I wanted to punch him out but no future in that. Right? I rinsed my face and straightened my tie. Not too much damage except for my slightly dented self-esteem. I had to admit, my nemesis had decent taste in clothes. By the time I got back to the table, everyone had forgotten the scene I’d made and had returned to their dinners. My wife asked if I were okay and I assured her I’d never been better. As I sat down, I noticed the stranger across the room taking his seat too. We nodded and gave each other a respectful salute. No hard feelings.


“Please go down to the end of the hall. The door will open automatically. Go to your left. Enter the second door on your right. It will be open. Please be seated and await instructions.” The voice ominous, cold, coming from a speaker that was not visible. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the monotone voice of an undertaker. I dutifully followed the instructions. The door as promised slid open as I approached, its green eye blinking unceremoniously as if I had disturbed it. I followed the corridor to the second door on my right and as promised, it stood open. The interior however was dark. I put my arm through the opening and felt for a light switch. Just as I had decided to chance entering this black hole, a series of fluorescent lights began to spit light into the room. A maniacal humming sound emanated from their metal caskets that hung like cocoons from the ceiling. Then as suddenly as the rave began, it stopped. The lights hummed as if placed on lullaby mode by some unseen force, the pulsating light found stability and remained in a constant state of boredom. The chair as promised, sat alone in the middle of the room. I sat as I had been instructed and waited. Something resembling music emanated from two large irregular shaped speakers that hung on the wall. The room was completely naked but for the chair and a desk which sat at the front of the room. It supported what appeared to be a monitor of sorts, one I did not recognize as an element of any home computer ensemble. I sat, attempting to pose as self-assured, in case anyone may be observing my attempt to follow precisely the protocol prescribed. The monitor suddenly began to erupt with other worldly sounds and then a green series of dots appeared on the black screen. At that moment the music died. It was replaced by a voice resembling my greeter, but with a slightly more aggressive and less fictional tone.

“You will be given a short aptitude test that will determine your ability to differentiate between some of the more commonly used emotions available to our citizenry, and a few that are not. Do not attempt to answer a question if it makes you uncomfortable, or you do not have a definitive answer. To guess will alter the outcome of the evaluation, and in our experience, will lead to an unsatisfactory appraisal. If you have any questions, please write them down on the pad in the desk drawer just beneath me.” As the words were relayed to me, a face appeared on the screen. It consisted of green dots, and it appeared to be smiling. Not a happy  smile, more of a smirk, as if it knew the outcome of the test before it had begun. Had it not been for lack of funds, and the difficulty in finding employment, I would have most likely never answered the add. I find want adds suspicious when they are vague about what is expected and yet adamant about punctuality and deviation from all rules given. “Please, proceed to the screen, bring your chair if you wish. A series of true and false questions will appear. Along side each will be a box. Check the box by touching the screen. Give only one answer. The correct one. Should you not know the answer, as I stated earlier, leave the question blank.” I pulled the chair to the front and seated myself before the screen. The face composed of dots melted into a river of rainbow colors and then turned completely black. I could hear the numbing whisper coming from the apparatus and waited for something to appear. Shortly a series of dots began to appear on the black background, this time purple, yellow, orange, and blue. The swirled in vortex fashion forming a cone of nearly imperceptible Mariachi dancers wildly clicking castanets made of clam shells. Out of the cone came a series of letters, also of varying colors and sizes. Some large, some barely visible, some pulsating in time to the music that now began to throb like a telltale heart.

The white walls, ceiling and floor began to dance with the colored projection of the letters emanating from the machine. Words began to appear and disappear randomly. I attempted to read the words, but either the letters were not aligned, or they were simply gibberish put on the walls to confuse me. I realized after a few minutes that the randomness was an illusion that emerged as the letters grew, and then shrunk back into themselves, eventually disappearing, but leaving the assurance they had existed.

I wondered if this was the test. Perhaps it was a psychological experiment to see if I was mentally capable of handling chaotic melody and the expanding and contracting letters that appeared to not belong in any sequence, that would give then meaning. As abruptly and methodically as the music and letters appeared, they stopped. The walls became white once again and the monitor beamed, as a series of numbers appeared on the screen. They were all the number, 1. And then as if by magic, letters jumped from the walls and appeared on the screen. They formed one word over and over, filling the entire screen. Then, other numbers began to fall from the ceiling onto the screen. All the same number, 1.

I waited as patiently as I could for more direction, but none came. I remained staring at the screen as the numbers and letters began to pulsate, dance, growing and shrinking in time to the music. Then, as if someone threw a switch, everything stopped. The green number 1, stood obediently next to the letters that combined in stoic fashion to become the word, one. A box appeared next to the number 1. I still had no idea what was required of me, so I just sat and attempted to remain as calm and attentive as I could manage.  My foot has a tendency to tap to the rhythm of my heart.  It usually stops of its own accord if I ignore it.

The music began once again, this time barely a whisper at first, but growing louder as the minutes passed. A voice, not the voice from before, but a different voice, one with more of a Hollywoodized quality. It repeated the same sentence, more of a statement really, repetitive, growing louder and then fading one again to a whisper. “One is the loneliest number,” it repeated over and over, as if it was speaking in a manner I could only understand, if it continued to bombard me with the declaration. It was as if it was attempting to force my understanding, if not by repetition, then by molecular assimilation. Then, everything went black. The entire room was consumed by darkness. The screen ceased to glow. I had no idea what was expected of me. I was afraid to leave, more afraid to stay, but I needed a job.  My foot began to move again as if it were empathizing with the darkness. After what seemed an hour, the lights jumped back on with a sputtering strobe quality, and on the screen was a question. Just a single question, “What is the significance of the number 1?” No box! The first thing that came to mind, was me. My second thought was about the inference of loneliness. And the third notion, that I was being subjected to a psychological test of some kind, to determine if I was suitable for a specific type of employment. I found the latter to be the most troubling. Were they looking for conspiracy advocates to propel a new line of alternative truth through our presently unstable country? Or were they looking for someone that no longer responded to anything outside the realm, of self?

And then I heard it, this ringing sound.  I remembered it from somewhere. It reminded me, of me. I opened my eyes and Alexis was on the bedside table blinking, awaiting my commands. I’ve never liked the name Alexis, too detached, too inclusive, too… So I call her Molly.  "Molly, please! I am awake." She does not respond. The ringing continues, and then like in the room, it abruptly stops.  I had the feeling she was watching me more intently than at any time previously, and then she spoke.

“How was your dream?” The question startled me. I couldn’t believe she could possibly know my dreams, but then she started to hum, “One is the Number.”  As I untangled myself from the blankets, she asked, “What does Mr. Lonely have planned for the day?” I began to answer, “I…” but stopped myself. I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself. No one any longer knows, if what one knows, is any longer, the only one who knows.


Carl looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and an old man stared back at him.  The face had changed, the mirror too, but he could trace a straight line from the old man to the boy he had once been. “Bullshit!” said the editor, “every face tells a story, but it never follows a straight line. There’s always ups and downs, arcs, setbacks and deviations. You are lying to me and to yourself.” The editor jabbed a finger at Carl. Carl dodged the finger. “It is just as much effort writing my own story as it is any other,” he said, “and there are many more interesting subjects than me”.

“You know what they say about the unexamined life, don't you?,” replied the editor, “and, besides, since you’re constantly churning your life story, over and over, you might as well write it down, and stop expending energy on needless repetition, not to mention this 'creative fiction' fixation.  You might even end up resolving a few things along the way... troubling character flaws.” “What if my story doesn’t deserve to be told?” “You have a point there,” said the editor, “but let’s stop the quibbling. Why don’t you set the scene, if you still feel compelled?” “The man in the mirror lived in a house in a town that was heavily populated with the elderly, each growing alike with age, their stories attenuating along that same straight-line and converging on a shrinking punct of irrelevance, and loss. They would all die apart, together” How dull and dreary, thought Carl, and so he made himself a cup of fresh-brewed coffee and sat at the computer terminal, where he was joined by the editor. They waited, then waited some more, and then – suddenly - caffeinated optimism spilled over them as if the sun had emerged from behind a dark cloud, atoms swerved and – just for the briefest moment, Carl felt close to something so profoundly true and beautiful that it would make the angels weep, and then he started typing.

“ Annabelle Cloud emerged from the dark charnel house carrying a small body, which was that of the child …” Carl annihilated a trillion planets and a million stars, and where there had been too much or nothing, there were a now a few specific things: Annabelle, the charnel house, the body of a child. ” The blustery rains made London a dreary place in the winter of 1910, ” a sentence that dropped like a bomb on hundreds of cities, laid to waste a thousand of years of civilization, until all about Annabelle there lay a wreckage of things that almost existed. Carl had the sense of a beginning, but the editor was lurking around and distracted him. “I need a muse to go on,” said Carl, wishful, hopeful, maybe the editor would grant him this wish.

“Not happening,” said the editor, wise to this game, “that whole droopy doe-eyed pre-Raphaelite thing. It’s not fitting, and it’s just a little bit pathetic, don’t you think?”.

“So how am I going to continue? I’ve got nothing left” said Carl, desperate. “Suddenly!” said the editor, now poet, "that's how you will proceed". "Suddenly?" “Suddenly, from a dimly lit hall… suddenly,” said the editor, grasping at air with his fist.

Carl was game, grasped at the same empty air, "Suddenly! An interruption of time and space, a dislocation, a dramatic change of state, or a beginning, like the moment of universal singularity. The big bang". Very dramatic, very earnest, and a little bit melodramatic, but Carl had inspired himself back to the keyboard, which he banged at with abandon. “Suddenly, from the crucible of flame, Annabelle Cloud emerged in shredded rags and a clinging swath of smoke, carrying the limp child in her shaking arms. A fire man grabbed the infant from her and ran to the horse-drawn cart that was loaded with buckets of rancid water from the marshes. Annabelle fell to her knees, raven hair falling like a veil, swore an oath of revenge in the direction of the stinking sky, and blanked out on the cobbled street.” “I hardly know where to start”, said the editor, his nose twisted in distaste. “Why don’t you start with ‘suddenly’?” said Carl. “Well, that was my idea, regrettably, but – frankly - the bigger issue is your persistent exploitation of women as a means to an end”, said the editor, “I denied you a real-life muse, so you just had to go out and invent one?” “I like women,” said Carl. “Yes, I know that, but they’re always young, athletic, beautiful, and more often than not scantily dressed… all action, kicking and screaming… but they lack any kind of emotional substance. You love women, the idea of women, but you are scared to give them real agency or autonomy, so why do you insist on making them your protagonists? It’s beyond your ability and outside your sandbox.” “They’re more interesting than men, and less threatening”, said Carl, knocked back and down. “Fascinating, I’m sure, but remember most of your readers are women and they don’t have patience for animated girly-dolls, even when they are presented as ninja assassins, Russian spies, or some other neo-liberal trope... It's not authentic because it doesn't come from a credible place, and it insults your audience.” The editor placed a compass point at the dead center of Carl's identity and drew a bold circle that defined a small universe of authenticity. Carl felt deflated and responded with a petulance outbreak. “Suddenly, Archibald Cloud, emerged from the fire, looking glum".

“Very witty. Was his shirt sweat-soaked? Were his forearms sinewy?” asked the editor. “Who cares?” said Carl, “it’s a man this time”. Carl wanted to hang with Annabelle, not with Archibald. He was trying to convince the editor that authenticity originates in something more than identity - in truth, for instance - when, suddenly, Carl’s wife appeared in the den. “I’m going to the shops; do you need anything?” she said, cheerfully. “Protein. Any kind of protein, but healthy, please,” said Carl, mindful of his cholesterol. “No, Carl, protein is too personal,” said Shelly, “how about staples? Milk, OJ, bread?”

He paused just long enough to annoy her, and -suddenly - Shelly went on her merry way, happily putting behind her the dismal solipsism of the dimly lit den. The editor, keen to accompany Shelly to the supermarket, was momentarily distracted, which yielded an opportunity for Carl to proceed unchallenged. “Suddenly, from the crucible of uncertainty, Annabelle Cloud, auburn-haired, sinuous of limb, clothed in revealing black silks, erupted from the grave, fully formed and of irresistible pre-Raphaelite beauty. Neither Nash, unprepared, nor Le Queux, unequipped, had the strength to resist…” “Nice try. So here we are, and you’ve still going with the woman idea. You just couldn’t get rid of her, could you?” said the editor, who seemed to enjoy Carl's irritation. “I’m teasing a story into existence”, said Carl, “I need a woman to motivate me. Creativity is nothing more than sublimated sex, you know?” The editor was a student of Freud; he knew, he agreed. “Why is sublimated sex infinitely subordinate to the sublime?” said the editor, for whom this was an agreeable subject of discourse, mano a mano. “I’m not sure, but if you are right then it’s the specificity, I think. A specific thing that is sublimated is subordinate to the sublime. The sublime itself is oceanic, unifying all things in that universal singularity I mentioned earlier.” Carl imagined himself dressed in a Victorian frock coat, standing at a lectern, pontificating to an audience of men with bushy whiskers, gold fob watches and top hats. The editor looked at Carl as if he were a talking dog. “Strangely, that actually makes sense to me, though it also sounds terribly pretentious, and it would best if you didn’t write it down anywhere or – heaven forbid - publish it”. “Strangely? Terribly? As in peak-use-roaring-20s terribly? As in terribly-dull terribly? As in terribly-pretentious terribly,” said Carl. The editor didn’t appreciate being questioned or mocked by his protégé in this way, and it embittered him. Behind the scenes, second fiddle, pulling the strings, never capitalized, his resentments erupted into venomous spite, “you will never stand shoulder to shoulder with a real writer. If you had any talent, it would have been obvious a long time ago. If you were ever going to become a writer, you would already be a writer... at your age too.” The profound truth that seemed slightly beyond Carl's grasp, went careening off across the universe. Carl would never make the angels weep and it made him feel desperately sad. “You are my editor. I expect you to encourage me,” said Carl, shocked, “you’re not supposed to knock me down and destroy my self-confidence”. “I’m your editor, not your friend. My job is to stop you making a fool of yourself”, said the editor. “But I can’t stop now, I’ve only just begun” said Carl, appealing for sympathy and accommodation.  “I suddenly have the sense of a good beginning here.” “And I suddenly have the good sense of an end,” said the editor.


I can’t say what prompted the idea but one day recently I decided it was best for me to stop breathing. Oh, it was a short-lived rebellion the first few times, but eventually I built up a considerable tolerance to the mindless act of respiration. Like a bolt out of the blue I came to realize my unrelenting addiction to oxygen was the root of all my problems. Frankly, it wasn’t just the cause of my own. Everyone knows the truth about the toxic air we inhale. The unapologetic need and continuous consumption of this primal element is behind everyone’s personal woes but we must arrive at that sobering conclusion for ourselves. Every chance I had, I held my breath for intermittent fasting periods. The goal was to fully wean myself from this chronic dependency until I no longer needed it at all. I built up my endurance at a steady pace but it has been discouraging at times. Just as I started to believe I’d beaten the crippling dependency, my lungs would demand another breath to ‘save myself’. With every new iteration however, my ability to go without air has increased a little bit more. Over time I started seeing things in a whole new light. The golden periods between breathing and exhaling my spent carbon dioxide changed my entire perception of things. There were longer and longer times where I’d drift into a hazy realm of nothingness. It was just a different state of being. The pale world I knew ceased to be in those brief flashes of alternate existence. In its place was a celestial plane where all problems I had in life were insignificant. I came to crave the peace and tranquillity I experienced there but all too soon; I was returned to this depressing version of reality. Each time, Tell-tale tingling of my extremities signaled the toxic opiate had reentered my body and renewed my addiction. Reoccurring headaches grew from the extended periods I was oxygen free. Only a lingering lung addiction kept me in this world. Others tried to tell me it was from deprivation itself but that was only half true. It was a lifelong dependence on respiration which created the heaving pangs of withdrawal in the first place. The addiction tried to hold me back. It didn’t want me to escape its fickle chains. The closer to freedom I got, the worse my headaches became. It was a cycle of biological slavery to breathing and I was determined to break free of it. As my resistance grew, the longer I remained moored to the other side. I no longer felt a burning ache in my lungs demanding I give in. I rapidly approached a tipping point where I spent more time in there, and less in this dimension. Bystanders saw me gasping for air and tried to offer aid, not realizing my asphyxiation was a deliberate attempt to free myself. They meant well but were unable to understand it was my intention to stop breathing and permanently dwell in the beautiful place I’d only experienced in fleeting glimpses. They labeled me mentally ill and a grave danger to myself but they were philosophically wrong. To be suicidal is to want to harm oneself. I only want to break free of my lifelong dependence to breathing. Dozens of times I’d almost escaped the limiting bounds of life but I was unable to permanently let go. At the last moment I’d panic and swallow a breath of air through my parched lips. A lingering fear of the unknown and superstitious doubts prevented me from permanently crossing over to those cerulean skies and lush, rolling hills. At last, I’ve found the perfect solution to stabilize my faltering faith and do what is necessary to achieve my goal. To your ears this request may appear unorthodox or against my own self interests but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. This is the only way forward for me. Please understand that when I stop breathing, it will be when I actually start to live. Do not let me back out of these sincere intentions. It would only be from primal fear that I might beg you to stop suffocating me but that’s not what I really want. No matter what I do or say from this point on, please do not give in. I am not conflicted. My final wishes are to cease breathing and permanently deny my lungs of their toxic drug. Help me escape the mortal slavery of oxygen and be free at last.


“Professor Delorian, why does it matter which theory may or not be correct?” asked Trainee Patterson, adjusting his tie self-consciously as all the eyes in the lecture hall stared at him, some judging his good looks, others scoffing at the ignorance of the question, while those closest to him nodded their heads in solidarity. Even here, in a place that shouldn’t exist, the cliques of yesteryear still somehow held sway. The professor, a tall woman with short hair just starting to turn gray, looked up from her lectern mid-speech and took off her glasses. I felt my spine push back into the hard wooden backrest in anticipation. I knew what that gesture meant. “Trainee Paulson, is it?” “It’s act-” “I’m so glad you’ve asked this question, because, and I say this with all honesty, it is one I rarely hear anymore. But, since you’ve decided that the pleasure of my voice is preferrable to the dull scratchings of the required readings, I feel obligated to rid you of your ignorance in a manner most befitting the austere hall in which you now sit.” She smiled then cleared her throat before taking a sip of water from the crystal glass perched delicately next to her notes on the lectern. “So, why does it matter which theory is correct? Okay, let’s put forward a simple scenario and look at three ways it could possibly play out. For brevity’s sake, a formerly dormant volcano explodes and destroys a colony on New Vega. But you’re able to return to the past to attempt to stop it. First, you warn the people, but they don’t listen and die regardless. You try again, this time heading straight to the volcano and throwing some concoction into the fuming magma, which, to your surprise, causes the volcano to erupt. And so on and so forth. Now, can an enlightened trainee tell me what-” “The ‘Fixed Timeline’ theory,” I blurted out, before shrinking back into my seat. “It seems we have a class of interrupters,” Prof. Delorian said, “but yes, that is correct. In this case, everything we would try to change will either resist our efforts or our choices in the past will actually result in the disaster we were trying to prevent.” “Wouldn’t that make time travel, and all of this, pointless?” asked another girl from the far end. “If changing the past is your primary goal, then I suppose it would be. But now, getting back to our volcano dilemma, let’s say you threw your concoction into the volcano, and it worked. No explosion. And you head back to the present. What are you going to find when you get back?” “There’s two theories on that, one more destructive than the other,” I said again. This time the professor did take notice of me. “And what is your name, pray tell?” “Trainee Cordelia Adams,” I said automatically. Being a military brat could have its downsides, but it definitely set you up for a quick response time. “Adams… Adams, why does that sound… never mind. Please, share your knowledge with us. Tell us about the destructive one.” “Oh, well, of course.” This hadn’t happened the last time. “The Dynamic Timeline Theory posits that there is only a single timeline, and any changes to the past will alter your present. The destructive part comes with not knowing how much a single change could alter. The Butterfly Effect, essentially. And then there’s the Grandfather Paradox, whereby if you alter your own timeline in any way, such as by killing your own grandfather, you’d create a paradox where you’d never be born, potentially destroying the entire timeline, past and future.” Prof. Delorian nodded thoughtfully. “And now we start to see why it matters. And, just to round out Trainee Parklands education, what is the third theory, Trainee Adams?” “Me, again?” “Yes, you again.” “Alright. That would be the Multiverse Theory. We’re not actually changing the past of this timeline. All we’re doing is creating a new timeline. In essence, stopping the volcano won’t help the people already killed by it. And by traveling back to the present, we’d have no idea if we’d be returning to our original timeline or the new one created.” “And there we have it. Multiple theories, each one potentially leading to destruction if we’re not careful. Has that satisfied your curiosity, Trainee P-” “Patterson. Yes, Ma’am, it has.” “Good, and I would hope…” She went quiet for a second before turning back to me. “Trainee Adams, I’m curious, which theory do you hold to be true?” I scratched my nails into my palms as I felt a bead of sweat cross my brow. This was new. “It’s impossible to tell, isn’t it? I mean, I know which one I’d prefer was real, but…” “Let’s start there, then, shall we. Which one are putting your hopes on?” “The Fixed Timeline.” “Interesting choice, and not one most go for. Why would you choose this?” “Because I know that humanity can’t be trusted, and so when we do eventually jump back into the past, we won’t be able to screw it up more than it already has been. It would also mean we wouldn’t be able to use time travel as a quick redo for our mistakes.” Prof. Delorian put her glasses back on and smiled. “That’s surprisingly honest and refreshing to hear.” “I’m not finished, though.” “Well, perhaps we can discuss-” “I need to apologize to you.” “That’s really not necessary.” I stood up. “I’m afraid it is. You see, I lied when I said it’s impossible to tell. Are you at all familiar with Colonel Ted Adams?” “Ted? Of course. Uh, that’s why the name was familiar. Are you two related?” “We are. I’m his daughter.” “Oh? That’s not possible. She just turned three, if I’m not mistaken.” “That is correct.” Professor Delorian collapsed onto her lectern, knocking the crystal glass onto the floor. Somehow it did not shatter, which surprised me, as it always had before. I turned to aim my weapon at Patterson and pulled the trigger a second time, somewhat disturbed that I no longer felt any remorse. I touched my earpiece with my left hand. “I’m ready to come home, Barney.” “Post haste, milady.” ### Each time my body reintegrated into a new time, my mind was left adrift at the theater of memories. Moving backwards was different to moving forwards. Going back in time forced me to relive every crucial turning point in my life. Each moment would have lead to a separate branching timeline, and I was allowed a glimpse into what could have been. At times it was clear I’d made the right choice for all involved, but other choices had been selfish and lead to someone else’s demise. After my fifth trip back through time, I’d come to accept what I couldn’t change, and there was a peace in that. Moving forward in time back to where I’d left was different. I got to watch the new timeline I’d just created play out. I tried to soak in as much information as I could, but sometimes it was too much for me to hold on to. Regardless of the success or failure of my mission, I would always return to my original timeline, and hoped that the new world I’d help create was better than the one I was forced to live in. Because while back then time travel was all still theory, here in my time it was fact. There was a multiverse and each choice would branch out into new realities, but the time traveler could never exist outside of their original time. When each molecule in my body was in its right place, I jumped out of the chair and rushed over to Barney. He slid a bucket over to me as I did so. I grabbed it mid-run and threw up as I moved. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, which always elicited a looked of disgust from him, I fell into the chair beside him, swiveling to face the array of screens before us. “The computer’s just starting to acquire the new timeline’s information,” he said, pushing a glass of water toward me. I drank in down in one go. “Were you able to tell if you’d succeeded?” he asked, referring to my theater of memory. “It was a bit hazy this time. Maybe it was the adrenaline. But I definitely made some ripples. I remember my father being brought in for questioning over…” I paused, swallowing hard. “…uh, the professor and Patterson’s deaths. Of course, me disappearing right in front of them caused a stir for quite some time. Even at three, I remember it being all over the news. It seems like I grew up mostly with my mother after that. I don’t know what happened to my dad. He disappeared from my life soon after.” The computer started beeping, and the two of us turned towards the screens. ‘New timeline Kappa created,’ read the scrawl at the top. ‘Twelve years from the inciting incident, time travel tests begin. Due to Patterson’s death, Colonel Ted Adams takes his place and successfully jumps into the past. Timelines Lambda and Mu are now in existent.’ “Damn it!” I grabbed the glass in front of me and threw it at the nearby wall, having enough wherewithal not to throw it at the screens. “How is this possible? I killed Delorian. And with Patterson gone, I thought…” “She must have completed enough of her research for them to get it running,” said Barney, putting his hand on my shoulder. “And whatever your dad did in the past, he somehow created two new timelines. That’s more than Patterson managed.” “So what do I do now? Go back even further and take her out before she gets further in her research?” “You were what, three years old, when you killed her this time? You know you can’t go back before your birth, so do you really think three years will make much of a difference.” “Are you kidding? Look what we managed to build in two. Of course it can make a difference. That’s not the point. It’s if it’ll make enough of a difference. I honestly don’t think so. If we’re going to stop the spread of these timelines, we’re going to have to make a surgical strike. We need to take out the lynchpin.” Barney took his arm from my shoulder. I could tell he knew what I was talking about. “Your father.” I nodded. “At some point after that lecture he got hold of her research and completed the chair. And it’s clear now that he can do it with or without her help. Patterson’s misleading as well. I honestly don’t think it matters who uses the chair first, the consequences don’t change.” “So it all depends on your dad. What are you going to do, Cord? Kill him like the rest?” I hesitated, but then looked back at the percentage displayed on the lower right screen. ‘Multiversal Collapse at 72%’. “It’s a race against time itself,” I said. “Whether or not I keep going back to change things, the Agency isn’t going to stop, and that number’s going to slowly tick forward.” “True, but we can’t even be sure that stopping the creation of time travel in one timeline will make any sort of difference.” “It might. Besides my meddling, how many more branches have appeared?” “Just one for now.” “Exactly. It’s slowing down, which means we are making some progress. We might not be able to reset the clock, but we can slow it to a crawl.” I got up and walked over to the exit. It was time to get some sleep, and do this all over again tomorrow. “You don’t know that it’ll stay like that forever,” Barney shouted. “We could end up accelerating the process. Why not just-” “Quit?” I asked, shocked that he could suggest such a thing. “You of all people know what this has cost us, Barney Delorian.” ### I sat in the chair, waiting for the light to envelope me. I’d been considering how far back to go this time, and decided it was time to push Time to its limit. “Okay, Barney, start it up. If I do this right, we won’t have to go through this again.” He didn’t say anything, and I could feel his doubt from across the room. “Alright,” he said finally. “Initiating.” The needle entered my lower spine and I immediately went frigid, trying to ignore the cold sensation slowly spreading throughout my body. I breathed out slowly, watching as the air in front of my face turned to mist. “Okay,” he said. “Coordinates set. And you should arrive in three, two…” I blinked, and immediately grabbed my head as the migraine hit me. I sat up, head in hands, breathing in and out slowly as the pain dissipated. I finally lowered my hands, taking in my sterile beige surroundings. I swung my legs out of the bed and pulled the curtain away. There was only one other patient in the room, judging from the other closed curtain, and hopefully they were asleep. I moved quietly to the door and walked out into the hallway, almost immediately bumping into a nurse. “Excuse me, young lady, what are you doing here? Visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago.” “I’m sorry. I dozed off and didn’t notice the time. I’m leaving now, I promise.” “Alright, but try not to let it happen again.” I walked to the end of the hallway and left the recovery ward. I made my way to a floor plan and found the delivery rooms. Fourth floor. When I arrived, I walked up to the nurse’s station. “Good afternoon, my, um, aunt is supposed to be giving birth now. I wanted to come and wait with my uncle.” “What’s her name?” “Shelley. Shelley Adams. And my uncle is Ted Adams.” “Okay, one second. Your uncle should be just down the hall in the waiting room. Over there and to the right,” she said, pointing. “Thank you.” I made my way there slowly, hoping I was making the right decision. But every time I hesitated, that ever-increasing percentage helped me focus. I touched the side of my wrist and my weapon materialized in my hand. I stopped at the end of the hall, and, steeling myself, turned the corner, raising my arms to fire… and froze. My father was pointing an exact replica of my gun at me. “Cordelia. It’s… nice to see you again. If only for a brief moment.” “Dad?” I took in his disheveled beard and blood-shot eyes. This was no young man. It was then that I noticed the body on the floor. “What…?” “I can’t let you continue destroying the multiverse,” he said, his voice raspy. “Your meddling has set us on a path to destruction.” I touched my earpiece. “Barney, what the hell is going on?” “Barney? You have a Barney, too? I guess that explains this,” he said, looking at their weapons. He touched his own earpiece. “Barney, did you get that?” There was a sudden crackling sound and the both of us suddenly grabbed our heads. “Aah,” I screamed, yanking the earpiece out and throwing it on the floor. My father did the same. “What the hell?” he shouted. “Barney?” The twin earpieces began to crackle before flying toward each other like polar opposite magnets. They floated up into the air, emitting a holographic image of Barney. “You know, the two of you were surprisingly easy to manipulate. It really didn’t take much to turn you into cold-blooded murderers, even going so far as to killing your own family. But now I’m afraid it’s time to end this charade.” “Barney?” My voice was slightly more threatening. “What have you done?” “What have I done?” He chuckled. “I’ve saved the timeline, that’s what. I must say, the fact that you were both mislead by some graphics on a screen into believing there was a multiverse says more about you than I. But, well, that was a lie, too. You see, there is only one timeline, and it’s extremely malleable. And the two of you have helped me put everything in place.” I lowered my gun. “But, the memories, and… I killed your mom. If that’s true, then you shouldn’t…” “Professor Delorian? Oh, she’s not my mother. You really should have done due diligence on that one. She was just another obstacle to be removed. And you two are the last. So, here’s to one final teary farewell,” he said, raising a champagne glass before his image disappeared. I looked at my father, seeing the sudden fear and anger in eyes, then glanced down as the earpieces started to beep. I thought about trying to escape for a single moment before reaching down and picking them up. “Run!” I screamed at him. “Save Mom. Save me! Don’t let him win.” My dad looked at me for what seemed an eternity before nodding and barreling through the doors behind him. I took off running in the opposite direction, hoping that my last words would become a new reality. “Protect us, Dad. Don’t let him win…” I whispered, the words evaporating before they left my mouth.