Fiction Fragment Friday
This story started off with a ridiculous first few sentances getting stuck in my head. I just could not get them out and so I decided to write it. I went in knowing it would be a wacky funny story, but not how it would turn out. I think there is a strong narative here dispite the premise. Maybe becaue of it. Either way I love a good time travel story. I also love whatever this is.
So, this is how the world ends. Not with a bang or a whimper, but with a fart. It would be ridiculous if it wasn’t so tragic. The blind date was going perfect until I felt that rumble in my stomach. It was going to come out and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I tried to excuse myself, but the moment I stood it came out. Of course, that was also when the song playing in the restaurant ended, leaving the room completely quiet to better highlight my flatulence.
My first instinct was to ignore it and hope she hadn’t noticed. The other patrons bursting out in laughter and applause made that impossible. My date just buried her face in her hands and slid down in her chair out of embarrassment. She could not make eye contact with me, but I could see how bright red her cheeks had gotten.
I don’t remember what happened next, but I can piece it together with context clues. I walked out of the restaurant leaving my date at the table. Then I got in my car and drove home on autopilot. Once I got home, I went into my basement, set the time on my experimental time machine for earlier that day, and jumped back in time.
That meant that there were now two of me existing at that moment. I obviously couldn’t let my gas filled previous self go on the date and mess everything up again. Instead, I tasered him and tied him to a chair in my basement while I gave myself a second chance to make a first impression.
Things were going so much better the second time around. I knew what jokes would land and left out the ones that had flopped before. I ordered my steak a bit rarer than I like knowing they were going to overcook it. We even managed to get a better table because we were able to get there slightly sooner avoiding the road construction that had delayed us the first time. It was the perfect date.
Then while wildly gesticulating during a particularly compelling story I hit the waiter in the stomach. He stumbled, dropping a tray of fresh drinks right on my date. She screamed in shock and desperately started pulling ice out of her cleavage. Her purse on the floor had been open for some reason and all the water poured directly into it. Once again, the patrons laughed and clapped.
On the third attempt at the date, I choked on my steak and threw up all over her. For the fourth the original me managed to get himself free and I was the one stunned. I’m not sure how he screwed it up, but by the time he got back I was free and jumping back to fix it. So, the fifth time found four previous versions of myself tied up in my basement while I once again tried to complete the perfect date. I knew how I had gotten free twice before so I made sure that would not happen again.
Something felt off on the fifth date. I had already heard all her stories multiple times and they were losing their charm. My jokes that had been so spontaneously funny were coming out like practiced lines. Not to mention after having three previous meals that night I just could not eat. It made the meal extremely awkward. She fidgeted on her phone some and by the end of the meal got a call and needed to leave for a family emergency. That had not happened in any of the previous dates. My night had gone from the perfect date to a failure and I couldn’t figure out why.
Before trying date six I realized I needed to take some time to reflect. I also needed to sleep, let my meals digest, and take a long shower after all the struggling with myself. This date needed a new approach. I also needed to figure out what I was going to do with the other four versions of myself locked in the basement.
I woke up refreshed and ready to try the perfect date again. I got ready and then jumped back once again. Now I had five versions of myself tied up in the basement. I stood there staring at my past failures. “Ok me. We have a problem. I’m going to go nail this date, but while I do I need all of you to figure out how we fix there being six versions of us.”
“You’re just going to screw it up again,” said four. Or was it three?
“You should let me go. I’m the only one that hasn’t screwed it up yet,” said what I’m pretty sure was one.
“He has a point,” said a voice behind me that I now realize was seven. Then I was reminded of what the taser feels like.
I woke up tied to a chair again. The others were all talking. “What’s going on here?” I asked. There were two versions of me untied now.
“Simple,” said seven. “We are all sharing our date experiences.” He pointed to the other untied me. “He can now go on the date still fresh and avoid all of our mistakes yet still hear the stories for the first time. It’s the perfect solution.”
I remembered how awkward my last date had been and had to admit there was logic to the approach. I decided to let this attempt play out since if seven was here my current plan obviously wasn’t going to work. Once we all agreed and one was off for the date seven untied the rest of us. We still had to figure out how to deal with all these temporal clones.
For the next hour we were so proud of ourselves. We planned out a second date, sketched out improvements for the time machine, and apologized to each other for all the tasing. I think if we had been around each other longer we would have gotten annoyed by the things we don’t like about ourselves, but for that brief moment it was like having a room full of best friends with everyone getting all the in jokes.
When one returned with a mortified look on his face all our hopes were dashed. “I farted,” he said. I thought back through the stories and realized that none of us had warned him about that.
Before any of the other versions of me could react, I ran to the machine and jumped back. I arrived in time to see seven stun six who now was no longer me. I moved to stun seven, but then more versions of me started to appear. I might have been the first to reach the time machine, but the rest of them got there right after me. So, there I was in my basement. Fourteen versions of me.
The fight was brutal. We all knew how to hurt ourselves and of course were evenly matched. Well, the couple versions that had eaten multiple full dinners did move a bit slower. That was when I had the idea to jump back and stop the machine from being completed until after the date. If it wasn’t available, then none of these versions could come back. It would just be me and an original me until after the date. I couldn’t let any of them try to come back and stop me though. I needed to sabotage the time machine on my way back.
In the chaos I slipped away and fiddled with my machine. All set I jumped one final time knowing it would fry behind me. What I had not taken into account is that anything I could break thirteen other versions of me could fix. After a few attempts there were thirty-seven versions of myself in one very cramped basement arguing. Above our heads spacetime itself had been ripped open and was growing at a startling rate. I’m not sure if it was all the versions of myself or breaking and fixing the same time machine multiple times, but something was just too much for reality to accept.
That was it. The end of the world. The end of the entire universe and it was all my fault. I just had one final idea. I jumped back another week. Instead of tasering myself I stayed hidden and just stole my own cellphone. I got far away from myself before it rang.
“Hey Jamie,” I answered.
“I’m worried about you. You spend way too much time by yourself in your basement. I’ve got a friend I think would be perfect for you. How do you feel about a blind date?”
“Sorry Jamie. I think I’m going to have to pass. Maybe next time.” I hung up the phone.