Before I begin, I would like to apologize that I wasn’t able to find a name to address this letter to. I’ve settled on sending it to Intergalactic Federation HQ, as The Internet™ tells me that the government owns the largest TimeSpace™ research center in the galaxy. I suppose I could have guessed that. This does of course run the risk of prosecution, for I do freely admit within these letters that I have violated a Law, (though I’m not sure on the enforceability of scientific law vs federal mandates). Regardless, if anyone would have the capacity of following up this experience with some kind of research, it would be you folks.
I didn’t sleep well last night. My dreams were tormented by walls and floors ripping open into an empty, black void. Sometimes, the void would simply suck everything into its endless blackness, but in other visions, I watched wretched creatures clawing and tearing their way out of its depths, ravaging and consuming everything they touched. In each dream, I tried to run, but my legs couldn’t move. I tried to scream, but my throat was sealed shut. I tried to fight, but my arms slapped limply against solid walls of monster. And then I would die, only to wake up in another nightmare, somehow deeper and darker than the last.
By the time my consciousness finally returned, my bed was soaked in sweat. I was still exhausted, but the prospect of returning to this endless nightmare churned my stomach, so I rolled out of bed for the day. Despite my awakened state, I couldn’t shake the nameless, gut-wrenching anxiety that had filled those night terrors, and as I forced my mind not to dwell on pointless nightmares, my mind drifted to the day previous. Perhaps my subconscious sensed what was ailing me all along, for I soon realized a profound and simple fact, one that made my stomach drop and my blood curdle: this story wasn’t over.
I was so tired and scared and drained yesterday that I couldn’t process it, but I knew via simple, logical deduction that this story wasn’t over because when I saw myself at Henry’s HyperChicken Hut™, I saw myself back. But I haven’t ever seen myself at Henry’s HyperChicken Hut™ before; ergo, I must make this horrible mistake sometime in the future, or my future at least.
Then the most dreadful thought occurred to me: what if TimeSpace™ had started unraveling, but I simply hadn’t reached the point in TimeSpace™ where it unraveled, which would be after my future self ran into me? Immediately, I resolved to never visit Henry’s HyperChicken Hut™ again. In fact, I’d swear off the Nexus entirely! I mean, they always say that SpaceTime™ isn’t linear, and I don’t know what that means, but perhaps it meant that I didn’t need to repeat my future mistakes?
But this didn’t sit well. I hardly made it halfway through breakfast before my nerves had me vomiting it all out again, worrying that perhaps my choice to never visit Henry’s again could in fact be the moment that doomed the world, and the only reason it hadn’t ended yet was because I hadn’t really decided to never visit Henry’s again. I mean, I could always change my mind, couldn’t I? But the second that I did make the decision, that’s when the world would end.
Or maybe it already was unraveling, and it just hadn’t reached me yet.
I shuddered and wretched again to even propose such a pessimistic hypothesis, but the thought has been burrowing through my brain since it happened, like a parasite feasting on my fear: what if it’s just a matter of time? I mean, how quickly could the universe even rip itself apart anyway? Maybe it was just taking a while for my actions to ripple through reality before it finally collapsed. Maybe the destruction of existence will be a slow and painful process for everyone alive, and it will be all my fault.
It was then it dawned on me: I would never escape this doom. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t, all because of a simple mistake. It was hubris, simple hubris, that led me to believe that I was an exclusion of the physical laws of the universe, that I could somehow be exempt from all of the cautions and warnings of those much smarter than I’ll ever be.
No matter what I did now, I knew, deep down, that the world was doomed.
Now, it was up to me to decide how I wanted to rip it apart, either repeating my mistakes or trying to negate them. Either of these options would assuredly end in failure.
After a few hours sobbing on the bathroom floor, cursing my lot in life, I resolved that there was one option that was better than the other: ending my torment by repeating my mistake as quickly as possible. There was a large chance, 50-50 I assumed, that this would end catastrophically, but it was also possible, or so I imagined, that if this was some kind of rupture of SpaceTime™, that perhaps by repeating the incident, I could seal that rupture, making a kind of enclosed loop?
And that chance, I thought, was better than living the rest of my life wracked with anxiety, worrying that the universe could end at the moment my subconscious finally settled on its decision.