The experience of seeing myself was so strange, so surreal. It was nothing like I expected. I suppose that’s because the last time I was here, I had no idea I was standing so close to me, poorly concealed by a loose crowd of strangers, but I suppose that would have been enough for me. It’s not like I was on guard – I was getting some HyperChicken™, and I had no idea how my entire life was about to be shattered in a few minutes.
I let myself have those few moments of peace.
Those last, precious minutes.
It’s amazing how much came back to me, watching myself. It was like it was happening to me again, and I suppose in a way it was. I remembered complaining inwardly about the line, wondering why I even went to Henry’s in the first place – it had gotten awfully corporate as it’d grown larger, and this stand in the Bazaar was the worst of it. But I still went there, and I still waited in line for poorly treated staff to greet angry customers, and I thought, “well, as long as I’m being nice to them, I’m helping.” But I knew deep down that wasn’t true. I was giving money to Big Henry, supporting the consumption of HyperChicken™, even though they were supposedly bred to not feel pain or suffering.
It was a peaceful few minutes, worrying about the normal problems of the galaxy, not the natural disaster I was about to cause by destroying the TimeSpace™ continuum.
And oh, I savored those minutes.
But then they were gone. And it was time. I recognized the order at the window, “eight piece HyperChicken™ with two pounds of mashed potatoes.” I recognized it because I thought “Wow, that’s a whole chicken and a half a potato.”
My mind went blank. I felt myself walking up to my past self almost instinctively, like some mechanical force simply took over my body. We locked eyes, and as the shifting emotions played out on the face of my previous self, it was almost like I could feel the echo of horror and suffering striking me again in the present, but countenance didn’t show it. I wore the same placid and determined look I wore when I first encountered myself. I felt strangely numb as we both screamed, and I ran back into the crowd.
For about fifteen minutes after our encounter, that strange numbness lingered in my mind, striking down any thought that rose from the depths of my psyche. Even in that state, it didn’t escape me that the universe hadn’t yet collapsed, but somehow, this fact didn’t penetrate the haze that had settled over me any easier than the tingling sensation I felt in my hands. And so for those fifteen minutes, I mindlessly wandered the Bazaar. To be honest, I have no idea why I bothered walking when I could have just used my Time-Ex™ to go home, but I suppose the thought just didn’t occur to me.
By the time I snapped out of it, I was all the way in Section R15, in a nearly identical food court to the one I had started in. I had spotted another Henry’s location, and the panic that surged through me at it finally shook me out of my stupor.
Of course, it wasn’t the same Henry’s HyperChicken™ Hut. It was in a completely different section of the mall, and this stand was in the middle food court, not tucked into the far corner, and somehow that snapped me out of it. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I smiled, and I laughed because I now knew that I had defeated the paradox. I had broken the laws of TimeSpace™, and I survived.
Wave after wave of relief crashed into me, and within minutes, the only discomfort I had left in the world was my grumbling stomach. So you know what I did?
I got a bucket of HyperChicken™.
I mean, Henry’s was right there, and technically, I hadn’t eaten today because I couldn’t keep anything down all morning, so an explosion of genetically modified calories wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing in the world. Now, don’t worry. I won’t bore you with the details of my lunch. Instead, I think it will suffice to say that I have calmed down enough to where I could write this letter to you with a steady hand.
Oh, I do apologize for the grease stain on my first letter.
With my former self back on Earth, I should be well within the boundaries of the laws of TimeSpace™ if I send this letter today, and I swear on all that’s left of my sanity that I will never break them again, mistakenly or not.
In fact, I’ve lately been thinking about retirement.
As soon as possible, probably.
I don’t quite have the money saved for it, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find the passion for time travel again. You wouldn’t want to pay me for this statement, would you?
If you have any questions, feel free to send a letter to my Intergalactic P.O. Box, #682.445.241.632.053.486.869. I shall not provide any identifying information about myself beyond my first name, for if there is to be a criminal inquiry due to the nature of these statements, I’m afraid I can’t afford to be identified.