A Flat Zero

 Charlie looked at the souls walking in line. He noted one older gentleman who was allowing a female to pass him. Over his head, a white numeral appeared, and the red number diminished from fifty-eight down to fifty-seven.

Charlie saw hope on the man's face and allowed others to pass him by. Once he saw his number stayed at fifty-seven, he pushed past all the people he'd allowed pass him, and his red number increased by fifteen to seventy-three.

The old man cursed, and the red number increased to seventy-four. He fell to his knees, crying. A woman stopped and hugged him. The white numbers over her head increased by one from nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine to an even twenty thousand. She looked up, saw the number and asked, "Can I share some of these tokens with him?".

Another number appeared over her head, and she had twenty thousand and one.

Charlie looked up at his number, zero. Such was the circumstances of being born in a cell and having spoken to no one for forty years till he passed one year later. A woman behind him asked, "Can I go ahead? My feet hurt". Charlie could see her number was one white token. Charlie didn't say anything but stayed in his position in the queue. She cursed him. A red one appeared, and now she was marked with a red one.

Charlie tried to make sense of what happened. One minus one was zero, so she should be the same as him at zero.

The line moved on. Two robed bureaucratic types with half-moon glasses were directing people to where they were meant to go. Some with high red numbers fought to avoid their fate. Some tried to strike the bureaucrats, but their hands hit nothing.

Small red figures appeared and would grip them and drag them away. Charlie took note of the scales and talons they used to seize their newest residents. The male in front of Charlie was shaking. He was next in line. The woman in front walked towards the area where all positive numbers were going.

Charlie looked just like a fabulously wealthy evangelist Charlie saw on the television. His number was red, a staggering four million six hundred and fifty-eight thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four.

One bureaucrat with a badge with "Coffee breaks exist to stop mass genocide" said to the other, "I believe this one is mine". The other nodded and said, "Takes one to know one, eh?".

They both laughed at the same time.

"I don't understand how I have a high number. I never did anything bad. I preached the words of the Lord", wailed the older fellow.

The bureaucrat smiled a smile, a mouth full of sharp pointed teeth. He licked his lips with a forked tongue.

"Yes, Mr. Goodall, you've brought many people joy in the Lord's name. Now, let's look at your bank balance," said the bureaucrat.

The man Goodall said, "I've no money. I gave it all away towards the end.".

"Not that one, I mean this one." He conjured a small TV screen on the back that was written, "You don't have to be evil to work here, but it helps".

"I won't bother with the most minor crimes like embezzlement, murder, swindling people. Using your position for sexual favours from the wives or daughters of your congregation to make them fear for their husbands' or fathers' careers".

Images of happy children being excited at seeing him, then photos of their bodies burned. Images of Goodall testifying in court of his friends being murderers and child rapists. Images of Goodall in dark red rooms and screams of his victims.

"None of that happened. I had myself hypnotised to forget it." then his face went pale at the realisation. Here, nothing is hidden or forgotten.

Charlie looked on and felt nothing. The man Goodall fought and was dragged away by several of the imps. As they marched towards his end, one would tear a limb off and put it back in place.

Charlie stood in front of the desk; he had two bureaucrats in front of him.

Simultaneously, both asked, "Is this one of yours?".

Then simultaneously, both said, "No".

One said to the other, " I think we need to see his bank details."

The monitor appeared again. A video of Charlie in a cell by himself appeared. Then, a door opened, and he was released. Then, after a year of therapy to help him adjust to the real world, then nothing.

One robed figure reached for a burning phone that appeared on the desk. Charlie heard the phone ring once, and then a figure appeared. It had horns, bulging muscles, slanted eyes, a goatee and dark skin. A scrubbing brush had been in use. Obviously, it has been bathing. The sound of splashing water and screams and a tiny shark came into view. The figure reached, and the perspective shifted back to its face only.

"Well, what do you want?" asked the figure.

"Your Most Immoral, I regret bothering you, but we have an anomaly here. We have a Nihil,"

A look of impatience flew across the face of the figure on the screen, "send it to Sanctus Duos Calceamenta".

"Yes, you're Most Immoral," said the bureaucrat.

The other bureaucrat sighed and reached for a phone on its side of the desk. It had flowers growing on it.

A figure appeared in a garden. It had been pruning a flower.

"How may I be of assistance to you, my most humble associate?" asked the figure.

The bureaucrat said, "My Most Gracious, we have an anomaly; we have a Nihil".

"Preposterous, that's impossible. Send it to Nothi Mali Mendacem," said the gardening figure.

"Most Angelica Seniori, we did, and they sent it back to us," said the bureaucrat.

An angry look appeared on the face.

"I'm coming down there with my aligned partner. This better not be some joke", he muttered.

The queue was building up behind Charlie, a man who in life had been a hot dog salesman, had his cart appear in front of him. He was selling sausages.

The two overlords appeared at the desk. Both looked angry. "Is this the Nihil," both asked at the same time.

"Yes, overlords," said the bureaucrats in unison.

They both looked at Charlie. He could feel them in his mind, fingering his thoughts,

"We need to send this higher,"

Both reached for phones. A flash of light heralded a new figure; it brought the smell of roses and a feeling of peace. Then, a loud flash of light and a thunderous roar brought the sounds of a casino and the excitement of winning.

The two entities appeared. One was flipping a coin, and the other pouring through books.

After some time, the hotdog salesman reached the top of the queue. Realising his peril, he dashed back to where he was supposed to be. The two overlords looked at each other and nodded. The salesman's number changed from numbers to a written language. It was some oriental language. He looked up and couldn't read what was there. "Am I going up or down".

The two entities approached Charlie, "We've decided your fate. You'll be reborn again fifty years ago and relive your life. That ought to make things clearer."

"Don't I have a choice," asked Charlie.

"No," both the entities shouted.

© Boris Doyle 2023

A final thought

"SEX BEAST RELEASED ON COMPASSIONATE GROUNDS"

"RELEASED CHILD SEX MONSTER ONLY HAS WEEKS TO LIVE"

"ROT IN HELL, EVIL MAN ARRIVING SOON"

"VICTIM'S FAMILY PROTEST LENIENCY FOR EVIL KILLER OF LITTLE AMY"

Screamed the headlines of the tabloids. Jack Doyle did his best to hide in the back of the unmarked police car. His police protectors didn't speak to him other than to tell him how to remain safe. Stay indoors, keep the curtains closed, don't call anyone from the past. They couldn't hide the hatred in their eyes for him.Then they left him without a farewell.

Before they left the jail, the screws had allowed two prisoners access to Jack's cell. He fought them off. Jack had learned how to fight in prison. No rules was the rule, the two prisoners and Jack were all bloodied and bruised.

With his fingers still hurting he called his ex-wife. "Sarah, it's me Jack please don't hang up". He pleaded with her to listen. After she hung up he called again. He begged to see her.

"Please you've got to believe me, Sarah, I didn't do anything to that girl", said Jack. "It's not in me to do something like that. Please you've got to believe me."

The phone hung up again.

He called again, "please Sarah, for the love of God listen", there was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. He knew she was listening. All I remember was going out for a pint with Charlie. The next thing I knew was him breaking a door down and screaming about a girl."

"You were found naked on the floor of the cottage. Her blood all over you, she'd been raped numerous times and her throat sliced. You're a sick bastard. The sooner you're dead the better," said his ex-wife Sarah.

The phone didn't click, Jack prayed for two seconds, he didn't have much time. "Please Sarah, I don't know what happened, one moment I was in a pub, the next I had cops crawling all over me. I didn't do this evil crime".

"Tell me what you remember," she said.

He had a chance, a possibility.

"Me and Charlie went to the Rooster. We had a laugh and a joke. He seemed particularly happy, I was telling him my plans for a sale the next week. His eyes lit up in joy about it. You remember the big one. Buy a plot of land for €150,000 then sell it the next week for millions. We'd have been set for life."

"I bought him a pint and his round was next, then nothing," he said.

Silence for a moment then she said, "Charlie was a great comfort to me after you were convicted. I married Charlie after I divorced you, we have one child as well as the six I got from you".

She went silent for a second. Jack began to speak, she silenced him. After 10 years of marriage he knew she was thinking about something.

"I'm sending the kids to stay at my mother's for a couple of days, come over and we'll talk. Remember when we're finished talking. I never want any communication with you ever again", she said.

"I understand, can I call in two hours?" he asked.

"Make it three hours," she said and hung up.

Jack cried for a few minutes, then wiped his tears away. He started opening files. They excluded pictures of the girl from the documents given to him because of the fear that he would masturbate over them.. He felt ill at the idea.

He tried to recall the night in question. Something was missing. He had a drink with Charlie. Good old Charlie, he could always depend on his best friend Charlie.

They'd been friends since they were four years old. They swung on swings together, made forts. Talked to each other through tin cans and string. Sword fights, cowboys and Indians, cycling their bikes together. Jack was jealous of the succession of girls on Charlie's arm. He never kept any of them for more than a month. An endless succession of broken hearts.

Then he met Sarah, and his world exploded. He rarely had time for Charlie. He tried some double dates, but Charlie always cancelled. Then he popped the question. Three months later, they married and Charlie was his best man. Soon after, Charlie disappeared.

Nine months later, baby number one. He called the boy Charlie to honour his friend, less than a year later, baby number two. Four more children. They worked hard to build a future. Jack got involved in financing and that was how he began to gamble with property sales.

This was when Charlie resurfaced. He'd changed. He didn't smile as much. Seemed colder. But to Jacks' eyes, same old Charlie.

His mind returned to the night in question. After the drinks, nothing but darkness.

He looked at the files again. There were pictures of the door after Charlie smashed it in. Eye witness statements from Charlie. Searching for his friend after he went out into the night. He spoke about how Jack had hurt him earlier with a punch. Jack didn't remember that. How he'd tried to grapple with Jack to keep him safe. After some hours Charlie called Sarah. She said she was beside herself with worry and continued searching for some more hours. Then at approximately two in the afternoon. Charlie saw signs that someone broke into the old cottage. The door loosly held in place He went in, saw Jack on the floor naked and bloodied.

Then went to the bed and found the seven year old girl Amy Newton completely under the covers. Beloved daughter of Annie Smith. There was a picture of Amy's mother, she looked sad and lonely.

The pathologist report was grisly. Jack felt the urge to vomit at the injuries that little girl suffered before she passed away.

There were comments from the judge. He had not come across a more evil crime and hoped the Lord would give him the justice he deserved.

Jack reread the eyewitness testimony again, to be sure.

The phone rang a gruff voice said, "I'm your taxi driver, are you ready"

"Coming now"

He put on a disguise, a false moustache and a pair of bottle top glasses, he darkened his skin and left the room.

Three hours later he was at his old home. Sarah looked like she always did, beautiful. He resisted the urge to reach out to her. Her eyes looked over his shoulder, he knew who it was. Charlie, his best friend, good old Charlie.

"Why is he here," he asked .

Jack forced a smile, "good to see you old friend,

Charlie replied, "don't call me friend, you're nothing to me."

Sarah looked at Jack, and said, "say what you've got to say then get out and never enter my presence again".

Jack looked at Charlie, "I've had six years to think about that night. I remember nothing about what happened other than drinking with you. Then you banging on the smashed door,"

Charlie's expression changed, Jack couldn't read it. He left the room and came back with a bottle of wine and some glasses. He opened it and poured the wine out. He handed one to Sarah and the looked at Jack before he handed one to him.

"I don't want to drink with a child rapist, killer", stated Sarah. "I don't want him here," she shouted.

Charlie petted her arm, "Just take a sip of the wine, if not for him then do it for me"

Obediently, she lifted the glass and downed the contents in one gulp, "now get out you evil child predator"

Then she went silent. Charlie waved his hands in front of her eyes, nothing. Lights on but nobody's home. He produced a gun and pointed it at Jack.

"No one knows you're here do they?"

It wasn't a question. He waved Jack towards the basement door. Jack didn't move. Charlie pointed the gun at Sarah's head. Jack stood and moved towards the door.

"Don't think that because this is a small calibre pistol it won't do damage. The bullets are soft lead, cross headed, scooped out. One hit from this will leave a small hole where it enters and a gaping hole the size of a hat on the other side of your body"

As they moved forward Jack opened the vent, "it's going to get stuffy down there".

They moved towards the cellar door. Charlie brushed off some tincans hanging on string.

Charlie said, "sit on the ground with your hands under your arse. We're going to have a little question time, how did you figure it out?"

Jack "When you came through the cottage door, you screamed about the girl. You hadn't seen her so how could you have known whether she was a boy or a girl."

"Oh very clever. Too bad you're not going to tell anyone about it. When Sarah comes to I'll be bloodied and you'll be dead. I may have to shoot myself in the thigh to convince them you attacked me"

He shook the gun, "this gun, of course, will be on your person".

"Here's what I'll do for you. I know you have been protesting your innocence for the last six years. You write a letter of confession admitting your guilt for what you did to that little girl."

At this point he licked his lips.

Jack said, "why would I wrote that?"

"Because old friend if you don't I'll shoot my wife through the head. Then myself through the thigh and then shoot you dead".

"It won't be an easy death I'll shoot you several times on areas where it will take time to die. If they ask questions. Who'll tell them different", said Charlie.

"Why did you do that to the little girl and destroy my life, we were friends for Gods sake," asked Jack.

"Because we were friends I'll tell you. It doesn't matter if you know or not. When I went away I joined a Satanic cult and my entry was a human sacrifice, the girl, and the life of my best friend. Getting to dick his wife was the cherry on top. Of course, that deal made me millions. I had to share it with the other members of my temple. The Judge in court and the investigating police officer."

Jack smiled, instant suspicion was on Charlie's face, "why are you smiling?"

"You just admitted to murder, child rape and helped expose corruption", said Jack.

"No one's listening, you fool. You've been a fool ever since I first realised how much more is to be gained through the one true entity. I have power and money influence. Satanism is the way forward," he said. Throwing down a notebook with a pencil attached, "start to write or I'll put a bullet through the woman's neck".

"They've been listening to your confession", said Jack.

Charlie began to laugh, "there's no one listening. That vent you opened is stuffed with fibreglass insulation. Now write"

Jack smiled again, "remember when we were kids and how we played? We used to communicate with tincans and string"

Charlie's eyes widened and his eyes shot to the tincans hanging close to where he was standing.

"No there's no one up there"

"The string you'll note goes in the direction of the open window over there window", said Jack, "by the way, the police are here. I am not dying."

Charlie pointed his gun towards Jack and fired a shot. Jack moved at the same moment, this saved his life. The second crack of a pistol through the window and Charlie was on the ground. The door smashed open and armed police stormed the basement.

The bullet had gone through Jacks' shoulder. Now the blood flowed out through the wound.

"Get the EMP down here", shouted a police man kneeling beside Jack.

He knelt on the wound to stop the blood.

Another police officer tended to Charlie, they had him handcuffed and face up.

His face was a mask of pure hatred.

Jack's face turned grey as his life blood flowed out onto the basement floor. His eyes sought Charlie. The paramedics desperately seeking to stem the flow of blood.

Jack smiled.

"The police didn't really believe your testimony. They couldn't do anything about me in prison. They've been monitoring your circle for months. They couldn't find anything concrete to use. So they thought of me. This has been planned for months. I was here this morning and sorted out the tin cans. I thought it was poetic. You and your chums are going to be in prison for a very long time."

Jack still smiled as his life blood ceased to flow.

~Boris Doyle

 

 © 2023

Hunter prey

Gwengot pushed the plate away, her stomach growling with hunger. The food had spoiled days ago, yellow slime spreading across its surface. She knew they needed fresh food. Her father had broken his leg a month earlier while jumping to escape a wild pack of scoundrels. Their presence outside their usual migration routes was highly unusual.

In their small, comfortable cave, her father slept fitfully. Her mother busied herself tidying and trying to feed the youngest of the brood. Two of Gwengot’s siblings had died in recent weeks.

The family claimed ignorance about the cause of death, but Gwengot knew the truth—it was starvation. Her birther couldn’t produce sustenance because she hadn’t been eating. She had given all her food to others.

“My birther, my sire, cannot gather food. I’d like to go get some game or fish. Can I go?” Gwengot asked.

Her mother stiffened, shocked by Gwengot’s impropriety. “Your sire is well able to provide. We just need to be patient,” she replied.

“If my sire doesn’t get well soon, we’ll starve,” Gwengot argued.

Her father’s voice broke the tension. “Lifemate Racheelia, Gwengot is right. She’s the only one who can bring us back food.”

“But she’s too young. Patrols and hunting packs roam out there,” her mother protested.

“She’s been out with me before. She knows their routes. She knows the land. She’ll be fine,” her father assured her.

“She’s our oldest offspring. If anything happens to her, you’ll be shamed,” her mother warned.

“If anything happens to her, we’ll die from lack of food,” her father countered. Turning to Gwengot, he said, “Gwengot, my chosen, bring back something good to eat.”

Her mother lowered her head in reluctant submission. Gwengot hugged her mother tightly. “It will be fine, Mother,” she promised.

She then embraced her father. “Thank you, sire. I won’t let you down.”

Her father smiled, baring his teeth. “I know you won’t.”

Gwengot gathered her weapons and camouflage and left the comfort of the dwelling.

Ten miles south, Sergeant Smythe-Farrel raised his binoculars and scanned the horizon. Dark clouds with a hint of purple churned in the distance, signaling an approaching thunderstorm. It loomed about ten clicks away, far enough to avoid their position when it broke. He shifted his gaze back to the jungle, muttering curses under his breath. The jungle was nothing but a cursed, suffocating expanse.

He cursed the woman who had ruined his life. If she hadn’t complained to the village elder, he’d still be in civilization instead of six light-years away from anything remotely female. This desolate, primitive hellhole didn’t even have beer.

He remembered her clearly and spat her name like venom. He had seen her walking through the street at night. After grabbing her and taking what he wanted, he had tossed her the standard rate for a prostitute back on Earth. In court, she claimed he had viciously raped her and stolen her virginity. He had insisted she was a prostitute and that they had negotiated beforehand. The court, as expected, sided with him. Why would a fine military officer assault an innocent girl?

When the girl took her own life, her family petitioned the military for justice. They were denied. Later, he spotted another girl, maybe sixteen, walking down a laneway. He pounced, knocked her unconscious, and prepared to have his way with her. But nine villagers ambushed him, beating him with clubs. He realized they had been waiting for him.

The court ruled the incident as assault, not sexual violence. He received a slap on the wrist, a demotion to lieutenant, and a transfer to the worst post imaginable. After reviewing his previous case, the court sent him to this forsaken jungle. Here, he could only profit from his fellow Marines, who were just as poor as he was.

He tried pilfering from lockers but got caught and demoted again, this time to sergeant. One night, someone drugged him in his sleep and branded a large “R” on his forehead. He sought justice, but no one cared. His locker was vandalized with the words “Rapist and Robber.” When he checked the CCTV footage, he found the cameras had been turned off. His superior officers dismissed his complaints, telling him he had brought it upon himself.

Now, he spent his days in a watchtower, permanently stationed there. His fellow watchers rotated out after three months of training, moving on to better assignments. One bragged about being sent to Nexus 17, a world where women were beautiful, promiscuous, and where pair bonding was illegal.

Smythe-Farrel didn’t bother telling him that willing women weren’t his preference. He preferred a fight before taking his pleasure.

With five years left on his military contract, Smythe-Farrel faced five long years of staring at the jungle. Five years without unsuspecting women to enjoy. He was a miserable man.

“Contact,” his tower companion announced. Smythe-Farrel didn’t bother learning the privates’ names.

“Bearing first, you dumb son of a bitch,” Smythe-Farrel barked.

“Seven point three five southwest. About two clicks,” the private replied.

Smythe-Farrel adjusted his binoculars and scanned the area. At first, he saw nothing. Then, a flash of red hair caught his eye. A young girl. His heart raced. He watched her for a minute as she removed her top and dove into a pool. She carried a spear and gathered fish.

He felt arousal stir. He had heard rumors of a sentient species on the planet but had never seen one. If one disappeared in the jungle, no one would know.

The private reached for the communications device, but Smythe-Farrel snatched it away. “No need to disturb HQ. I’ll check it out myself. It looks like some kind of bird. You’ll get in trouble for sending them on a wild goose chase,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” the private replied.

Smythe-Farrel called HQ. “Tower forty-two to HQ. Possible weather fluctuations are incoming. Dark storm clouds with a hint of red. If communications fail, that’s the reason. Over and out.”

He hung up, grabbed his rifle, and turned to the private. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Gwengot caught two small fish. It wasn’t enough to feed everyone. She knew one of the younger siblings would be sent to deliver the food to the family. Soon, it would be her turn to die to feed them.

She sniffed the air and froze. A human. She recognized the chemical scent they used to clean themselves. The human was close. She reached for her top, but something struck the back of her head. She collapsed hard onto the ground.

“Don’t bother getting dressed. I’ll need to strip you again,” a man laughed. His voice carried no humor. He stood over her, leering.

He reached for her, but she bit his hand. He yanked it back and licked the wound. “I’ll make the next few hours of your life a misery,” he snarled.

He pinned her down as she struggled. His unpleasant laugh echoed again. He stared into her eyes and froze. They weren’t human eyes. They were like a cat’s.

“I’m going to enjoy you,” Smythe-Farrel growled as he unbuckled his belt.

He sniffed her. “You smell good enough to eat. I’ll have your guts for garters for biting me.”

His coordination faltered. His vision blurred. His hand throbbed with pain. He glanced at it and saw it turning yellow.

A voice hissed in his ear, “Funny. I was going to say the same to you. My venom will make you feel rested and obedient to my words.”

Smythe-Farrel woke in a dark cave. Ten feet away, a family fed from bowls, smacking their lips. A red-haired creature approached him, holding a thigh bone with meat. He recognized her as the girl he had attacked. She took a bite and smiled.

“Once we washed off the chemicals, you were delicious,” she said.

Smythe-Farrel glanced down and saw one of his legs missing. A tourniquet stopped the bleeding.

“Please kill me,” he begged.

“We’re having friends over next week. We need to keep the internal organs fresh,” she replied, laughing and exposing sharp teeth.

He thought it was a nice laugh.

Souls don't have a colour

 Philip pressed enter on the keypad before him. He ceased to be. As his eyes imploded, he saw the world disintegrate into a smouldering ruin. He knew it was his fault that the world had ended as he died. His time displacement device zipped back through the decades. He realised he wasn’t dead. There was a sound like a swarm of bees being sucked into a wind tunnel. With a plop, he was back again. 

Despite feeling unfamiliar, he recognised the room from its layout. The colours on the wall were different. The smell was unfamiliar. Successfully, he’d travelled back through time. He checked the energy gauge. It was half full. He had enough to travel back to his own time. Leaving the building, he heard someone rattling a tin. It was a bum. "You've got a few pennies for an old man down on his luck," the down and out asked. He knew they always had money. Steeling himself, he began kicking and punching him until he was unconscious. 

He searched the body and found the ten ruro the bum hidden in his underwear. No one was going to miss a black bum. He had a list of bets he was going to make. Now he had to find a betting shop. In this series of bets. A small stake could change his mother's life for the better. He walked into the betting shop with one euro; he left half an hour later with his betting slip. His mother would be a billionaire by the time she was eighteen. Eight long odd bets with one euro as payment

Now he had enough time to get to a solicitor to make sure the funds got to his mother when she was eighteen. He calculated the compound interest on the winnings. In ten years, she’d have two billion, two hundred and nineteen million, six hundred and forty thousand, and four hundred and twenty-three euro. He chuckled to himself. He approached a door with the words "Mackram, Murphy, and Smythe Solicitors" on the outside. 

Breezing past a white, fifty-something secretary, He opened the door to the solicitor with shouts of, "You can’t go in there!" He sat in the chair in front of a startled older black gentleman. While his mouth was open. Philip said, "I have an extremely large amount of money I wish to get to a young lady in ten years’ time". The solicitor, still with his mouth open, then said, "Mary, thank you; I will see this gentleman. Now, sir, what is your name, and what is the source of these funds?" asked the solicitor.

"My name is Philip Barnes. In the last few minutes, I’ve made an eight-line accumulator bet with one euro as a bet. I wish the winnings to go to a girl named Isabella Johnson in ten years’ time".

"I see. Do you have any evidence that your bet will come home?" asked the solicitor.

"The first two races should have finished now," said Philip.

The solicitor checked his phone. The results read two hundred and fifty to one, seventy-five to one, and then seventy-five to one. After a quick calculation, he saw the winnings were over a million Euro. His mouth opened again. Philip looked blankly at him and said, "The next race should be finished shortly, in the USA." Philip was running out of time.

He required this to be done faster. "I’m prepared to give you ten percent of the winnings if we can get this done faster." Avarice was the key to getting things moving faster. Business complete, he made his way back to the building where he was. He knew it would still exist in forty years’ time, when he came from. Philip cursed. There were some police near where he’d beaten the bum. He wanted to get close to the spot where he’d come from, so he’d be safe and not seen. He snuck around the outside of the building. As he slipped around a corner, a man called out to him, "Philip Barnes, please don’t ignore me." Shocked, he stopped and looked at the man. He was black. He looked like he was about seventy years old. Philip asked, "How do you know me? Who are you?"

"I’m Philip Barnes. I’m your grandson. I came back to warn you not to make the bet. I also wanted to warn you about that solicitor". Philip checked the time displacement device. He only had twenty minutes left before he’d return. He said, "I have to get back to that building before time slips." His grandson pleaded, "Oh my God, am I too late?" Please, I’ve spent fifteen years travelling backwards and forwards trying to find you. You have to listen to me."

Philip looked at the timer. There were fifteen minutes left. "Okay, quickly, what are you needing to tell me?"

"The solicitor you spoke to dies in five years, and his son takes over the business. He has a grudge against the white man who killed the black man in the alley for ten Euro. In ten years, he will approach your mother to give her access to the funds. When he meets her, he finds her terribly attractive." "He won’t tell her about the enormous sum of money you got for her. He’ll pay her ten thousand Euro for unprotected sex with her every week for a year. Eventually, she became pregnant, and he gave her €500,000 to have the baby. Your mother soon after committed suicide."

Philip didn’t believe his mother would ever do such a thing, so he made to make off. "That’s not the worst. With billions in funds, he gets he causes a revolution, and millions die. His son carried on the butchery after he was finally assassinated. His son, my father, found his diary about time travel. There was even a description of how it would be produced. "

"Look, whatever your name is, you can see I’m white. The way time works is whatever happens stays happened. If I were the son of a black man, I’d be black. I came through time as a white man. Thus, where I am going, I’ll also be white, so your story doesn’t add up. "Souls don’t have a colour, grandfather."

Philip looked at the device with thirty seconds left. He ran towards the building. The old man was screaming at him not to do it. The cops started chasing Philip. Lack of sleep and food diminished his running ability, but he was ahead of the cops. He made it through the door as the device started beeping. Time slowed, the world began to blur, and then the sound of a swarm of bees sucked through a wind tunnel. He plopped back into his timeline. He chuckled. That crazy old man He quickly went to the bathroom, quickly unzipped, and took his penis out. Instead of the white penis he’d expected without thinking, he produced a black penis. He also realised his hands were black. His screams were pitiful.

~Boris Doyle

 

 © 2023