Time Trunk (Working Trademark)
by Brickosaur

“YES! Eureka! I’ve done it!” I pulled out the freshly-bitten-but-not-anymore apple out of my Time Trunk Tee-Em, searching for other phrases garage scientists say when they’ve made history. “Uh… I’m gonna be rich!”

“Yeah, yeah, except this time you have literally made history.” I whirled around to see a stranger leaning on a crumpled refrigerator box.

Me from the future—it had to be!

“Look,” they continued, “we can do the Q-and-A session on the way, but right now we gotta go. Hop in, and bring the microwave.”

I sidled in, disappointed future-me’s fridge box was so squishy inside. We were practically belly-to-belly, and I had to hold my prized creation overhead.

Somehow, this machine that was clearly just a box rumbled to life. There was the weirdheck feeling of moving in every direction at once, and the smell of—coffee?

“You weren’t having a stroke,” my other self commented. “That’s toast. Yeah, turns out instant coffee is the only common product that’ll utilize temporotrons without losing stability.” They smirked. “You are now free to move about the cabin. And ask questions.”

Where to even begin?

“Uh. Where are we going?”

“Boring but fair. I’m taking you to the Grand Induction of Dimension Traversers Everywhen.” A genuine smile crossed their face. “You did it, man. You invented time travel.”

I brightened. “So the Time Trunk really works!? I really am gonna be rich!”

“Uhh, no. Sorry,” said future-me, ;;convincingly;;. “No marketing this stuff. Even coffee dude is on thin ice, and he doesn’t even KNOW. Also, never say ‘time trunk’ again, please.”

Well that sucked. Still, TIME TRAVEL! Worth it!

But wait, if there was a whole Grand Insomethingsomething, that meant there were other people who must know about time travel.

Just as the rumbling stopped, I asked, “How many people are gonna be here? And what—?” I didn’t even know how to finish that.

My companion threw open the flap and sprinted outside. “No time!” they called. “We have to get to the induction! I’ll explain in the next installment!”

Next…? I took off after them.

“The what?”

Husk
By Derek McEldowney (Deviacon)

James buried himself in as many covers and blankets as he could find. Sporadic thoughts strung from one to the next, lulling him into a slow, dim sleep.

“I just don’t want to exist anymore…”

“Then perhaps I could make that happen.” The darkness answered, slithering around James’ neck.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s for the best. After all no one believed in you.”

“Some people did…”

“Not really. Sure, they said they did. But did anyone ever really go the extra mile to support you? Was there ever anyone standing by your side when you needed it? No. No one.”

“I’m not going to let that stop me.” James muttered.

“Oh?” The darkness mocked.

“I’ll keep going day by day… until I can make a difference in my own life.” Defiance rose inside him. “To hell with what people think! I don’t care how long it takes. If something stands in my way, I’ll tear right through it!”

“Ah good, so there is some fight left in you then,” The darkness seethed and retracted.

It was hot and sweaty and the blankets were thick and pliable. James clawed and scraped, unable to find an edge until he started tearing away at the soft barrier. Slowly he scratched and clawed until he could tear his way out of the suffocating prison, cleaving away hunks until he could finally stretch and grasp and reach his way out.

After James had finally wretched himself free, what he thought was sweat, was actually blood. And what he had clawed his way out of was the bloody husk of his own body, still curled up and waiting for nothingness.

James would not be like that pathetic wretch. He would not wait around to die. He went to the mirror. He was still himself, his features were all the same as they had been. But he couldn’t say he looked the same. There was something different he couldn’t quite place. James knelt down and washed the blood from his face and greeted his familiar reflection with a smile.

“Time to make some changes.”

A Destiny of Darkness
By TheAssassin

Across the shadowed veil, swirling in a tempest of tendrils burned a kingdom set ablaze. Children crying, sons screaming, and daughters dying, all reduced to cinder. Atop the ashen mound of what once was, stood a maddened emperor, smiling. This destruction was his beauty, a glorious flame.

Then, a dark wave washed away the fires, leaving behind the black veil a solitary man. His aged face bore the scars of battles long ago, yet his eyes watered with sorrow still fresh. Before him stretched a field of endless graves. His weeping drowned all things, for this emperor reigned no longer; His grief claimed him as slave.

The veil dissipated into dark mist and the horrified emperor froze. This was the man he would become? Two destinies foreseen; one of mad destruction and the other of crippling woe. His fate, it seemed, was destroyer or destroyed.

Surely the prophet’s veil had been wrong! Surely something was amiss…

Surely….

No.

The prophecies faltered not; their visions came true. The emperor knelt alone in his quiet chamber. None would know what he saw, and would he tell them? Certainly, to speak of their doom would only cause prolonged pain. Let it be instant so they may at least enjoy their final moments.

He watched despairingly as the remaining mist of the veil danced on the floor.

Destiny. Most men live believing their choices are of their own free will; They believe in lies. The free-will of man was slain long ago with the passing of the Elder. The fate of man is sealed alongside him in torment everlasting.

Yet, the Elder is to return. He is said to hear the cries of man and grace them again. Where then is he? Still, locked away? Chained to his agony as man is chained to fate? What is a god bound? He is nothing, as man is nothing.

The emperor sighed and stalked away. Fate, it seemed, desired his defeat.

Yet in the dark chamber, the misty veil swirled still, and in its infinite depths stood an emperor triumphant, for fate itself that day changed.

One Second A Child The Next A Killer
By The Wandering Mind (Cansas)

“WOULD THE THREE OF YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN!”

Uncle Mor and the twins fell silent.

“Thank you,” I huffed. “It will be tight, but I think I can squeeze through the vent.”

Chance scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous, kid. You weren’t even supposed to be on this mission.”

Fawn said coolly, “If Crimson wants to risk her life to save our idiot brothers, I say let her. Better her guts on the wall than mine.”

I started to regret sneaking along.

Uncle Mor knelt in front of me. “Don’t let them get to you. Saber and Blaze are idiots but they’re our idiots. Family is the only thing we’ve got. So if you think you can shimmy through that vent, then by god girl, do it.”

“I can, Uncle Mor.”

“Good girl. Can you use a gun?” he asked holding out a small handgun.

“Of course, you taught me yourself.”

Uncle Mor smiled and put the gun in my hand. “I meant, are you ready to pull the trigger?”

A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it down and replied as confidently as I could, “I am, Uncle Mor.”

It was indeed a tight squeeze but I made it through and dropped in the middle of the prison control room. Three guards came at me, I dodged one hitting his head with the handgun. I kicked the next guard’s knee and winced as it cracked. The third guard reached for his gun but I shot his thigh first.

“Don’t move!” I commanded.

I walked to the control panel keeping my eye on the guards, and opened the door.

Uncle Mor came in with Chance and Fawn bickering quietly behind him.

“Good work, Crimson,” Uncle Mor said looking at the three guards. “Kill them.”

“Wha-what?” I stammered.

“You said you were ready, Now kill them.” Uncle Mor repeated.

The gun shook in my hands. I took a breath, then nodded.

BANG.
BANG.
BANG.

The gun fell to the ground as my knees gave way.

I felt Uncle Mor’s hand on my shoulder.

“Say hello to the future you, Crimson.”

A Reminder
by Matthew (Handsome Johanson)

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

click

“Uuggh. Why is my alarm going off?” Jenny lazily rises from her bed and ambles to her phone. She opens it.

“Spotted another one. Wilson’s St., hairy, fast. Check your notes.”

She stares at her phone, too tired to understand the ramifications. ‘I didn’t set this alarm… did I?’ she thought. ‘Ugh, I’ll let future me handle this.’ She sets her phone down and jumps back into bed.

Three hours later, the sun breaks the horizon and light once again floods the room. Reluctantly, Jenny wakes up, more groggy than usual. Stammering to her feet, she heads back to her phone.

As she scrolls through it, checking the time and her favorite social media platforms, she suddenly remembers the alarm from earlier. She opens the message again. ‘Check your notes?’ she thought. ‘Might as well. Even if it is a sick prank.’

She navigates to the Note app and opens it. As it opens, she sees the alarm from last night in note form. But it isn’t alone. There are several more alarms, all at odd times, with similarly strange messages.

“Spotted a tall one, Avory St. thin legs.”

“Spotted a big hairy one, St. George’s Rd. sharp claws.”

“Spotted a small one. Wilson’s St. a bit of an attitude.”

Finally, at the end of a string of notes, there is one with a file attached. It reads:

“Met a friendly one. Duck Blvd. Finally got a picture!!!”

She hesitates. What could these horrible creatures be? Why did she forget about seeing them? Finally, her curiosity takes over and she clicks on the file.

Loading…

‘Oh it’s… A PICTURE OF A DOG?’

She puts her phone down, grabs her face, and lightly chastises herself for being so jumpy. Finally, she collects herself and re-examines the image.

‘Yup it’s just a normal dog.’ she thinks to herself. ‘Wait, when did I post this note?’ She checks the date.

‘Two years ago?!?’ She racks her brain until it clicks.

“Oh yeah!” she says out loud. “I was a mailman.”

‘I kinda miss these guys.’

Nestled in the Walls
By Giovanna J. Fuller

The sledge hammer smashed the drywall separating the kitchen from the dining room in the old, Victorian, suburban home. Three more hard swings and the young man could see to the other side where his wife stood smiling. He grinned. The house was a fixer upper when they bought it, but around two grand and one baby later it was beginning to feel like home.

“Looking great, honey!” she said, bouncing the baby on her hip.

He waved and went to knock down more of the wall. However, something shiny caught his eye. It was placed in the space between the two sides of drywall. He put the hammer down and stuck his gloved hand in the dark space.

“What is it?” his wife asked.

“Some sort of box.”

They brought the newfound object to the kitchen table and opened it. The lock was so old and rusted, it broke open. Inside they found a small envelope.

To the new owners of this home,
We were the Hausenbergs.
Jonathan
Mary
Peter (14)
Susan (8)
Oliver (6)
We came here in 1885 through Ellis Island from Prussia.
Congratulations. We hope you fill these halls with laughter and love just as we have. Remember that nothing worth having is obtained easily. Hard work yields the sweetest fruit. Stay together and weather life’s storms as a team and you’ll do well.
God bless.

Tucked inside the envelope was a black and white photograph with the year 1887 written on the back. There was a worn, leather bound Bible with several passages carefully underlined and notes in the margins. There was a square of yellowed linen embroidered with bluebirds and white flowers. In the corner was a pocket knife, perfectly preserved. A collection of paper dolls with an impressive amount of paper dresses. And, all lined up in a row, were ten tin soldiers painted with bright, blue uniforms.

The man looked to his wife. She looked at him. The baby laughed.

The Future is Set in Stone
By MysteryElement

This is truly a momentous occasion! My fingertips, now having gone numb from so much writing, still eagerly mark every detail as it happens. The great stone trolls gather around the mother, so close to giving birth. Troll births only happen once every few centuries. I am lucky, beyond lucky, to have visited at this time.

Perhaps I should not use the term ‘mother.’ After all, trolls produce a-sexually, but using a word like ‘host’ or ‘carrier’ feels inadequate for a species that feels and knows so much. They carry such a vast empathy it is hard to not use an endearing term for this occasion. If my superiors insist, I shall have to adjust the title before publication, though it would pain me to do so.

There does not appear to be much pain for the mother, unlike human birth, but it does appear incredibly difficult. The sound of cracking stone echoing off of the cavern walls hurts my ears as the infant finally comes forth, walking out of the mother’s stone body rather than being birthed from within, leaving behind a small hollow resembling its new shape.

“T’uk chrat irrr?” What is your name? The trolls all chant in ceremony. Though trolls are born with all of the memories and skills of their mother, they are given their own identity at birth. Their choices and the knowledge they obtain shall differentiate them from their siblings, if any.

“Chocuk, chrat ire” My name is Chocuk. The young troll replies.

One by one, Chocuk approaches everyone in the circle, each troll in turn placing one hand on their chest and the other on Chocuk’s shoulder as they repeat his name. I also do so, since I am here to witness. He completes the circuit around the room and turns to his mother, who places both of their hands on the young troll’s shoulders and completes the ceremony.

“Kivaque, Chocuk. Vra ke t’ire.” Greetings, Chocuk. The ‘me’ that is yet to be.

Not Again
By JosieDearly

Owwwww.

Julien groaned as he lifted himself up, cradling his throbbing head and shielding his eyes against the harsh early sunlight. He partied too hard again, didn’t he? Maybe he shouldn’t do that again…. Then again, he’s had several other hangovers, and thought the same thing every time, but did he listen during those times? Nope.

After furiously wiping his eyes, a cup of coffee was offered to him, and he took it without thinking, gulping it down gratefully.

“How is your head feeling, Nira?” a female voice asked. He almost replied, when his still groggy brain realized some things:

His name is not Nira.

He didn’t remember returning to his apartment.

And, he lived alone. So who’s the woman sitting next to him?

He blinked at her for a long time, mainly because the sun was still in his eyes. He could see long dark hair and bright blue eyes, but not much else with the glare.

“Who’re you?” he croaked out, sipping at his coffee expectantly. The woman seemed taken aback, before chuckling.

“I figured this would happen,” she said, her voice quiet as she turned away to rummage through her purse, “you—ah, well, you warned me about this before.”

“Did I? I don’t remember meeting you,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Then again, I don’t remember anything from last night.”

“Don’t worry, you prepared for this, um… here.”

She pulled out an envelope with a black wax seal, and held it out to him. Curious, Julien took it, opening it and unfolding the letter with his free hand while he took another sip.

“Hello, Future Me.

“If you are reading this, it means I got incarnated, again. Well, no matter the circumstances, I shall explain the situation in this letter.

“To start with: you are me. You are a god. And your name is Nyraniel.”

He nearly spit out his coffee.

Future Enstoned
By RVMPLSTLSKN (a story from Hizkanamun’s Flesh)

(Repost)

East of Sirodor is the greatest wonder of the world: an unnatural Tree whose limbs are held together by fungi and mass calcification.

Hanitl was phthisic. She was not one of those souls damned to hear the catarrhal snores and other rhystic life-sounds of the diseased; they were aphthisic. No, her life had purpose, a destiny.

Listen, these are the lies we tell ourselves.

Her phthisis started early. She couldn’t remember life before her muscles itched with the onset.

The Tree (it’s said) chooses folk like a god on its throne and graces them with a piece of itself. In the far west, this disease is called the Melting; here, it’s simply an unspoken part of life. Its mark grows within them, silent and cancerous, before calling.

Those chosen age before their time. They grow into skeletal beings, knobby and unique. When the Tree calls a phthisic, that ugly form will walk, naked and in agony, to the sacred valley. There, the phthisic dies and becomes part of that tree.

Aphthisics are given to the birds and they are forgotten. Only the phthisics matter for only they have a memorial; only they live forever and give voice to the god-Tree.

She stands now in the sacred valley, under that human tree, but it’s not her turn. Not yet. She comes here to plan, to pick her place and face her future. The opaline sunset of early dusk calls her home, but she feels no loyalty to that village. Hanitl, who fancies herself chosen and not cursed, longs to face her future.

She isn’t ready and her young mind rages against that knowledge, even as her young body rages against the disease that wracks it.

Soon, her body will harden and she’ll take that slow arthritic walk and join her enfossiled forebears. When her knuckles are no longer uniform, perhaps. Maybe she’ll have horny growths on her occipital ridge or visible spurs on her ribs, shins or arms.

She laughs. Eager. She will face her destiny and be part of that piece of humanity that is beautiful. Not today, but soon.

My Son
By Twangyflame0

Kurotori held his newborn child in his arms. It had only been a few months, but he was still so elated to see the child. It was so soft and fragile. He was so afraid he might drop it, strangely. It was such a strange feeling. This child was his flesh and blood. No… it was him.

“Did you ever hold me like this, mother? Father?”

The baby mumbled, completely ignorant and unknowing of the world around it. His feeble hands reached out at nothing.

He was so fragile…

He could simply be dropped and…

Kurotori’s work phone rang, much to his annoyance. He answered it quickly. “This better be important or else I’m going to dock your salary.”

“Sir, uh, the woman you sent away a couple of days ago.”

“Yes? What about her?”

“She’s, huh, waiting outside your office.”

He felt his eye twitch. He had originally chosen her for her brazenness, thinking the quality attractive. Now he had realized that was a mistake. “Let her in.”

He soon heard the clacking of heels get closer to his door. The doors slammed open, as the woman he thought he had already paid off came in.

Kurotori looked down at her, barely turning to face her. “What more do you want, woman?”

“I would think that would be obvious.” She took that tone he had always hated about her.

“I already paid your hospital bills and gave you enough money to compensate for your time.”

“I want to see him.”

The twitch in his eye got greater as he heard her insufferable words.

“I want to see my son.”

Kurotori couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He walked over to a crib beside his desk and placed his child down. He then turned on the woman, slowly walking towards her,

“He isn’t your child. You won’t be raising him. You aren’t a Nagotomi. You are simply someone I thought worthy of completing an important task. And now you have.”

He got face-to-face with her, “So I suggest you face the consequences of your actions. Now, leave my son alone.”

Terrifying future
By Larissa (Lari B. Haven)

Eddie walked alone through the aisles, bored and frustrated since Killian was still haggling with the old shopkeeper. He let his mind drift, gazing at everything and nothing in particular. The store was chock-full with weird things, but that was the fun of going to such a strange antiquary.

Suddenly his eyes latched on something sparkling. In the back of the store, distant from anybody else, laid a half-covered mirror.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A young clerk girl startled the boy, coming from nowhere. “It’s super old. It’s said to project your future-self in the reflection.”

She gestured with her head, and he raised the cloth covering it.The boy looked confused about his own reflection.

For a moment he saw nothing, but slowly the image morphed into a taller and buffer version of himself. At first, it highly amused him. He never considered that his petite frame could ever gain any muscles or even grow a beard. But the reflection on the mirror looked like someone he always wanted to be.

He turned back to the clerk, but she wasn’t even there. Was he imagining it all?

Locking his eyes with the mirror, the image changed again. And only a sunken feeling in his stomach remained. Like his body was going numb from what he was seeing.

Stretched infinitely out of the shop’s ceiling, crushing everything under, was himself. He didn’t have limbs anymore; they were all tentacles protruding from his torso. He could see in all directions like he had a thousand eyes in his face. And a disorienting demonic chanting was vibrating in his ears.

Overwhelmed with the maddening vision, he thought he would disappear.

“Eddie!” Killian laid a hand on his shoulders, somehow shaking him back to his senses, and back to reality.

The boy looked at Killian, and just from a glance, he realized Eddie had seen something he was too scared to tell.

Killian hugged him and pecked in his cheek. “It’s okay, babe, you’re safe now!”

Eddie kept looking at the mirror as they headed out. That thing… It couldn’t be him… Right?

A Kind Voice
By Calliope Rannis

In the moonlit morning, Nyssa sat on her bed, staring at the back of the mirror with vision still blurry from tears. (Just look at yourself, you coward,) she thought. She blinked rapidly, shook her head, and forced herself over to the mirror, making a pained noise as she turned it to face her.

She still wasn’t used to how her body had been changed by the magic wriggling through her veins. Her hair was bleached white, the curls forever unravelled into dry, frizzy strands. Her skin likewise was greyer and drier, and her eyes had been stained with a vivid blue that glowed faintly within her irises. (Fuck, I look awful.)

None of this was as horrible as what she had seen in her nightmare, of course. But that provided no comfort. (Is THAT what I’m going to become? Just a walking crystallised corpse standing on a mountain of broken bodies?) Her lip trembled. (I…can’t. I can’t do that to myself. I can’t let that be my fate. I-)

A voice, deep within her, replied: I’m scared. But it’s okay to be scared. Perfectly natural, in fact.

(Sure. For a pathetic welp like me, it is.)

Bravery is not an absence of fear. It is being able to act in spite of that fear. And I am brave.

(NO. I’m not, I’m not, I’m n-)

I am brave, strong, and smart. I designed a machine that could give me power that I was never destined to have, and it worked! They all thought I was wrong, a failure, and it WORKED.

(And it KILLED EVERYONE ELSE WHEN IT DID. That’s all my work has EVER done, it just hurts-)

What’s done is done. The past is past. I cannot change it, or reverse my mistakes. But I can change the future. I can make things so much better. I can help so many people…

(I…can’t-)

I can. I can do this. I can ascend. I can throw the gods of storm and death from their thrones.

I will be a better god than they could EVER be.

Get Advice from your Future Self, Paradox-Free!
by Carrie (Glaceon373)

I stepped into the Communication Chamber and flinched as the door sealed behind me. Across from me, the portal turned on, and a young woman—20-year-old me—stepped through.

“Hello?” I murmured.

“Hey!” Her face lit up. “Oh wow, it’s so weird being back! I remember having this conversation with you, er, me, and I knew it was coming, but this is…surreal.” She adjusted her beanie. “Smart call on the no-paradoxes thing. Anyways, how’d this conversation start again?”

I stared at her, jaw wide. “Well, uh, it’s the start of sophomore year, and—”

“Oh right! Hey,” she placed her hands on my shoulders, “ditch your current friends. They aren’t good for you. Just skip their next social thingy, the girl with weird eyebrows’ll have a fit, then bam! You’re free.”

“R—really?”

“Yes! And then you go make new friends, and you’ll meet the cutest girl—oh yeah, biromantic demisexual, you’re welcome—and you may not like her at first but she’s great and awesome and perfect and…you’re gonna love her.”

“This, this is a lot…” I felt a smile spread across my face. Answers. This was so worth three months’ of allowance.

My future self smiled back. “And one more thing: these next few years aren’t going to be easy. Heck, I know you’re still gonna go to that, was it a picnic?”

“Birthday party.”

“Right, you already bought a present. Well, there will be bad spots. But you WILL get through them, okay? Heck, I’m living proof of that. You got this. Chill?”

“Uh, thanks so much, I—”

“Oh yeah, you start saying ‘chill’ unironically around the start of senior year. Anyways, I’ve got a date to plan for tomorrow, and I’m running out of time here. Any last thoughts?”

“I…thank you so much.”

“No problem!” She smiled. “Oh! Five years from now, October 19, 2:33 PM. Put it on the digital calendar thingy. See you soon!” Her face disappeared into the light.

The door reopened behind me. I was already saving the time on the calendar.

I was certainly going to be an interesting person in the future.