The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 24, 2017

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While Mateo was slipping time for a year, the girl who had thrown up on him at the hospital managed to track him down. She arrived at his house with an apology casserole. For more than one reason, she was disappointed about not being able to speak with Mateo directly, but Carol managed to comfort her and relieve her of all guilt. For the first year that Mateo skipped, he was officially declared missing. For the following years, his parents had to claim that he was building schools and clinics in developing countries. They had to fudge his tax forms. The authorities were suspicious of this, but eventually let things go. There were witnesses at the hospital, so that helped to close the investigation. Unfortunately, their lie could blow up in their faces at any moment, and he would have no way of being around to help them.

The people who had been with him in the cemetery for his first jump had been the most freaked out about it. He spent his one day in 2017 going around to all of his friends to assuage their anxiety over the matter, proving to them that he was alive and well. Obviously, he had to exaggerate the part about being well. Kyle, the lawyer who had been looking directly at him during the initial jump had ended up in a mental institution. Mateo’s reappearance to him didn’t help anything at first. He became worse, assuming him to be a hallucination sent to torment him. Over time during the visit, however, things were able to get better. He even let Mateo hold him tightly and sing him his favorite classic rock songs. Kyle was kind of a jerk in his old life, and an apparently smarmy defense attorney, but he didn’t deserve this. Afterwards, Mateo took some time alone in the chapel, and prayed for him with his birth mother’s rosary.

He had always believed in God, and possibly even more so since the timeslipping problem started, but he had never prayed before. He didn’t like the idea of asking God for any more than he had already been given in life. But he wasn’t so much praying for God to help. It was more about asking for forgiveness. Even though he was not in control of the timeslips—at least not consciously—he felt responsible for the problems they had caused the people around him. At some point, he might even have to fake his own death. On the other hand, if he keeps going at this rate, he’ll quickly outlive everyone he knows by centuries.

His last stop was at his parents’ neighbor’s house. One of the girls from the cemetery, Frida lived there. She had moved back in with her parents to take care of her ailing mother who passed two years ago. She was now taking care of her father, and he wasn’t looking very good. When she opened the door, Mateo could see the teeneager from the hospital behind her. Evidently, Frida and Leona met in the front yard last year when she came by with the apology casserole. They soon became friends, bonding over having both lost their mothers. Frida was also her mentor, helping with math and college applications.

Frida was in the middle of a conversation and hadn’t seen anything at the cemetery that night, so she wasn’t as traumatized as some of the others. In the following months, she had been there for his parents, providing a shoulder to cry on when she wasn’t busy with her own family issues. She had always been kind and accommodating to others, even as a child. She didn’t let other kids push her around, but she never felt the need to win an argument or prove herself. She and Mateo dated for several weeks in high school but ultimately decided they were better as friends.

He tried to shake hands with Leona, but she seemed to be incredibly shy around him. When she left for the bathroom, Frida informed him that she had developed a crush on him. They talked about him probably a little too much, and the (made up) stories his parents told about the amazingly noble things he was doing for the kids in developing countries was doing nothing to change her feelings. He had a fleeting thought while Frida was explaining the situation. In only a few days from his perspective, Leona would no longer be too young for him. A handful of days after that, she would be too old for him. Not too much later, she would be dead. They would all be dead. Everyone would be dead by the time he had a hankering for Chinese food again.

Mateo shuddered and ran back home. He wept and complained in his parents’ arms until he fell asleep on the couch. It was nearly midnight before he awoke again. He jumped up, worried that they wouldn’t get to see him one last time. But they were sitting across from him in anticipation. “I’m so sorry,” he cried.

“We will be here when you return.” And they were. Exactly there. Midnight struck. Mateo jumped forward in time while looking at his parents. They were sitting in the same places as before, even wearing the same clothes, giving him hope that he hadn’t actually jumped this time. But no. They weren’t in the exact same position as before. And they even looked a little older. “Welcome back,” Carol was finally able to say to her son.

“Bit of a problem,” Randall said. “That girl, Leona saw you through the window last year.”

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Short Story: Hydrosis

Ainsley Rigby lifts her leg to the bench to finish tying her shoe, drips of partly chlorinated water fall from her hair. She hardly had enough time to shower, much less dry it out completely. She has just stepped out of the locker room when she realizes that water was beginning to soak her white tee-shirt. She reaches into her gym bag and covers herself up with a green zipper jacket.

Once outside, she realizes that she needed the jacket anyway. It has gotten much cooler in the evening hours. A strong breeze overcomes her so she rings out her hair in a desperate attempt to stay warm. It doesn’t work. It seems as if it’s getting darker by the second as she tries her best to jog across the parking lot. Strain from the two mile swim is taking hold of her body. She shakes and stops under a streetlight to find a candy bar to quell her diabetic issues. But no candy is found and it reminds her that she gave it to a young boy in the park earlier that day. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have done that. Hopefully his mother taught him better after that.

Giving up and hoping to reach her house in a timely manner, Ainsley steps onto the grass. It must have rained during her workout. More water, still settling on the surface of the ground seeps into her shoes. The combination of the cold and weight makes it feel like icebergs attached to her feet. Another strong breeze comes from the side and a rolled up sock falls out of the tear in her bag. Plans for fixing it have been on the agenda for only a few weeks. She’ll surely get to it tomorrow afternoon. Tonight, however, she needed to get home. An important job interview awaits her in the morning and sleep is a necessity.

Reaching down to pick up the now muddy sock, something catches her eye. It’s an indiscernible figure, coming toward her, still in the parking lot. The darkness prevents her from being able to see detail but judging from the build and the way the figure is waving its arms at her, it is most certainly a man. She’s not sure if she knows the man but since he isn’t trying to call out to her, she assumes he is crazy.

Ainsley stuffs the sock back into the bag and turns to run up the hill. The wind grows stronger and tries to keep her from moving but she is determined. Whoever this man is, he doesn’t look friendly. She rotates her head back every once in a while and sees every time that he is just as determined. Frustratingly, the grass becomes more water-soaked. She slips on blades of grass, rocks, and mud. It’s a struggle just to keep her footing and finally she falls to her face. Because of the incline, it isn’t that far of a fall and doesn’t hurt that much but it causes her to slide down a little and slows her escape.

The man is still chasing her. She stands up and continues, the low blood-sugar worsens. Upon reaching the top of the hill she is able to move faster. She uses this opportunity to search for her cell phone. Her hand scrambles within the bag, always grasping something else; a comb, a washcloth, and something she doesn’t quite recognize by touch. Her goggles slip through the tear but she doesn’t take the time to retrieve it. Any swim gear who falls behind is left behind. She pulls her hand out, thinking she’s found it but it’s just her deodorant.

The waning moon that was giving her partial visibility fades away as clouds move in front. The crack of thunder shocks her. Where was the lightning? Still moving as fast as possible, she comes to a grouping of trees and ducks behind one, hoping that her pursuer didn’t notice. With her back pressed tight up against the bark, Ainsley breathes deep through her nose to calm down. But panic returns as she thinks she hears the pursuer coming up on her. The thumps of her heart fill her ears like drums, causing more panic. All she can do is blend in as best she can and hope her heartbeat doesn’t give her away. Beads of water trickle from her forehead and into her eyes. It stings. Somehow, even with the pool, shower, rain, and cold she’s perspiring.

A few seconds later, the pursuer appears several meters away, scanning the area for her, thoughts of violent rape no doubt fluttering around his brain. A drop of rain lands on her overexposed neck. A split-second of fear leads her to believe that she’s been shot or bitten and she screams, “ouch!” She covers her mouth, disgusted with herself for being so careless. A miracle, the man has not heard. He doesn’t even react. She gives credit to luck, assuming there was another strike of thunder that she either didn’t hear or quickly forgot.

Microstory 30: The Job

I had been looking for a job for months, about to run out of unemployment money, when an interesting ad catches my eye in the newspaper that says only, Cool job. I call the phone number listed. An automated voice directs me to an industrial zone. I wander around for a while before settling on a parking garage. Only a handful of cars are scattered throughout, but none of them appear to be in working order. I do notice a semi truck parked neatly in a corner. My instincts compel me to open the side door to the trailer. It smells awful, but still I feel the need to move on. I walk to the back and through the wall of the garage. Using my phone’s screen as a flashlight, I see many doors, but choose the one that feels right. It’s locked, but I see a glimmer on the ground. It’s the key. It opens up to a room with a flickering fluorescent light. I knock on the door on the other side but no one comes. On a lark, I take out a punch card for a sandwich shop rewards program and swipe it through the card reader. The door opens. The next door has a keypad. I punch in my birthdate followed by my social security number. Next to the fourth door is a screen. What looks to be nothing but a random scribble appears on it. For some reason, I associate the image with my right hand thumb and my left hand ring finger. I place them on the screen and wait for it to complete the scan. The fifth room contains dozens of eye scanners. I let my instincts continue driving me, choosing one that seems random to me. It turns out to be the right one. I lean gently towards the microphone in the sixth room and say my name, followed by the code word Madea. The door opens. I find the secret compartments in the seventh, eighth, and ninth sections; providing my spit, skin scrape, and blood sample respectively. I pull the giant helmet from the ceiling in Section Ten and engage the machine. A woman opens the door and leads me into Section Eleven. “How did it go?”

“It didn’t work,” I reply. “No matter what, we cannot erase my memories completely. I always find my way back to the base.”

Microstory 29: Stash

You struggle up to the door and knock on it faintly, leaving a bloody handprint behind. A man opens it and instinctively pulls you into his house. “I’m sorry,” you say through gasps. I’m empty and need to get my old stash.” He tries to call the police but you stop him. “No cops. Just get me something to stop the bleeding.” He goes to the kitchen and retrieves some hand towels. You press them against your stomach and head for the bedroom. You laugh when he says something about never having found drugs when he first moved in. You gather your strength and kick through the drywall, revealing a black bag. Before you can pick it up, though, unconsciousness overcomes you and you fall to the floor. When you wake up, you find your stomach patched back together. The sewing kit you had left in the wall is sitting on the bed next to you. “Where’s my bag?” you ask. The man returns the bag to you and says that he doesn’t want any trouble. Unfortunately, he has no choice. You pull the gun out and point it at your target. “After I defected, I have no idea why they continued to use a safehouse that I already knew about. But my new employers want you gone.” You squeeze the trigger but nothing happens.

“No,” the man says. “They want you gone.” He lifts the other gun from your stash.

“Why did you sew me back up if you were going to kill me anyway?”

The man walks towards you, revealing a scared and teary-eyed woman standing in the doorway, holding a glass of water. “This isn’t a safehouse anymore. It’s just her house. And I said they want you gone. I never said I was going to kill you.” He leans down until he’s at your level, and shoots the woman in the head. Then he removes your shooting gloves, revealing latex gloves underneath. You can hear police sirens in the distance as the man walks out.

Microstory 28*: (Excerpt from my novel)

*This is an excerpt from my novel, entitled The Last Refuge. Chris and his friends have just met a man named Gavix. They get off on a bit of a tangent once he reveals something special about himself.

---

“You’re immortal.” Chris’ darkened eyes widened.

“That’s why they call me The Only.”

“You're not the only one, though. So is Peter Fireblood.”

“Yes, but he's different,” Gavix agreed, evidently pleased to hear such a thing. “And I'm sure you've noticed that only certain people are even capable of recognizing how long he's been around.”

“What the hell are you two trying to say about Peter Fireblood?” Cody asked in mild anger.

Chris laughed along with Gavix and pointed at Cody as an example. “I've yet to meet anyone else who sees the timeline discrepancies.” Peter Fireblood is a famous musician who appears to have no single birth date, and is not tied down to one time period. When two people who have a sufficiently large enough difference in age discuss him, they will refer to his history with conflicting or paradoxical information. Neither of them will notice the variations, as if they hear what they expect to hear, rather than what the other is actually saying. It’s like he lives in this sliding timescale that necessarily prevents him from aging. As far as Chris has been able to work out, Peter Fireblood has been famous for centuries, and no one seems to notice this about him.

Cody and Cordelia shook off the last moments of the conversation. Anyone who Chris tries to explain this to will quickly forget what he said and go back to the issue at hand. “Do you know our situation?” Cody asked.

“No idea,” Gavix said plainly. “You’ll have to get me up to speed. I only arrived a couple days ago. I haven’t been to the islands since they fell asleep.”

“Wow,” admired Cody. “You’ve been walking around out there for the last thousand years.”

He laughed at this. “Yeah. One thousand years. Long time.” There was a hint of sarcasm in what he said.

Microstory 27: One Table

Ben and Mark walked into the restaurant around the same time. They were both exhausted from working a few hours of overtime, neither of them wanted to have to go somewhere else, and the place was packed. The host smiled at them and asked if they needed a table for two. When Mark told him that they weren’t together, the host informed them that it would be a forty-five minute wait for one of them. That was too much, but it was a busy night. If they wanted to avoid fast food or leftovers, it would be the same story anywhere. Ben offered to play rock-paper-scissors for it, but the waitress jumped in and suggested that they just sit together. After a few awkward half-exchanges, they both finally agreed to the arrangement. The two sat at their one table quietly while looking over the menus, and the thermostat must have been turned up too high. After ordering, Mark sighed and announced that the whole dinner would be uncomfortable unless they found something they had in common. So, they basically turned the night into a date; asking each other about their work, hobbies, and friends. Two hours in, the waitress walked over to note that several tables had opened up. Ben and Mark made more half-exchanges, making up nonsense about the other tables being too far from the window, and not wanting to deal with moving their plates. After dinner, they went for a walk by the river in the freezing cold, each one trying to one-up the other with tales of their crazy ex-girlfriends. Three years later, Ben and Mark were married.

Microstory 26: What Does the Fox Want?

While Linda Carnegie was in the middle of setting the table, she looked up and saw a fox staring at her from outside her door. He watched her intently, like he was waiting for an answer to a question asked long ago. She was entranced by him. The patio outside of her apartment was closed off by a fence and thick shrubs, so he would have needed to make a concerted effort to get through it. He couldn’t have just been passing by. He moved his head to one side, which she interpreted to be an invitation. She had no choice but to accept this invitation. It was more of an order, and less of a request. Still in her slippers, she opened the glass door and got down on her hands and knees to crawl through the brush. One of her neighbors was outside waiting, not for Linda, but for the magnificent creature who had already invited him out. The fox started running away, but kept one eye on the two of them, slowing down as needed. The more she followed it, the more urgency she felt. They looked to the right and saw a few of their other neighbors, running after a squirrel. Up ahead, they were closing in on an elderly couple who were following a rabbit that was hopping every once in a while, keeping its dependents moving as fast as they could. As they continued the pursuit, they could see more people, in groups of at least two, each chasing their own animal. The ground shook and they ran faster, until they felt safe enough. Linda turned back and watched as a fiery mid-sized aircraft fell from the sky, and demolished the apartment complex.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 23, 2016

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The time jump caused Mateo Matic to wake up. He heard footsteps running up the stairs. His father, Randall burst into the room. “Oh, thank God you’re back.”

“Has it been another year?”

His mother, Carol appeared in the doorway. “It has. This is not going to stop on its own. We already have an appointment set up for you. I don’t want to spend what little time we may have together at the hospital, but—”

“I know it has to be done,” Mateo interrupted. “We’ll have all the time in the world if we can figure out how to stop it.”

The appointment wasn’t until eleven in the morning. So after eating fourth meal, Mateo went up to the attic to look through some of the family belongings passed down through generations. He sat up there for hours, combing through everything he could find that had anything to do with his biological family tree. Most of the journal entries were mundane, and it wasn’t like his family kept records of absolutely everything they did. He had just gotten to a journal written in the mid-19th century by his great great great great grandmother when Carol called him down for the appointment. He stalled her, needing to learn more. The journal talked about when she first met her husband. He had appeared out of nowhere one day, dressed in outdated attire. Carol called him again, and he was forced to put the journal away for another time; perhaps for an entire year.

He spent the rest of the day undergoing medical tests. They drew blood, put him in machines, and asked him a lot of questions. Of course, he couldn’t reveal to them why these tests were so desperately needed. In the end, there was no conclusion. None of the preliminary results showed anything abnormal. It would be a couple weeks before they had all the information, which meant that his parents wouldn’t be able to discuss it with him for a year.

He was sitting in the waiting room for urgent care while his parents confided in a family friend who was a nurse in that department. A teenager came in with her father. He set her down in a chair across from Mateo. “Sit here while I check you in. Maybe you won’t drink after tonight.” The girl looked completely miserable. She was holding a plastic grocery sack, clearly filled with vomit. She was dry heaving and moving her head up and down, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t exist. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were teared up, probably from the strain.

“First time?” Mateo asked.

She massaged her forehead. “No, but he was right. It’s probably my last. I think a guy put something—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Vomit rolled out of her mouth and into the bag. On the other side of the room, a guy vomited into his own bucket, as if it were a response to her. Illness was trending. As the girl tried to cough up more, the bag slipped from her grip and fell to the floor, spilling its contents. She instinctively pulled her head away from it. “Oh my God!” Before she could do anything else, though, more came up suddenly, much of it landing in Mateo’s lap. She just stared at him in horror, having no idea what she could say to him. After several days, and many years, it would turn out to be their meet-cute.

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