A Carolina Millennial In A Prehistoric Tribe, Chapter Fourteen, pt 2

Part one linked on the side if YWS does it's job >>>  https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=15...

Thirty-three years, eleven months, and two days before

It was a summer afternoon in the Tennessee mountains. It was outside, blessed outside. The summer sun beat against a sparkling river that weaved through tree-covered mountains. The air smelled of honeysuckle and sunscreen. At one bend of the river, a group of children and young adults rowed around the slow-moving water. Their small canoes were puttering around next to a little shaded clearing, occupied by a boathouse and a dock. Some children and adults were on the dock, helping load more of the little boats into the water. On the side of the canoes, 'Camp Peter' was written in blocky letters.

Sitting on the edge of the dock, legs in the water, sat a man in his late twenties. He had thick eyebrows and a clean-shaven face, though, by the number of cuts on his chin, this was evidently a difficult process. He was well tanned and had bright eyes. But he was struggling to get a lifejacket on.

From a canoe, a young woman was looking at him. The Strawberry Blonde woman was smiling at him in a way many Twenty-eight-year-old men hoped to be smiled at. She was short, had a cute freckle-splattered face, and seemed a little younger than him.

She rowed over. "Never used a lifejacket?" She asked, her voice tinged with southern American twang.

The man looked up in confusion. As he caught the smile, he returned it, "No… I can swim… I see no reason…" He responded in a thick European accent. He paused, continued in a non-English language, but then faltered, laughed, and shrugged.

She laughed, "What language is that? I don't recognize it."

He paused, squinted, and then spoke "Dutch."

"You're Dutch?"

The man nodded, "Do you have a name, my Dutch friend who can swim?"

The man smiled, and the wrinkles around his eyes crinkled, "Paul," He paused in thought, "Paul Meyers." He said

"Well, Paul Meyers, my name's Laurel Delbridge. Let me help you with that lifejacket."

Thirty-one years, nine months, and twelve days before

“How do you like the name, Matthew?” Paul asked Laurel. His accent was mostly gone, and she looked ready to pop. They were sitting on a porch, watching fireflies buzz in a field as the sunset.

“It’s good, traditional, my second favorite book of the bible. Why?”

“My best friend back in Europe’s name was Matt.”

“Was?”

Paul swallowed some emotion, “He died young, much too young.”

“Matt, Matthew, Matthew Meyers.” Laurel repeated, “It’s a nice aliteracy, great name. Let’s go with it.”

Twenty-eight years, four months, and six days before

Paul chased a toddler up a church aisle. "I got you!" He said, lifting the toddler off his feet and lifting him into the air, "The hunters caught you, Matt!" He said, blowing onto Matt's little belly.

Twenty years, eight months, and sixteen days before

That little toddler was just beginning to enter adolescence. He was sitting on a pew, back straight. His hair was gelled over to a completely flat wave. His little suit, though too small for him, was impeccable. He was watching Paul give a sermon with utter focus and pride in his eyes. He was like a dog watching his master at work, not a shred of boredom or distraction.

Eighteen years, seven months, and nineteen days before

The boy grew, and his suit grew with him, changing color and wrinkling. He was slumped over, head on the pew in front of him. Matt was reading from a book that rested on his leg. Laurel Meyers managed to wrangle a small girl into her place, and as soon as she did, she lightly tapped Matt's back.

Seventeen years, eleven months, and nine days before

Matt was sitting in a living room loveseat. Laurel and Paul were sitting on the couch across from him. Matt looked like he was fifteen, maybe sixteen. "Mathew, if you want to be a Preacher, I think this summer Camp Peter is a great option. It's where me and your mom met. Adam went there and loved it. The survival skills are fun, and the bible study would be helpful for a preacher."

Matt shook his head, "I don't want to be a preacher anymore."

Paul looked surprised, "Okay, what were you thinking instead?"

Matt smiled, "I want to be a doctor."

Paul laughed, "That's good. Being a doctor of the body does pay much better than being a doctor to the soul. Does mom's career seem more interesting to you then?"

Matt nodded, "I've been reading a lot of her books from nurse school."

"Why not still go to the summer camp, Matt? You could make some good friends, and lots of good skills are taught there, your dad taught survival skills, and I taught CPR." Laurel said.

Matt shrugged, "I dunno, it just seems boring. I'd rather read more."

"There's reading there. Group bible study is real fun." Paul continued, "It's always useful to have a knowledge of religion, as well as science."

"The bible's boring, though."

Paul laughed, "Not when you read it right, you just need to put in the effort."

"It's outdated, though," Matt responded. Something shifted on Paul's face as he seemed to realize what he was dealing with. Then, tall and muscular Adam burst in through a door, holding an envelope above his head. "I did it. I've been accepted into Duke!" The image faded as everyone began to celebrate Adams' acceptance.

Fourteen years, three months, and eighteen days before

Now, Matt was sitting at a desk reading a similar letter. Matt looked older now, maybe 18 or 19, and was wiping tears off his face. His acceptance had seemed inevitable. Matt had been at the top of all of his classes, but no, Duke didn't take him. He crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash. Matt looked over at his shelf of books on biology. "A waste," He mouthed angrily. He got up, grabbed a little trophy. He'd got it in a science quiz context. He'd won state. He took it and threw it against the ground. It cracked, the base popping off the top.

"What was that? You okay, Matt?" Laurel's voice called from downstairs. Matt cleared his throat, "Yeah, everything's great, Mom!" He yelled down, his voice now stable, "Just dropped something."

"No book's in church," she mouthed a hint of anger.

"But mom, studying," Matt whispered, pointing at the cover of the book. Molecular control of blood cells. A captivating read.

She rapped him on the skull, "Not on the sabbath." There was a hint of loving exasperation, as well as comic effect. Matt closed the book and slumped back, staring bored up at his Father, preaching about something or other. 

Thirteen years, eleven months, twenty-three days before

The dorm room was messy and smelled like BO, pizza, and carpet fungus. Matt had grown a mustache and put on some weight. He was at a desk, pouring over a computer. Behind him, laying on a bunk bed, was a young man made of skin and bone but a face that would have fit on a twelve-year-old with a layer of baby fat. He was reading a Mathematics book he was holding above his head. A young Charlie.

"How's the homework going?" Charlie asked.

"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm not doing that. I'm writing something."

"What are you writing?" Charlie asked, swinging down from the bunk bed.

"It's a book, a memoir, about how the observer effect extends out to more than just quantum physics and can help us make decisions in life. Stuff day to day life, business, and even politics." Matt recited from memory. He'd worked out that pitch in the shower a couple of times

"Hmm, interesting. I wouldn't mind reading it." Charlie said and then paused, "Once we actually finish our thesis!" He said, hitting Matt on the head with the math book in his name, "We don't have time to be writing novels."

"It's not a novel, and say that when I make a million dollars off of this book. I've already got an agent. She loves it."

"Well, you might need the money with your four doctorates of student loans, but I'll stick to graduation from college."

"I've only got one bachelor's degree besides this."

"But also took three years in premed before dropping out."

"Everyone has dropped out of premed a couple times," Matt said, closing the laptop.

"But not everyone then went and got a bachelor's in history for no reason."

"Okay, I get it. I'm more educated than you and much smarter. Now, what's this dum thesis we're working on?"

"Naked singularities."

"Scandalous."

"No, possibly world-changing."

And Charlie didn't know how right he was

One year and twenty-four days before

Matthew was sitting at a table in a conference room, wearing nice jeans with a blazer over a t-shirt. Around him were two signs and stacks of books. There was also a table selling t-shirts, coffee mugs, and keychains. All of them had the cover of his book on them. The cover was white, and sitting on this white was a line of tools. Starting at herbs, to a primitive bone saw, to a set of plague doctor implements, to a modern stethoscope, and then ending on a single pill.

The book was about the history of medical practices and how they related to religion, culture, and the human experience. There was a long line to his table, each person coming with their own book. They'd come to Matt he'd sign the book, have a charming little interaction with them, say goodbye, and then restart with the next person.

An older man mentioned how everyone in his medical clinic loved Matt's book and then stepped away. Standing behind him was a tall woman around Matt's age. She was quite pretty, with smooth skin, striking features, and sparkling eyes.

Matt looked at her for a moment, "Jenna?"

"Hi, Matt!" The woman said, waving excitedly.

"Holy crap, you didn't go far from Pine Lake."

"Yeah. Has this ever happened before?"

"You mean me seeing someone from my old high school at a book signing? It has not."

"Well, it was weirder for me. I read a book, loved it, and then realized it was written by a guy I knew in high school."

The chatter continued. They both seemed nervous, Matt signed the book, and just as she was leaving, he spoke up.

"Hey Jenna, we should get lunch sometime if you live in the area."

"I'd love that!" Jenna said, positively glowing. She gave him her phone number and then left.

Zero years, Zero months, Twenty-One days before

The image shifted, and Matt was sleeping in a messy room filled with trash, clothes, and dirty dishes. He had gained a bit of weight, looked oily, and smelled pretty bad too.

Then, the phone next to his bed vibrated and began to radiate a loud ringtone. Matt shot up and grabbed the phone much faster than you’d expect a man to in his state.

He answered.

Zero years, Zero Months, Nineteen day before

Matt was shaking hands with a well-dressed man. They were both standing in the beautiful front yard of a chateau.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mathew.”

Matthew stared at the man in shocked awe. “It’s great to meet you too, doctor Scizin.” He sputtered out. “Previously had my job?”

“Yes, I used to hold the position of Seer,” The doctor winked. Matthew didn’t notice it, but the man, though well dressed and very put together, was breaking at the seams, his eyes were bloodshot, and his breathing was irregular and struggling, “But I’m giving up the job to do some humanitarian work. It’s an amazing job, though, just not my type of thing.”

Matt laughed, “Seer?”

“Closer to the truth than you’d think,” A large muscular man said.

Robert Skizan smiled, “you’ll catch up soon, but I must be going. I have a plane to catch. Good meeting you, Mathew, and I think we’ll have a video Conference later for me to tell you about the job.”

Matthew nodded, still in a state of shock. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“Sounds great, and if you see anything interesting or confusing during the job, I’m just a phone call away.” He handed me a business card.

“Confusing?” Matthew asked as he turned as if his brain was just beginning to catch up.

“You’ll know what I mean when you see it,” Robert said, turning back and winking. He stepped out of the gate, leaving Matt holding his business card in awe. 

Zero Years, two minutes, forty-five seconds before

Mathew was in a blue minivan. He was on the new Freeway, the one made to transport materials onto Athena. The road was the size of an American freeway, as a consequence of the fact it was built using an American agency. He was speeding a bit, but not much, just enough to slip past the other cars. Soon, his object came into view—a large truck carrying a grey metal shipping container. The shipping container was accelerating, so Matt eased his foot on the gas to keep up, but the semi was still slipping away, probably going 90. Matt let his speed flatten out, then took a deep breath, and then gave the gas all he could. He shot forward towards the truck.

Zero years, zero days, and zero seconds before

His car met the back of the truck with a crashing sound and a flash of blinding light—the true all-encompassing light of destiny’s touch.

I was falling into it, the light was joining me, and truth unfettered was pouring in, all of Matt’s futures and pasts, every connection he had to everything was pushing the light into him. Me. It. Us. I was no longer a piece of reality.

I was all of reality.

Then, suddenly, it was all wrenched away.

I was in a chair, a human being. I was a minuscule, tiny, finite, nothing human. I felt numb all over and could hardly trace where I stopped, and the chair and the helmet began.

There were tons of beeping from all of the medical machinery. My watch was vibrating in the way it was supposed to if I needed to go see the doctor.

“Matt, Matt, you there?” Charlie asked franticly, his voice shaking.

It felt like I was being sucked down the drain. Or it’s as if I was a ball being thrown in the air, I’d reached the peak of my arc, and nothing could stop me from falling back down. No matter what happened, even if I didn’t set foot in a car in the next year, I’d be thrown back in time. On April third, at ten thirteen PM, I’d travel back eight thousand years, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Every timeline, every path, would send me spiraling into a whirlpool, and I’d get sucked back in time.