Young Writers Society

Dead. Dying. In a ditch. Dead, dying in a ditch. How could I be dying but already dead, you might ask? Well my answer is this:

Don’t ask stupid questions.

That shall be rule number one, if you are to continue reading this recounting of one of the most pleasant experiences of my life. It was like a sweet fantasy cruise to Hawaii!

That was sarcasm, I hope you picked up on that.

Rule two, you must understand sarcasm. If you don’t, you must be so smart, and should definitely continue reading. That was a test.

Now, you might be wondering why I’m talking so much on the first page, and the answer is again simple. I like the sound of my own voice, or in this case, the look of my words. Well I suppose it is the voice, since you’d attribute a voice to these words, right? But you have no idea if I’m female, male, non-conforming, or even a human.

"G’day, I’m Miles Jones, the Aussie space turtle from… space…"

Yeah that sounded wayyy funnier in my head. Or was it your head? Who knows what’s being written anymore. However! You’re sick of me by now, and my jokes that have a lower IQ than a gerbil after a head injury, so I guess I’ll get to the thing you came for.

Why I’m in a ditch.

Now, to understand why I’m here, we have to start at the beginning.

The true genesis of this enrapturing tale.

August 12th, 2163 - London, England - A Drizzling Tuesday

“PUSH! PUSHHHHH!!!” the funny voice said. Then poof, I was there. Now, I was a small child, born approximately 32 years too late, because there was no good music anymore. But this was also detrimental in another way, in the fact that I was now going to die, because my wee little heart was colder than your mother to your new girlfriend.

(Feel free to insert a better analogy)

You might again be asking questions, perhaps relating to memory of this, or anything logical, and I already told you to shut your mind off to logic. Well, now I will. No silly common sense, pal, that’s for me to ignore and you to forget about.

Anyway, I wasn’t crying for a second, which was bad because it meant I weren’t alive. The funny man with gloves hurried me away from what I can only assume was a much better place than the cold hell I had been rudely thrust into.

There, he did everything in his power to bring me back to life, yet I wasn’t responding.

After many failed attempts, the news was broken to my loving mother, and she wept as the doctor somberly sucked on a cigar. Silly me, dying like that.

Oh, and you might have noticed something else silly. If it was 2163, wouldn’t there have been some cool technology that let me live? And why would the funny man in the gloves smoke in a health institution?

Both very idiotic inquiries, of course, yet I shall dignify them.

It was not, in fact, 2163, and was rather 1991, the cusp of a new millennium. Also, it was Ontario, Canada, and a sunny Friday. But I preferred the theme of a drizzling rain, because something about sad death and all.

So, yes, I lied. Get used to it, chum. That’s rule five, I have a very hard time extinguishing the proverbial flames on my trousers.

Now, seamless segue.

The doctor’s name was Jenine Farthing, and my mother’s name was Dr. Enrico Trest. I might’ve mixed them up, but who’s watching? Dr. Trest had never failed a pregnancy before, and this was taking its toll on him. He was rather inexperienced, but quite talented.

Is that information pertinent? Maybe.

Of course, the interesting part was that I would visit my mother that evening, and we would chat pleasantly. What happened? I don’t know, you tell me.

That Same Day - 6:32 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time

Jenine Farthing was startled from a fitful rest to a striking sight. A glowing circle, forming in the middle of her hospital room. Funky, right?

Well, it gets better.

She’s very confused, and her tear-streaked face is displaying quite a bit of shock. That only gets worse as a man steps through this small window into space-time, wearing a bowler hat, trench coat, and carrying a Hello Kitty lunchbox that looked as though it had been through a few scrapes.

“Hey mom, how’s it going?” I said, like a complete idiot. See, this is what I actually did, and since it’s past (but also future) me, I can bully myself. That's rule forty-one. Following? Splendid.

Jen raised an eyebrow, giving me that quizzical look I’d give myself in the mirror.

“I have never met you in my life, young man. Now, care to explain why you just appeared in my room like that? I’m not going to lie, it’s mildly perverted, wholly disturbing, and completely confusing. Give me a very good reason why I shouldn’t call the uh… hospital security right now!”

I gave her a small smile, “Can’t a son visit his mother right after he was born?”

Jen blinked at me.

“Ah, I have wanted this for so long, you don’t even know! Sorry to die on you, it wasn’t anyone's fault, I promise. Well, it was mine, but that’s a long story, and I don’t have much time-”

My dear mother threw a pudding cup at me.

I blinked as it hit my chest and fell to the floor, splattering.

“Hrm. Tapioca, my favorite.”

Jenine sighed heavily, “Mine too. But please tell me I’m dreaming.”

“Nope, this is 100% certified true. Although I really have some stuff to go over before GRBL finds my location and apprehends me.”

“English?”

Who could blame my mother in this situation? A strange man had appeared in her hospital room, and claimed to be her son. I would’ve stabbed him, but only cause I know it’s me. You see, we’ve had a very conflicted past, me, myself and I.

I did, however, have something very important to tell her, something that might possibly change all of history forever. Something that could potentially save countless lives! (Not true: it’s about 4,941,326,870.5 lives. The 0.5 was a particularly interesting squirrel.)

“Listen, this is going to be hard to believe but in about thirty years-”

And then I turned into a pile of ash.

Well, actually it wasn’t so fast.

Jen gasped as my skin started to flake away. I looked down at my hands in disappointment. Glowing cracks were starting to appear very quickly as my body dematerialized.

“Aw, bollocks-”

Then the strange man–who was devilishly handsome of course–had completely disappeared. The lunchbox, however, dropped to the floor with a clatter. Being a particularly calm woman, Jen did not scream. She instead hyperventilated, a much less annoying reaction, I think.

How do I know this you might wonder? Well, that seems to be a recurring question, my less than friendly friend, and I disapprove. Patience is a virtue, did you know that?

Now, back to topic, the interesting part here is that in a few rooms away, there was another woman giving birth, and her child was sadly also dead upon birth. She was not visited by a future version, however. I lied, that wasn’t too interesting.

What is actually intriguing is that both children awoke 17.34 minutes after their death, eyes glowing anime-style and mouths crying for air.

Neither of their hearts were beating, however.

Spooky, right?