RE: Jerks In Time
07-04-2016, 04:55 PM
Moonlight whipped through the trees and onto Anne's face at 105 miles per hour. Not a soul around on this old stretch of highway. She threw on her hazards, lifted her foot off the gas pedal and back into her high-heel, and pulled over to the shoulder.
She leaned in through the passenger-side door. "Hey," whispered Anne, shaking her clone's shoulder. "Hey."
Anne's brow flexed and unflexed. "Hmm?"
"Get out, we got a flat tire."
"...And we're gonna change it?" she mumbled.
"Yeah."
Her eyes darted over to the radio. "...At 1 AM?"
"Yeah, come on, no time like the present. Or is this the past, future girl?" Anne grinned and gently punched her shoulder. "Asides, we gotta talk."
Anne groaned and rolled out of the passenger seat while Anne went around to the back and popped open the trunk. "Right rear." Anne tossed herself a flashlight and caught it.
"...You want me to hold the flashlight on it?" Anne rubbed her eyes.
Anne rolled her eyes. She woke up so slowly. "Yeah, could you pop off the cover piece too?" She dug out that cross-shaped tire iron and shut the trunk back up.
Anne plucked at the stubborn rim cover with her fingernail, to no avail. "Doesn't look flat to me."
It dawned on her slowly, and yet, very suddenly, what was happening. Her fingernail snapped off, the chrome cover angled up and slightly back. She could see in the reflection her doppelganger approaching from behind her, tire iron on her shoulder. Right before she lifted that thing like it were a baseball bat, Anne understood what was happening.
For a moment, Anne was very, very awake.
The sunrise broke into the car from the side. Johnny's face got all hot, leaning up against the pane like it was, so he woke up and stretched, smacking his lips. "Mornin', hon." He leaned forward and kissed the back of her head. "Hey, what happened to the other you?"
Anne shrugged and fought back a smirk. "Damndest thing. At midnight she just, like... faded away. Guess time caught up with her or something. Paradox or something. Don't know."
"Well, it was awful kind of time to leave us her rifle." Johnny yanked the rifle from the passenger seat and checked how much ammo it had left. "Could you turn on the radio?"
Anne nodded back and to the right. "Kiddo's still sleeping."
"Ah. Well, pull over. You've been driving for, what, 10 hours?"
"I'm fine."
"Nah, I mean it babe! I'll take over."
"Okay." It was important to politely refuse the offer before accepting it, for reasons nobody involved cared or thought to consider. Anne pulled over to the shoulder once more.
The trio pulled into their regular country hideout, a small barn and its friend that you could barely call a house. Anne slunk out of the shotgun seat. "I'll get to siphoning." She tore the taped-on siphoning hose from the spare tank.
"Gee, Anne, it's not like you to volunteer for work like that!" said Johnny, stretching.
"Yeah, well," she said. "Nose went."
"Ha! Forgot about that." Johnny lit a cigarette. "Tim, get out, stretch your legs, c'mon."
Anne put one end of the hose in the tank and the other in her mouth. John elbowed Tim in the ribs. "Hey, betcha wish you had a chick like that back home, huh?" Gross. "You got a chick back home?" Tim shook his head. "How old are you, anyway? Like, what, 12, 13, 14? Don't you fall behind the curve now, you hear me?" Tim nodded, but didn't really mean it.
Anne hacked up some gasoline and shoved the hose into the can. "Hey, swallow next time, babe!" Johnny catcalled. Anne threw up her middle finger, but didn't really mean it. He snickered and slapped Tim on the back.
Tim tore page after glossy page from his chemistry textbook and shoved it into the gas tank while Johnny climbed on the taxi, pouring gasoline on it. "Hey, leave some for the generator!" Anne called out from the sidelines between puffs on her cigarette. Johnny hopped off the roof and threw his own onto the chassis. Tim lit the makeshift fuse with his brand-new Zippo lighter and then ran away.
(The car exploded, of course. It was really cool.)
The fire crackled in the fireplace as Timothy sat on the plaid couch intensely focused on the two clamshell watches on the coffee table before him. To endlessly fiddle with their dials was a mixture of frustratingly obscure and boring that Timothy recognized from homework. After 30 minutes that Tim would have sworn were two full hours, he turned on the television and only intermittently examined the watches from there on out.
Two full hours later, Johnny and Anne returned from their rendezvous in the barn. Anne picked some hay from Johnny's curly hair. (You see, they had just had sex, is the discreet implication.)
"Got some eats," said Johnny, slapping the aforementioned onto the kitchen counter. "Some crackers... Some peanut butter... Some bourbon..."
"Hey, you figure out that watch yet?" injected Anne, as if casually.
"Nah," said Tim. "I think they're broken or something." He shrugged. "Or maybe I traveled through time without noticing or something?" He sniffled.
Johnny looked at Anne. Anne looked at Johnny. They both looked at Tim.
"Kid," said Anne, stepping around the isle. "Don't fuck with us." Anne got her gun and stood in front of the television. Johnny came around the couch and grabbed Tim by the shirt collar.
"Now:" said Johnny. "How do these things work?"
"I don't know!" cried Tim.
"You don't know?" said Anne.
"You don't know?!" screamed Johnny, spittle flying into Tim's face. "You don't know, you TV fuck?!"
"I tried everything, honest!"
Johnny threw Tim back down on the couch, which nearly tipped over backwards on its back legs before wobbling back forwards. "You tried everything huh?" He picked up one of the watches and opened it up. "You try this!?"
"Yeah!"
Johnny turned the one of the dials. "You try this!?"
"Yeah! Yeah! All the dials, honest sir!"
Johnny sneered and looked at Tim, then back at the watch. "What about this?" He smashed the inside of the watch-face against the coffee table, shattering the glass cover.
"Johnny, don't break it!" called Anne.
"You try this, huh?!" Johnny reached in and turned the hands around manually.
"I don't think that's it, Johnny."
"You try this, you little punk?!" Johnny smashed the watch against the coffee table again and again and again. If it had been the correct watch, Johnny would have accidentally depressed the chain-button and opened up a portal.
"Please don't kill me!"
Johnny took a deep breath. "Sorry." He put his hand to his face. "We're not gonna... we're not gonna hurt you, kid. C'mon, Anne, put down the gun and let's... let's figure this out." He sighed and sat down on the couch.
Anne sat on the other side of Tim and picked up the other watch. "Hey Johnny, why don't you get us all some bourbon, huh?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure thing." Johnny hopped over the back of the couch.
Anne stared at the watch, turned it over in her hands. "Was the TV show good?"
"Huh?" said Tim.
"Was the TV show good?"
"Yeah. Yeah."
"That's good."
Johnny returned from his voyage and placed three glasses of bourbon on the coffee table. The middle one was only about a finger deep, on the rocks. Tim smiled and sipped it. Gross. He put it back down.
Johnny took a good-sized gulp of his full, rocks-included glass. "Pretty shitty bourbon, huh Anne?"
"Hm?" Anne put the watch down on her lap and drunk from her own glass — no chaser. "Eh, nah."
"You just like anything that works," laughed Johnny, kicking back another gulp. "What did you think, Timothy?"
"Me?" Tim said. "Oh... uh... I didn't like it."
"Yeah," said Johnny. "They never do. You'll grow into it." He leaned back into the couch and puzzled over the beat-up pocketwatch.
Time traveled one second at a time, and those three felt every one of them as they sat on that couch zooming forward by minutes at a stretch. Positions adjusted, commercial breaks came and went, Johnny even got a refill for himself. Tim didn't realize it, but his body was actually still quietly digesting the dinner he had had yesterday. Blood continued to pump through his heart and veins at a steady, resting rate. His eyelids occasionally blinked open and close again. The keratin on his fingernails built up upon itself. Through no action of his own, cavities he was unaware of continued to eat away at his teeth, molecule by molecule. And all the while, he was growing.
Finally, Anne noticed that the chain-holder on the watch was also a button, and pressed it. Between them and the television, a portal wide enough to fit the couch but so short even Johnny would have to crouch through it opened. Everyone nearly jumped out of their skin.
"Woah shit!" shouted Johnny. He scrambled up the couch, sending everyone toppling over backwards.
"Think that's it!" said Anne.
Tim climbed back over the couch. "Why's it so short?"
"Who cares!?" laughed Johnny.
Tim crawled towards the portal. "What time is it through there?"
"Um," Anne checked her pocketwatch. "Think I mighta screwed with the dials by accident when I fell over?"
"Oh," said Johnny. Tim hesitantly put his hand through the portal, then yanked it back. "Can you... close it?"
Anne hammered on the button. "I don't think so?"
"That's stupid," said Johnny. "Lemme try it." Johnny reached for the watch but Anne kept it away.
"No way, Mr. Smashy-Smashy!" she said.
"So who's gonna go through?" said Tim.
"Nose... goes?" said Johnny.
Everyone hesitantly put up their fingers, hovering grimacing inches away from their noses. A portrait of trepidation.
Who's going through the portal and when are they going to?
She leaned in through the passenger-side door. "Hey," whispered Anne, shaking her clone's shoulder. "Hey."
Anne's brow flexed and unflexed. "Hmm?"
"Get out, we got a flat tire."
"...And we're gonna change it?" she mumbled.
"Yeah."
Her eyes darted over to the radio. "...At 1 AM?"
"Yeah, come on, no time like the present. Or is this the past, future girl?" Anne grinned and gently punched her shoulder. "Asides, we gotta talk."
Anne groaned and rolled out of the passenger seat while Anne went around to the back and popped open the trunk. "Right rear." Anne tossed herself a flashlight and caught it.
"...You want me to hold the flashlight on it?" Anne rubbed her eyes.
Anne rolled her eyes. She woke up so slowly. "Yeah, could you pop off the cover piece too?" She dug out that cross-shaped tire iron and shut the trunk back up.
Anne plucked at the stubborn rim cover with her fingernail, to no avail. "Doesn't look flat to me."
It dawned on her slowly, and yet, very suddenly, what was happening. Her fingernail snapped off, the chrome cover angled up and slightly back. She could see in the reflection her doppelganger approaching from behind her, tire iron on her shoulder. Right before she lifted that thing like it were a baseball bat, Anne understood what was happening.
For a moment, Anne was very, very awake.
The sunrise broke into the car from the side. Johnny's face got all hot, leaning up against the pane like it was, so he woke up and stretched, smacking his lips. "Mornin', hon." He leaned forward and kissed the back of her head. "Hey, what happened to the other you?"
Anne shrugged and fought back a smirk. "Damndest thing. At midnight she just, like... faded away. Guess time caught up with her or something. Paradox or something. Don't know."
"Well, it was awful kind of time to leave us her rifle." Johnny yanked the rifle from the passenger seat and checked how much ammo it had left. "Could you turn on the radio?"
Anne nodded back and to the right. "Kiddo's still sleeping."
"Ah. Well, pull over. You've been driving for, what, 10 hours?"
"I'm fine."
"Nah, I mean it babe! I'll take over."
"Okay." It was important to politely refuse the offer before accepting it, for reasons nobody involved cared or thought to consider. Anne pulled over to the shoulder once more.
The trio pulled into their regular country hideout, a small barn and its friend that you could barely call a house. Anne slunk out of the shotgun seat. "I'll get to siphoning." She tore the taped-on siphoning hose from the spare tank.
"Gee, Anne, it's not like you to volunteer for work like that!" said Johnny, stretching.
"Yeah, well," she said. "Nose went."
"Ha! Forgot about that." Johnny lit a cigarette. "Tim, get out, stretch your legs, c'mon."
Anne put one end of the hose in the tank and the other in her mouth. John elbowed Tim in the ribs. "Hey, betcha wish you had a chick like that back home, huh?" Gross. "You got a chick back home?" Tim shook his head. "How old are you, anyway? Like, what, 12, 13, 14? Don't you fall behind the curve now, you hear me?" Tim nodded, but didn't really mean it.
Anne hacked up some gasoline and shoved the hose into the can. "Hey, swallow next time, babe!" Johnny catcalled. Anne threw up her middle finger, but didn't really mean it. He snickered and slapped Tim on the back.
Tim tore page after glossy page from his chemistry textbook and shoved it into the gas tank while Johnny climbed on the taxi, pouring gasoline on it. "Hey, leave some for the generator!" Anne called out from the sidelines between puffs on her cigarette. Johnny hopped off the roof and threw his own onto the chassis. Tim lit the makeshift fuse with his brand-new Zippo lighter and then ran away.
(The car exploded, of course. It was really cool.)
The fire crackled in the fireplace as Timothy sat on the plaid couch intensely focused on the two clamshell watches on the coffee table before him. To endlessly fiddle with their dials was a mixture of frustratingly obscure and boring that Timothy recognized from homework. After 30 minutes that Tim would have sworn were two full hours, he turned on the television and only intermittently examined the watches from there on out.
Two full hours later, Johnny and Anne returned from their rendezvous in the barn. Anne picked some hay from Johnny's curly hair. (You see, they had just had sex, is the discreet implication.)
"Got some eats," said Johnny, slapping the aforementioned onto the kitchen counter. "Some crackers... Some peanut butter... Some bourbon..."
"Hey, you figure out that watch yet?" injected Anne, as if casually.
"Nah," said Tim. "I think they're broken or something." He shrugged. "Or maybe I traveled through time without noticing or something?" He sniffled.
Johnny looked at Anne. Anne looked at Johnny. They both looked at Tim.
"Kid," said Anne, stepping around the isle. "Don't fuck with us." Anne got her gun and stood in front of the television. Johnny came around the couch and grabbed Tim by the shirt collar.
"Now:" said Johnny. "How do these things work?"
"I don't know!" cried Tim.
"You don't know?" said Anne.
"You don't know?!" screamed Johnny, spittle flying into Tim's face. "You don't know, you TV fuck?!"
"I tried everything, honest!"
Johnny threw Tim back down on the couch, which nearly tipped over backwards on its back legs before wobbling back forwards. "You tried everything huh?" He picked up one of the watches and opened it up. "You try this!?"
"Yeah!"
Johnny turned the one of the dials. "You try this!?"
"Yeah! Yeah! All the dials, honest sir!"
Johnny sneered and looked at Tim, then back at the watch. "What about this?" He smashed the inside of the watch-face against the coffee table, shattering the glass cover.
"Johnny, don't break it!" called Anne.
"You try this, huh?!" Johnny reached in and turned the hands around manually.
"I don't think that's it, Johnny."
"You try this, you little punk?!" Johnny smashed the watch against the coffee table again and again and again. If it had been the correct watch, Johnny would have accidentally depressed the chain-button and opened up a portal.
"Please don't kill me!"
Johnny took a deep breath. "Sorry." He put his hand to his face. "We're not gonna... we're not gonna hurt you, kid. C'mon, Anne, put down the gun and let's... let's figure this out." He sighed and sat down on the couch.
Anne sat on the other side of Tim and picked up the other watch. "Hey Johnny, why don't you get us all some bourbon, huh?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure thing." Johnny hopped over the back of the couch.
Anne stared at the watch, turned it over in her hands. "Was the TV show good?"
"Huh?" said Tim.
"Was the TV show good?"
"Yeah. Yeah."
"That's good."
Johnny returned from his voyage and placed three glasses of bourbon on the coffee table. The middle one was only about a finger deep, on the rocks. Tim smiled and sipped it. Gross. He put it back down.
Johnny took a good-sized gulp of his full, rocks-included glass. "Pretty shitty bourbon, huh Anne?"
"Hm?" Anne put the watch down on her lap and drunk from her own glass — no chaser. "Eh, nah."
"You just like anything that works," laughed Johnny, kicking back another gulp. "What did you think, Timothy?"
"Me?" Tim said. "Oh... uh... I didn't like it."
"Yeah," said Johnny. "They never do. You'll grow into it." He leaned back into the couch and puzzled over the beat-up pocketwatch.
Time traveled one second at a time, and those three felt every one of them as they sat on that couch zooming forward by minutes at a stretch. Positions adjusted, commercial breaks came and went, Johnny even got a refill for himself. Tim didn't realize it, but his body was actually still quietly digesting the dinner he had had yesterday. Blood continued to pump through his heart and veins at a steady, resting rate. His eyelids occasionally blinked open and close again. The keratin on his fingernails built up upon itself. Through no action of his own, cavities he was unaware of continued to eat away at his teeth, molecule by molecule. And all the while, he was growing.
Finally, Anne noticed that the chain-holder on the watch was also a button, and pressed it. Between them and the television, a portal wide enough to fit the couch but so short even Johnny would have to crouch through it opened. Everyone nearly jumped out of their skin.
"Woah shit!" shouted Johnny. He scrambled up the couch, sending everyone toppling over backwards.
"Think that's it!" said Anne.
Tim climbed back over the couch. "Why's it so short?"
"Who cares!?" laughed Johnny.
Tim crawled towards the portal. "What time is it through there?"
"Um," Anne checked her pocketwatch. "Think I mighta screwed with the dials by accident when I fell over?"
"Oh," said Johnny. Tim hesitantly put his hand through the portal, then yanked it back. "Can you... close it?"
Anne hammered on the button. "I don't think so?"
"That's stupid," said Johnny. "Lemme try it." Johnny reached for the watch but Anne kept it away.
"No way, Mr. Smashy-Smashy!" she said.
"So who's gonna go through?" said Tim.
"Nose... goes?" said Johnny.
Everyone hesitantly put up their fingers, hovering grimacing inches away from their noses. A portrait of trepidation.
Who's going through the portal and when are they going to?