Short Story : Altered Histories
It was Doug’s 25th birthday, but he wasn’t expecting any presents, so when the large number of Amazon orders arrived on his doorstep he was both surprised and secretly quite please.
Someone had remembered him at least. Perhaps they were from his girlfriend, Leticia.
He opened the first package and looked at the book enclosed. Its name was ‘The Life Of Douglas J Robinson, Aged 13’. Flicking through the book he found it filled with what looked like a diary of sorts, printed single-paged so the back of each page was blank, and the details of his year aged thirteen to fourteen printed for anyone to see. He randomly picked a page, which detailed a particularly upsetting day at school, and it all came flooding back to him.
Doug pulled the packing slip out for the leftover empty box that had contained the book and tried to see if the sender’s details were there, but all it said was ‘Happy Birthday’. He glanced at the other parcels, counting them in his head. There were twenty-five.
One for each year from birth to now.
Quickly Doug started tearing open the parcels, finding that each one had a similar book inside. Eventually he had a whole collection of books, each containing 365 sheets (366 for leap years), and each giving a page of intricate detail about his life. What he could do with them, he had no idea.
It was Saturday, so he had the whole day to himself. His girlfriend was away on a business trip, working as a swimsuit model, so he would be able to flick through the books at his leisure. He could still remember the day he first met Leticia, four years ago, on his first day working at the company that represented her. She’d thought he was odd at first, but he soon won her over and, before he knew it, they’d moved in together. He’d never felt so lucky.
He looked through the pile of books, trying to find the right one from four years back, and quickly flicked through to the date they’d met. There it was, February 1st, and all the details were there. He smiled to himself, wishing he could relive that wonderful day and experience it all over again.
He put down the book and had a look for the ones earlier on in his life, picking up the one titled ‘The Life Of Douglas J Robinson, Aged 11’. It had been at this age that he had started Secondary school, and on the first day he’d been bullied something chronic by an older boy named Clive. It had made the rest of his school life a living nightmare, and he truly hoped that the details weren’t there.
But they were.
There was the date, September 9th, and he read what had been written about that terrible day.
The horror came back to him, and in a fit of rage and disgust he crumpled the page in his hand and tore it from the book. As he did so a flash of light boomed out of the pages and enveloped Doug’s face, momentarily blinding him. He blinked away the flash bulbs from his vision and looked down at the book, but it was gone.
Looking around, he saw that he wasn’t in his flat anymore. He looked at the walls, peppered with the kind of posters a pre-adolescent might have on their walls and recognised a few of them. Then the full realisation hit him.
This was his childhood bedroom.
He looked down at his clothes as he sat up in an oddly familiar bed, seeing a pair of children’s pyjamas, then noticed that his hands were a lot smaller. Crossing the room to his dresser, he looked in the mirror.
He was himself, aged eleven!
“What is going on?” he asked himself.
“Douglas?” a familiar voice called down the stairs, “Hurry up, you’ll be late for school.”
“Mum?” Doug mumbled to himself.
Quickly he dressed himself in the school uniform that was hanging behind his door, then rushed down the stairs. His mum was stood in the kitchen, her hair still brown in spite of it having turned grey more than five years earlier. She turned to smile at him;
“You look very handsome,” she said, “now, here’s your lunch, so hurry along.”
Doug took the proffered lunchbox, “Thanks mum,” he said, then left the house.
So, this was his first day at secondary school, all over again? Tearing the page from the book must have reset the day, allowing him to relive it as if it were a second draft of a story. He smiled to himself, realising the potential this could spell for him.
He could make his school life so much better.
He marched through the school gates, thinking about all the things he could change, when he ran into a familiar face.
“Hey there, new kid,” a deep voice boomed, “hand over your lunch money.”
It was Clive.
“I don’t have any lunch money,” Doug told him, “I brought my own lunch.”
“Then that will have to do,” Clive grinned, his crooked yellow teeth gleaming.
Now, in the original version, Doug remembered that he had handed over his lunch box, and that Clive had taken it before beating the living daylights out of him. This time, things would be different.
“I don’t think I’m going to hand it over this time,” Doug told Clive.
“This time?” Clive asked, “What do you mean this time?”
While live was busy wondering what Doug was talking about, Doug took advantage of the situation and sucker-punched him in the ball sack. Clive doubled over in agony, trying to regain his breath as Doug elbowed him in the spine, knocking him to the ground. As Clive lay there, nursing his damaged organs, Doug started to kick him in the ribs, watching him twitch as each kick hit home.
“If you so much as think about bullying another kid,” Doug warned him between kicks, “so help me I will end you!”
“I won’t, I won’t!” Clive wheezed, trying to protect himself but to no avail, “Just please, stop.”
Doug stopped kicking, noticing that a crowd had gathered around him. Amongst them was Sally Jones, who had grown up to be an incredibly sexy young lady. Unfortunately she had also been Clive’s girlfriend by year nine, but that could all be changed. Doug walked over to her, putting his hand behind her head and tilting her backwards before landing a huge kiss on her lips.
Things would definitely change for the better now.
*
That night, Doug sat in his childhood bedroom, waiting for the bedside clock to his midnight. If his guess was correct, then he’d be sent back to his own time when the day ended, as it was only that day that he’d ripped out of the book. He watched the clock, which read 11.59, slowly turn to 00.00, then there was another flash of light.
Doug blinked. He was back in his living room, aged twenty-five, surrounded by the books detailing his life. He smiled; nothing much had changed, but he felt better about beating up Clive.
He got up off the floor where he’d been sitting, feeling a little shaky. He looked down at his legs, which looked a little thinner than normal, then walked to the bathroom. He needed to pee desperately.
Once he’d finished he crossed to the sink to wash his hands, catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror. What he saw shocked him.
His face was thin and gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. His hair was almost non-existent, which was weird because he had quite thick hair, and his teeth – those that weren’t missing – looked terrible.
How could this be?
As he stared at his face, he heard a voice coming from the bedroom.
“Are you almost finished,” a husky female voice asked, “I’m waiting for you.”
That didn’t sound like Leticia.
Nervously, Doug left the bathroom and entered the bedroom, where a woman was sitting on his bed. She was incredibly thin, her ribs exposed below her artificial breasts, her collar bone jutting out from her neck. Like Doug, she had hollow eyes and thin hair, and not as many teeth as you’d hope for. She looked over at Doug and smiled, and that’s when he recognised her.
Sally Jones.
“Oh my God,” Doug swallowed fearfully, “What happened to you?”
Sally didn’t hear him. She was too busy preparing some concoction which she clearly planned to inject into her arm. A piece of rubber tubing was being used as a tourniquet as she flicked the excess liquid form the tip of her needle.
“Do you want to go first?” she asked.
Doug couldn’t believe this. How had things changed so drastically? All he’d done is beat up a school bully and now he was living in a drug den with a once-hot zombie. This didn’t make sense.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Doug said, leaving the skeletal girl to her habit.
Sitting back down in the living room, Doug started flicking through the books after his eleventh year. None of the details were familiar to him; there were years where he’d become a bully, then he’d started helping out a local drug dealer by beating up non-payers, then when he was fifteen he’d...
...Oh God.
He’d done this to Sally.
Then Doug realised something else.
He picked up the book from four years ago, flicking to February 1st.
Nothing but taking drugs.
He’d never met Leticia.
The question was, what could he do about it?
Doug picked through the pile of books, looking for the one where he was eleven again. He flicked to September 9th, reading through the new entry that had replaced the page he’d torn out. It told how he’d beaten up Clive and kissed Sally, and how everything had changed. Changed for the worse.
There was only one thing for it. Doug grabbed hold of the page, crumpling it between his fingers as a flash of light boomed out of the book.
He sat up in his childhood bed, back to the morning of September 9th when he was just eleven. He threw on his school clothes again and ran down the stairs of his childhood home. His mum was there again, standing in the kitchen.
“You look very handsome,” she said, “now, here’s your lunch, so hurry along.”
Doug took the proffered lunchbox, noting that she hadn’t called him downstairs this time “Thanks mum,” he said, then left the house.
He walked miserably towards the school, walking through the school gates and taking a deep breath as he waited for the inevitable to happen.
“Hey there, new kid,” Clive’s voice boomed from behind him, “hand over your lunch money.”
“I don’t have any lunch money,” Doug said feebly, “I brought my own lunch.”
“Then that will have to do,” Clive grinned, his crooked yellow teeth gleaming. Doug closed his eyes, waiting for the unavoidable punch that was heading his way, then felt it connect with his cheek. He flew backwards, falling to the playground floor, then opened his eyes to see Clive bearing down on.
The beating didn’t last as long as he remembered, but it still hurt. But he knew it had to happen.
When he got home, his mum looked very upset about his face, and his dad demanded to know what had happened. But Doug didn’t tell them. He never told them originally either.
When it turned midnight, a flash of light sent him back to his own time, and he looked around the living room. Clambering to his feet, the first thing he did was go to the bathroom and check his face. He was relieved to see it looked perfectly normal. He smiled.
Next he went to his bedroom. No Sally Jones. No drug paraphernalia. No sign of a wasted life.
Lastly Doug picked up the picture that sat on his bedside table. It was one of him and Leticia on holiday last summer. They smiled at the camera, and Doug couldn’t help but smile back.
He may have hated his life as a child, but he liked his life now, and without those childhood traumas and bad experiences, he wouldn’t be where he was today.
He returned to the living room, collecting up the books detailing his life. One by one he carefully placed them in a trunk in his spare room and locked them up tight.
There was no point living in the past. In real life you don’t get a rough draft, you don’t get a practice run at things – in real life the first draft is your last, and you just have to make the best of it.
Originally Posted 16/12/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
Someone had remembered him at least. Perhaps they were from his girlfriend, Leticia.
He opened the first package and looked at the book enclosed. Its name was ‘The Life Of Douglas J Robinson, Aged 13’. Flicking through the book he found it filled with what looked like a diary of sorts, printed single-paged so the back of each page was blank, and the details of his year aged thirteen to fourteen printed for anyone to see. He randomly picked a page, which detailed a particularly upsetting day at school, and it all came flooding back to him.
Doug pulled the packing slip out for the leftover empty box that had contained the book and tried to see if the sender’s details were there, but all it said was ‘Happy Birthday’. He glanced at the other parcels, counting them in his head. There were twenty-five.
One for each year from birth to now.
Quickly Doug started tearing open the parcels, finding that each one had a similar book inside. Eventually he had a whole collection of books, each containing 365 sheets (366 for leap years), and each giving a page of intricate detail about his life. What he could do with them, he had no idea.
It was Saturday, so he had the whole day to himself. His girlfriend was away on a business trip, working as a swimsuit model, so he would be able to flick through the books at his leisure. He could still remember the day he first met Leticia, four years ago, on his first day working at the company that represented her. She’d thought he was odd at first, but he soon won her over and, before he knew it, they’d moved in together. He’d never felt so lucky.
He looked through the pile of books, trying to find the right one from four years back, and quickly flicked through to the date they’d met. There it was, February 1st, and all the details were there. He smiled to himself, wishing he could relive that wonderful day and experience it all over again.
He put down the book and had a look for the ones earlier on in his life, picking up the one titled ‘The Life Of Douglas J Robinson, Aged 11’. It had been at this age that he had started Secondary school, and on the first day he’d been bullied something chronic by an older boy named Clive. It had made the rest of his school life a living nightmare, and he truly hoped that the details weren’t there.
But they were.
There was the date, September 9th, and he read what had been written about that terrible day.
The horror came back to him, and in a fit of rage and disgust he crumpled the page in his hand and tore it from the book. As he did so a flash of light boomed out of the pages and enveloped Doug’s face, momentarily blinding him. He blinked away the flash bulbs from his vision and looked down at the book, but it was gone.
Looking around, he saw that he wasn’t in his flat anymore. He looked at the walls, peppered with the kind of posters a pre-adolescent might have on their walls and recognised a few of them. Then the full realisation hit him.
This was his childhood bedroom.
He looked down at his clothes as he sat up in an oddly familiar bed, seeing a pair of children’s pyjamas, then noticed that his hands were a lot smaller. Crossing the room to his dresser, he looked in the mirror.
He was himself, aged eleven!
“What is going on?” he asked himself.
“Douglas?” a familiar voice called down the stairs, “Hurry up, you’ll be late for school.”
“Mum?” Doug mumbled to himself.
Quickly he dressed himself in the school uniform that was hanging behind his door, then rushed down the stairs. His mum was stood in the kitchen, her hair still brown in spite of it having turned grey more than five years earlier. She turned to smile at him;
“You look very handsome,” she said, “now, here’s your lunch, so hurry along.”
Doug took the proffered lunchbox, “Thanks mum,” he said, then left the house.
So, this was his first day at secondary school, all over again? Tearing the page from the book must have reset the day, allowing him to relive it as if it were a second draft of a story. He smiled to himself, realising the potential this could spell for him.
He could make his school life so much better.
He marched through the school gates, thinking about all the things he could change, when he ran into a familiar face.
“Hey there, new kid,” a deep voice boomed, “hand over your lunch money.”
It was Clive.
“I don’t have any lunch money,” Doug told him, “I brought my own lunch.”
“Then that will have to do,” Clive grinned, his crooked yellow teeth gleaming.
Now, in the original version, Doug remembered that he had handed over his lunch box, and that Clive had taken it before beating the living daylights out of him. This time, things would be different.
“I don’t think I’m going to hand it over this time,” Doug told Clive.
“This time?” Clive asked, “What do you mean this time?”
While live was busy wondering what Doug was talking about, Doug took advantage of the situation and sucker-punched him in the ball sack. Clive doubled over in agony, trying to regain his breath as Doug elbowed him in the spine, knocking him to the ground. As Clive lay there, nursing his damaged organs, Doug started to kick him in the ribs, watching him twitch as each kick hit home.
“If you so much as think about bullying another kid,” Doug warned him between kicks, “so help me I will end you!”
“I won’t, I won’t!” Clive wheezed, trying to protect himself but to no avail, “Just please, stop.”
Doug stopped kicking, noticing that a crowd had gathered around him. Amongst them was Sally Jones, who had grown up to be an incredibly sexy young lady. Unfortunately she had also been Clive’s girlfriend by year nine, but that could all be changed. Doug walked over to her, putting his hand behind her head and tilting her backwards before landing a huge kiss on her lips.
Things would definitely change for the better now.
*
That night, Doug sat in his childhood bedroom, waiting for the bedside clock to his midnight. If his guess was correct, then he’d be sent back to his own time when the day ended, as it was only that day that he’d ripped out of the book. He watched the clock, which read 11.59, slowly turn to 00.00, then there was another flash of light.
Doug blinked. He was back in his living room, aged twenty-five, surrounded by the books detailing his life. He smiled; nothing much had changed, but he felt better about beating up Clive.
He got up off the floor where he’d been sitting, feeling a little shaky. He looked down at his legs, which looked a little thinner than normal, then walked to the bathroom. He needed to pee desperately.
Once he’d finished he crossed to the sink to wash his hands, catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror. What he saw shocked him.
His face was thin and gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. His hair was almost non-existent, which was weird because he had quite thick hair, and his teeth – those that weren’t missing – looked terrible.
How could this be?
As he stared at his face, he heard a voice coming from the bedroom.
“Are you almost finished,” a husky female voice asked, “I’m waiting for you.”
That didn’t sound like Leticia.
Nervously, Doug left the bathroom and entered the bedroom, where a woman was sitting on his bed. She was incredibly thin, her ribs exposed below her artificial breasts, her collar bone jutting out from her neck. Like Doug, she had hollow eyes and thin hair, and not as many teeth as you’d hope for. She looked over at Doug and smiled, and that’s when he recognised her.
Sally Jones.
“Oh my God,” Doug swallowed fearfully, “What happened to you?”
Sally didn’t hear him. She was too busy preparing some concoction which she clearly planned to inject into her arm. A piece of rubber tubing was being used as a tourniquet as she flicked the excess liquid form the tip of her needle.
“Do you want to go first?” she asked.
Doug couldn’t believe this. How had things changed so drastically? All he’d done is beat up a school bully and now he was living in a drug den with a once-hot zombie. This didn’t make sense.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Doug said, leaving the skeletal girl to her habit.
Sitting back down in the living room, Doug started flicking through the books after his eleventh year. None of the details were familiar to him; there were years where he’d become a bully, then he’d started helping out a local drug dealer by beating up non-payers, then when he was fifteen he’d...
...Oh God.
He’d done this to Sally.
Then Doug realised something else.
He picked up the book from four years ago, flicking to February 1st.
Nothing but taking drugs.
He’d never met Leticia.
The question was, what could he do about it?
Doug picked through the pile of books, looking for the one where he was eleven again. He flicked to September 9th, reading through the new entry that had replaced the page he’d torn out. It told how he’d beaten up Clive and kissed Sally, and how everything had changed. Changed for the worse.
There was only one thing for it. Doug grabbed hold of the page, crumpling it between his fingers as a flash of light boomed out of the book.
He sat up in his childhood bed, back to the morning of September 9th when he was just eleven. He threw on his school clothes again and ran down the stairs of his childhood home. His mum was there again, standing in the kitchen.
“You look very handsome,” she said, “now, here’s your lunch, so hurry along.”
Doug took the proffered lunchbox, noting that she hadn’t called him downstairs this time “Thanks mum,” he said, then left the house.
He walked miserably towards the school, walking through the school gates and taking a deep breath as he waited for the inevitable to happen.
“Hey there, new kid,” Clive’s voice boomed from behind him, “hand over your lunch money.”
“I don’t have any lunch money,” Doug said feebly, “I brought my own lunch.”
“Then that will have to do,” Clive grinned, his crooked yellow teeth gleaming. Doug closed his eyes, waiting for the unavoidable punch that was heading his way, then felt it connect with his cheek. He flew backwards, falling to the playground floor, then opened his eyes to see Clive bearing down on.
The beating didn’t last as long as he remembered, but it still hurt. But he knew it had to happen.
When he got home, his mum looked very upset about his face, and his dad demanded to know what had happened. But Doug didn’t tell them. He never told them originally either.
When it turned midnight, a flash of light sent him back to his own time, and he looked around the living room. Clambering to his feet, the first thing he did was go to the bathroom and check his face. He was relieved to see it looked perfectly normal. He smiled.
Next he went to his bedroom. No Sally Jones. No drug paraphernalia. No sign of a wasted life.
Lastly Doug picked up the picture that sat on his bedside table. It was one of him and Leticia on holiday last summer. They smiled at the camera, and Doug couldn’t help but smile back.
He may have hated his life as a child, but he liked his life now, and without those childhood traumas and bad experiences, he wouldn’t be where he was today.
He returned to the living room, collecting up the books detailing his life. One by one he carefully placed them in a trunk in his spare room and locked them up tight.
There was no point living in the past. In real life you don’t get a rough draft, you don’t get a practice run at things – in real life the first draft is your last, and you just have to make the best of it.
Originally Posted 16/12/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
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