Brandon Marshall Writing

After washing down a handful of ibuprofen with his Natty Daddy, Andrew put on his favorite flannel. It was the first time he had worn a collared shirt since that night. He put on his favorite jeans, and noticed they were noticeably tighter. He shaved for the first time in weeks and spritzed on some generic Old Spice aftershave. I will have a good day today he thought.

The carnival grounds were that of the typical Midwest carnival experience. A dusty road entered into an overcrowded dirt parking lot. Cars were being ushered in by an overweight volunteer fireman who loved talking on the radio more than he should. The stagnant odor of mud and cow shit was cut by each breeze with hints of fried dough and cinnamon. The carnival goers were heckled by a line of game attendants offering them their chance to win an oversized elephant, knowing damn well the odds were not in their favor. Groups of teenagers met to fantasize about their summer plans.

Andrew found himself, of all places, caught up at the petting zoo. Gwen’s favorite animal on Earth was the farm goat. She would always talk about how funny it was that their pupils were rectangular and how they were misunderstood. He laughed audibly when he remembered how she would discuss how their shits would come up in one heaping ball full of littler shit balls. He let the goat, he decided to name Angelo, finish licking the pellets out of his hand and chucked the cake cone into the pen.

He walked through the carnival feeling a bit better than he had in recent months. Maybe Hank was right, I just need to get out. He actually felt a sense of happiness watching the couples all around him.

Near the merry-go-round, a stand caught his attention. A lonesome wooden kiosk sat at the side of the main pathway. It looked almost decrepit and certainly abandoned. He had not seen a single person investigate the booth. He squinted his eyes against the sun and saw that it was, in fact, not abandoned. Rather, it was manned by a single man. Curiosity got the best of him, and he walked over.

“Hello, my son,” the attendant said to Andrew.

What is this man wearing? He thought. The attendant was dressed in a black tuxedo, bow tie and all. He looked young in the face, but his gray hair and rough hands suggested otherwise. He wore a monocle in his left eye and sported a handlebar mustache that was groomed perfectly.

“What is this?” Andrew asked the tall man.

“My name is Theodore. I’m a salesman,” he said. “Would you like to see what I have to offer?”

Andrew immediately regretted his decision to pay a visit to the kiosk, but could not decline out of politeness. “Of course,” he said.

“Do you mind giving me your palm, first? I am obligated only to offer you what I think you need. Purely protocol, my friend.” Theodore smiled warmly.

This is weird.

“Uhm, sure.”

Andrew pulled his hand from his jean pocket and placed it into the attendant’s hands. The attendant slipped his right hand out of the white glove which was covering it and began gently stroking Andrew’s palm. His eyes were closed softly.

“Ah, yes, precisely,” Theodore said. “I am sensing you have lost someone, is that right?”

“Yes,” Andrew said.

“It was a woman. Someone close, no?”

“Yes,” Andrew said. He felt his lip begin to quiver.

“You made regretful decisions the night you lost her, correct?”

Andrew pulled his hand away mightily, shocking Theodore, making him flinch. “What the fuck is this bullshit? You tell me you’re a salesman and start doing a fucking palm reading? Get the fuck out of my face.”

He backed away. The tears were flowing steadily now.

“Did you two, perhaps, visit a restaurant any time recently before the regretful decision?” Theodore asked calmly.

“…yes,” Andrew replied shakily.

“I have just the item for you, good sir, you are in luck! Come follow me.”

Theodore stepped out of the kiosk and extended a hand to Andrew. Andrew reluctantly followed him in. Theodore shifted a shoddy rug against the dusty floor, revealing a hatch which opened to a winding wooden staircase.

This is where I fucking die isn’t it?

He followed Theodore cautiously down the twisting staircase; each step creaking eerily against his weight. It led to a single room lit purely by bright fluorescent lights. The room could only be described as sterile. The air felt clean. The walls and floors were painted neatly white. In the center of the room was a small glass display case atop an ivory pillar. An even brighter light shone directly upon it. They stepped toward it.

“What is this?” Andrew asked, puzzled.

“It is my gift to you. Your shot at a second chance, should you wish to accept it,” Theodore smiled again.

“What do you mean?”

“Beneath the glass is a button. Pushing the button will take you to our launch station. You see, my company has perfected the unimaginable. Well, maybe not perfected, but hear me out. Our scientists recently discovered a means of travel which was previously impossible. My boy, we are talking about time travel.”

“What?”

“—but here is where it gets imperfect. For whatever reason, our machines are currently only able to take you to a restaurant. Now this can be any restaurant which you have previously visited. And in any timeline, might I add. Once you get to the launch pad, you simply tell the pilot when and where you would like to travel. Once you arrive, though, our current technology limits you to just 24 hours in that timeline before bringing you back. Once you arrive back at the station, your life will pick up here where it left off. Mind you, whatever changes you make in the previous timeline may reflect in your current life now. You will be given a viewing of the consequences of your choices on the ride back to the station and you can choose to keep or discard your trip’s consequences. Quite complicated, I know, but what do you say?”

“You have got to be shittin’ me.” Andrew said.

“I am indeed, not shitting you, my friend,” Theodore said, smiling again. He lifted up the glass encasement from the button. “Press the button if you wish to accept my offer.”

Andrew felt like he was on an episode of that weird Ashton Kutcher MTV show from the 2000s. He knew just enough about science to know that this guy was full of shit. At the same time though, what if? What if he could go back and change what happened? What if this is some message from a higher power telling him he needed to do this?

Ah, fuck it.

Andrew struck the button with an open palm. He felt the sting of the hard metal against his hand.

The room illuminated and then was only light. He could see nothing but bright, hot white. His eyes burned. The floor rumbled beneath him, seeming to shift and quake. He tried to move, but realized he had no surface from which to move. He floated around the sea of infinity. His body stretched awkwardly until finally he lost all sense of proprioception. A sudden, severe jolt of lightning blasted through his temple and then he could see.

There he stood now atop a large barren helipad. Ocean spanned to the horizon in all directions. Thick gray clouds covered the sun. The choppy and restless waters shifted the platform causing it to groan. Gusts of wind plowed across the open sea.

What in the fuck?