- Synced & corrected by MementMori - -- www.addic7ed.com --
_
The day I became an experiment started like any other day.
I've spent many hours thinking
what might have happened if the weather had been bad,
like the previous days.
If I had just fallen asleep or let laziness overcome me.
There's no way for me to know now.
Please!
Please, open up!
Please...
Help!
Please, help!
Why?
It took me time to let go of certain things.
Of the questions, for example.
But especially of the need to know
how long I had been locked up there.
It is so difficult to give up the grip on time.
I don't know why they chose me or if there are others like me,
but the truth is I don't care anymore.
I'd rather know how often the travels take place and why,
but, as I don't, I learned to always be prepared.
The first time, I had been in the bunker for a very short time.
No more than a few hours.
When I saw myself out there, I thought I was free again.
While following myself towards the lighthouse,
I could see that everything happened according to my memories.
Everyone visits their past occasionally.
But it's quite different to do it without resorting to memory.
Back in the bunker, I thought I had imagined it all,
that the trip to my own past was nothing but some vivid illusions
of my poor brain, dazed by the kidnapping.
But it happened again,
many more times.
My memory was getting weaker and weaker.
My memories of the first time changed after every trip,
so I decided to become the transcriber
of my evanescent memory,
as well as of the new layers overlapping it,
by noting down everything and comparing all the versions
in search of any changes.
The books they had left there suggested that there had to be a way.
"Something doesn't want the past to be changed, but it can be done.
If you take resistance into account, it can be done."
It can be done.
Time after time, I failed in the attempt to prevent her kidnapping.
My kidnapping.
No matter what I tried, I would always go back to the same spot.
This is going to be my 50th trip to my own past.
There might be better moments to travel to,
but no one asked my opinion.
I kept verifying hypotheses, systematically,
which confirmed my intuition that the loop could not be broken.
If I was traveling to the past, it was because those strangers
had managed to kidnap me and take me there.
So no change that I could make in the past would alter my present.
An unsolvable paradox.
The last time I saw her, she looked so young and unfamiliar
that I couldn't find any traces of myself in her anymore.
Only then did I realize what the only possible solution was.
If she dies, I disappear.
But I will have spared myself all these years
of coming back again and again.
This futility.
This nightmare.
We don't have time.
I've been nothing.
Just a moment that nobody noticed.
A tiny stitch in the overloaded fabric of time.
I guess that's why they chose me.
My absence did not change anything,
and my return doesn't seem to, either.
Time resists being changed;
it is thick and sticky, like honey.
- Synced & corrected by MementMori - -- www.addic7ed.com --