Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader Presents Flush Fiction (16 page)

We stopped just a few paces apart. I eyed his rugged form clad in ripped Levi’s jeans. His unfashionable leather waistcoat flapped in the light evening breeze. The scar on his left cheek seemed unnaturally pale in the moonlight. His flat cap seemed out of place perched atop his overlarge head at a jaunty angle, like a rock on a precipice.

He drew fast, his hands a blur, but I was quicker. My trombone reached my lips and I started blowing first. His trumpet followed mere milliseconds later. The battle commenced.

Sonia Orin Lyris

W
ow, it’s you, reading me. I can’t believe it.
You
reading
me
. You know how you thought you were being watched and recorded by visitors from the future who had super-advanced recording technologies so subtle you barely noticed them? Well, you were right! We watched and recorded everything you did. Now everyone can know how you saved humanity.

Hey, did something happen to you in The Shift? Not that you would know yet, right? When I was a kid and saw you on TV talking about how you’d save the Earth, you were hunched over and sickly, but after The Shift, you seemed taller, better looking. Then Silva came along and you were the perfect couple. Some say The Shift itself made you better, but I think it was because you proved you could do it, that you could save the world.

And hey, I’m sure having a woman like Silva didn’t hurt.

You can’t imagine how famous you are. But you don’t even know what you did yet! Are you still having panic attacks and hiding when the doorbell rings? In my time everyone in the world knows your name because of what you’re going to do. You are the greatest hero the world has ever known.

We don’t name schools and streets after you. We name those after your puppy, Dahlia. Do you have her yet? No, of course not, I know that. But you will soon, and you’re going to name her Dahlia. Great name!

We name cities after you. Well, they named themselves, really. Too many. But with “new” and “east” and “west” and “berg” and “shire” we manage to keep them straight. Mostly.

Hey, remember when you were fifteen and you wrote in your
journal about us watching you? You decided you were just being paranoid and burned the book? But you were right! We watch you. We read over your shoulder from our invisible time-travel envelopes. (That’s what you call them. Or will!) We made copies of your journal and everything. Even those dirty pictures you drew as a kid. Everyone wants to know everything about you.

As for the other stuff that you did, well, don’t worry about it. No one holds any of that against you, and besides who cares about some birds and cats compared to what you did for humanity? And we know about the other thing, too, but so what? I’m in the camp that says it was a part of your genius, your depth, your passion—the very things that inspired you to figure it out. For all of us. No one can say you aren’t the world’s greatest hero. If some people get hung up on that—and who was she anyway? No one! Maybe they’d rather live on a moon. Without atmosphere!

You’re probably wondering how I can tell you all this without messing things up for your future self. I would be, too, if I were you, and you’re tons smarter than me. You might even be wondering who I am. You must be! Wow!

I’m on the team writing your official biography for the world’s children so they can know who made The Shift. So they know why the sun is green and the sky is violet when all the other books talk about blue skies and a yellow sun. I bet I know more about you than anyone. I’ve made you my life’s work. I even studied Shift time-travel math. I probably understand it better than most physicists!

That’s how I realized that your proof meant I could send you this message. An earlier you, of course. Are you stunned to get this? It’s such an honor to write to you. Of course, it’s only one way, one direction. I’m sorry about that. I wish I could hear back from you. Or visit! We could sit and have some of your favorite tea (chai with honey, two tablespoons, let cool four minutes) and play with Dahlia (Puli, shaved). I’d love to! It would almost be worth my life, but that’s what it would cost, and I’m not ready to die yet. But
wow, I was seriously tempted, if you can believe it. So hi across the decades! Hi!

You mean so much to us all, and we thank you for what you did—I mean, what you will do! Give the puppy lots of love for us. We know she was your inspiration, that you got the flash for the final step of the proof from watching her play with a small white teddy bear. Most of us have Pulis now, did you know? No, how could you? We keep them shaved, like you did, and give them small white teddy bears. I named mine Daffy as in Daffodil, like Dahlia—same letter, and a flower. Get it? I hope you like that!

Okay, I’m probably boring you. You probably have better things to do than read fan mail. Which is what this is! So I’ll stop.

Don’t worry about me messing up the timestream. Yes, you will be famous, but not you, of course, since I’ve changed your timeline by telling you all this. But don’t worry! The stream is robust. It’ll spawn a version where you never got my letter and all will be well. Which you proved! You don’t even have to save us now. Actually, you probably won’t be able to, because you won’t feel compelled. I don’t see how you could possibly meet Silva now, either, which is kind of too bad. You might even go back to doing that other perverted stuff.

But the important thing is that another you is the savior of all humanity. You can be proud of that.

You’re my hero. I only wish I could have told the real you, but that would of course be impossible, as you proved! Thanks for reading this!

Your biggest fan in the world, ever,

Roger

Robert Pepper

W
hy do you want this job?” It was the same question that George, the human resources director at Zephyr Feoffor, had no doubt asked hundreds of applicants hundreds of times.

I looked him dead in the eye. “I need the money.”

He blinked. It wasn’t the answer he was used to hearing. I was probably the first person to say it. To his face, at least. I said what hundreds of people wished they could say, because I was fearless. I had nothing to lose. I knew I was going to hate this job from day one. A trained monkey could do it, and in this economy, trained monkeys were competing for the same jobs as Ph.Ds. I fell somewhere in the middle. But my well-hidden antipathy allowed for radical honesty, and that gave me an X factor. I wasn’t going to try to win them over; they had to win me over.

“You know,” George said, tapping his index finger on his chin, “I might have just the job for you. Wait here; I’m going to make a phone call. Make yourself comfortable. George stepped out, supposedly to make that call. For all I knew, he could have been calling security to escort me out of the building as quickly as possible, or running to an empty room to have the loudest laugh he’d have all year. George returned a few minutes later and beckoned for me to follow him. He led me to the elevator. He produced a key, and turned it in a keyhole. He pressed the buttons for the top and bottom floor simultaneously, a sort of secret passcode, obviously. I felt the elevator rising, rising, the numbers keys kept lighting up, heading up to higher floors, then, at the top floor, the numbers stopped lighting up, but the elevator kept moving. The elevator chimed, and
the doors opened up to reveal an elegant office hallway, complete with Byzantine statues, Persian rugs, and Japanese bonsai trees. I half expected to see an ocelot stroll by.

George led me to a spacious office with a huge desk and a view of the city. There were three empty chairs, two regular ones for guests, and a plush, expensive-looking leather executive chair. I started to sit down in front of the desk, and wait for whatever high-powered mucky-muck would interview me.

“No, no,” George said, in a tone that suggested he had already gone over this, when obviously he had not. “You sit in your chair.”

I shrugged, then sat behind the desk. The chair was even more comfortable than it looked.

“You have been honest with me, so I will be honest with you.” We have been without a Vice President of Malingering for far too long. From what you’ve told me, I think you would be the perfect VPM.”

“What are the responsibilities?”

“Well, I’ll be honest, there will be a few late mornings…some early evenings and long lunches, too. You may have to drink plenty of coffee, but if it becomes too much for you, there’s always Diet Pepsi in the vending machine. Trust me, on your salary, you can afford the dollar. You’ll have to stare out that window for a few hours a day, and scribble some ideas on a notepad. I expect a lot of scribbles. They don’t necessarily have to be good ideas, but it’s very important that you scribble them. Your secretary will handle most of the other work. Just know this: As attractive as she may be, she is under no obligation whatsoever to have sex with you. If she’s willing to go through the hassle of filling out the paperwork, that’s completely up to her. Of course, being your secretary, she’ll have to fill out your contract, too.

A contract? For permission to sleep with your boss? This place was something else.

“Secretary aside, what sort of salary and benefits can I expect as the VPM?”

“Well, the starting salary might be a little low at first, only
$150,000, but I expect you’ll do well, and with bonuses and incentives, you’ll easily clear two-fifty. Again, that’s just for the first year. Full medical and dental, of course. There’s the company car, too; most VPs choose the Mercedes, but if you’re more environmentally minded, you can have a Tesla. Obviously there’s the office itself. If you haven’t noticed, there are Bose speakers all over. If you open up your desk drawer, you’ll see a small control panel with a USB slot. That will be for your iPod. We’ll give you your choice of computers and monitors, but most people don’t need more than two. If you’re wondering about lunch, just have it delivered, and your X-A will pick it up from the front desk.

“Ex-ay?”

“Your executive assistant. It sounds better than ‘intern,’ doesn’t it?”

“Oh…” I said with a big nod, “I understand completely.” I understood all too well: They were going to pay me a quarter mil a year, and some poor college kid was going to be running all my errands for a measly college credit. What kind of company was this?

“That should cover most of it. When can you start?” “Oh, as soon as possible. Tomorrow. Actually, I don’t have anything later today, I could start today. Get a head start on picking out a color for the company car.”

“Do you have any more questions for me?”

“Well, yes, actually. That large painting on the wall. Do you think you could replace it with one of those large LCD TVs? We could use it for presentations, and the rest of the time I could use it as an electronic picture frame.”

“That is a wonderful idea. You had better scribble that down right away.”

I put my feet up on the desk and my hands behind my head. This wasn’t going to be such a bad job after all.

Douglas Hutcheson

T
hey had sat saddle for six days: five on their horses, plus one on saddles on the ground by the campfire where their former rides roasted.