About Time

Coming from the bleakness of 2025 to the colourful landscape of 1985 was a shock to the system. When I first stepped from the time bubble and into the deserted back alley, I took a moment to get over the sickness of travelling such a distance in time.

Once the initial nausea passed, I took a deep breath and inhaled pollution, spluttering and coughing. Welcome home, I thought, as I wandered down the alley and out onto the crowded town of my home from the past.

A young boy shot by on a colourful BMX, swerving to avoid me and jumping from the kerb into the road where an immaculate Ford Capri slammed on the brakes. Turning around, I was surprised to see that I remembered the town more clearly than I thought I would. Across the road from me was the old Woolworths store where I had bought my first ever vinyl record and down from that was the tiny back street computer shop that I would get cassette tape games from to run on an old Commodore computer.

A sea of cars floated by, ones that would be considered ancient classics in my time. The Capri shot off after the driver had finished shouting abuse to the young lad on his BMX. Each car that passed I ran a quick calculation about the value of them in my time; there was thousands of credits worth here!

Passing the toy shop, I saw rows upon rows of Star Wars figures on sale, immaculate, boxed and fifty pence each. Unable to fight the childish urge, I stopped and stared at the window display. Like yesterday, I remembered saving up my pocket money to go and buy these toys from this very same shop. As an adult, I had cursed myself for taking them from the box, though I had enjoyed playing with them so much. Now all this was gone, buried under the rubble of a future struggling to arise from the flames.

As people walked by, I saw them turn and give me funny looks. My reflection in the shop showed me how strange my clothes were in comparison to the baggy tops and jeans these people from another world wore. My standard issue clothing was a tight fitting jumpsuit of a black fabric that while it looked thin, was warmer than the thickest coats these people wore. My hair was shaved, and I ran my hand over the stubble of it, looking at the long hair fashions that were evident here.

Moving on, I hurried down the high street, passing green grocers, bakers and butchers. The smells from these shops assaulted me and I breathed in the freshness of it all. Small businesses were such a rare thing in my time, with everything being run by the three major corporations. When I passed the old book shop at the corner of town, I had to stop and poke my head in for a browse. I picked a book up and flicked through, smelling the paper pages and remembering that long ago smell. When the shopkeeper gave me a funny look, I put the book back and quickly left.

“You’re not here for the sights, Alex,” a man said from behind.

Turning, I shrugged at my probation worker. “It’s a bit of a shock coming back to this place,” I muttered, not even trying to hide my annoyance. Like me he was dressed in the simple black jumpsuit and his hair was also shaved as was the fashion where we came from. Duncan was twenty years younger than me, born in the twenty first century where a shaved head didn’t mean you were a thug. Because of that, I guess he didn’t understand why we looked so out of place.

Duncan checked his Glass-Pad. “July 1985. You’ll be ten years old, so you shouldn’t have any problems carrying out the punishment.”

I pushed Duncan’s hand down that held the Pad. “That Pad is a thousand times more advanced than any computer here, Duncan,” I hissed angrily. “You might want to be a little more discrete.”

Duncan put the Pad back in his pocket and shrugged. “I’ve been an agent long enough to know how to handle myself. Remember, you have a week to carry out the mission. If you haven’t reported in to me after that time, I’ll be coming for you.”

“You think you can last a week on your own, Duncan?”

Duncan gave me a sharp look that cut. “Just don’t mess this up, Alex, it’s your only chance.” With that, Duncan turned and headed down the high street, back towards Woolworths. When he was gone, I finally felt free, something I haven’t been since my sentencing.

So here I was, standing in 1985 in my home town looking out of place. Somewhere in town was a ten year old version of myself unaware that he had to die by my hand for a crime he would commit in his future. It was my crime that had cost the lives of two hundred people because I had got drunk while piloting a ship back from the moon. Death through neglect of duty was the charge, guilty was the verdict. Facing a death sentence, they gave me the choice offered to everyone with the stomach enough to do it.

“You will be taken from this court,” the judge had declared as I stood isolated and alone, “travel to a point in your past where you will carry out sentence upon your past self.”
It was a genius idea, I mused, as I made my way through town, one that the courts had embraced shortly after time travel had been discovered in 2016. By killing myself in the past, the present would change and I would never have committed the offence. Two hundred innocent people would live. Of course, I would be erased from the present and exist as a sort of ghost out of time. But my guilt would be gone and I would have only the blood of one ten year old child on my hands. No one could convict me of murder when it was me I was killing.

The paradox agency would have a headache working out the small knots in time this would cause, but they were used to it.

I came to a stop outside the old Burton’s clothing store and decided I would have to blend in a little as I was due to be here at least a week. There was no way I was going to head straight over to my old home and say, “Hello mum and dad, I’ve come from the future to kill myself,” before blowing away the innocent ten year old me. My plan was simple: convince my family that I was their son from the future come to rectify a crime I committed. There was no way I was going to take their only son away from them and leave without an explanation.

As I browsed through the racks of colourful clothing, I struggled with my emotions of actually being here. It wasn’t such a bad sentence, because when I returned to my own time, I would not be known by anyone outside the time agency. It was a complete fresh start and there was no family I would be leaving behind. My mum and dad died in 2015 in the third war and three marriages later, I was old and bitter.

I was already a ghost.

After I had selected what I thought was a reasonable looking suit and tie, I paid with the money that had been allocated to me and asked to change straight into the clothes. The shopkeeper thought me a little odd, but allowed me to use the fitting rooms to change. I folded my jumpsuit into my bag, covering over my issued gun that I would use to kill myself. On the way out of the shop, I bought a nice panama hat to cover my shaved head. But though I looked more like one of these people, I still felt a stranger and the look the shopkeeper gave me told me I was not welcome in this time. Still, I thanked the man and hurried out, keen to find my old home and see my mum and dad again.

My eyes watered at the thought. What would I say to them after all these years? But strangely, it was seeing my old dog, Spotty, that caused me the greatest upset. That dog had died when I was fifteen and I cried for a day. Even now I remember the day the car had run him down because I had allowed him off the lead in the street. At least another life would be saved by my act, even if it was just a dog.

Spotty would go on to live a long life, I hoped. Even as a child, I realised I was bad news to anyone I was near.

Heading down a street away from town, I lazily wandered along. The past was pleasant, I decided. When I thought back to my childhood years, it was always bright sunshine. Here I was now, on a glorious summer day and I knew that it wasn’t just my nostalgic memory playing tricks: the past really was sunny. The street took me down towards the sea front and I could smell the sea air, seagulls circling overhead. My house was just along the front, my bedroom having a view across the sea.

As I continued on my way, I passed people stood at their front doors, chatting away to each other about nothing in particular. Some smiled at me as I went by and I nodded back to them, finally relaxing into this time. The strange looks and hostile receptions had gone and now I was accepted, dressed in my light cream suit and Panama hat.

But I was a killer and not deserving their friendship. I turned my head down and studied the cracks in the pavement instead, trying to forget myself for a while. When I came to the end of the street, I turned left onto Marine Parade and stopped, looking out towards the sea across the road. Memories flooded my mind and I had flashes of times spent up on the beach, riding my bike along the walk up there. Taking Spotty for a walk and then explaining to mum how I had let him get into the sea and soaking wet.

A dog barked and I looked around, my heart beating a little too quickly for my liking. A poodle came running by, held back by a leash as a middle aged woman walked it. I recognised the woman as the old bag that lived down the street who would constantly complain about the noise us kids made when we were playing out. I couldn’t remember her name, but as she passed, the dog squatted and took a shit on the pavement. Without glancing down, the woman continued on.

There was something strangely acceptable, I remembered, about letting your dog take a shit on the pavement in the eighties. Walking was often a challenge to avoid stepping in the stuff. I smiled, and continued on towards home. When I finally reached number 8, I stopped and waited outside the low wooden gate, staring up the garden path. So I had come home after all these years, and the place hadn’t changed one little bit. Unable to build up the courage to go up and knock, I turned to go and walk around the block one more time. At least, I was about to leave when the front door opened and a woman in her late twenties stood looking at me.

“What do you want?” she asked.

My heart seemed to stop. “Mum,” I whispered, a tremble in my voice.

To be continued...