Note for Campfire reader: D'palage is not supposed to be French. It is a shortening of Deep Pelagic. Do what you will with that.

“What’s the frequency Kenneth?”

“It’s at 50MHz, just like you said.”

“Check. Check. Still nothing over there?”

“No, dad. Why are we still trying to furbish these antiquated radios anyway? It’s not like we can use them to talk outside the dome and they’re huge.”

“Ha. They are big compared to things today, even were when my dad brought them down. But this helps us remember our roots, a time when we lived above the ocean. Forgetting is painful to some, including your old man here.”

“Well, I don’t want to live down here. There is nothing to do but collect thermal heat and sell it to some rich prig living in a bubble near the surface.”

“I understand, I was young and dumb and--.”

“I’m not an idiot! I just don’t like school.”

“I didn’t mean that. Look, failure isn’t fatal. You can try for the Navy Exams again. Go out and see the seas like you wanted to.”

“That was a stupid kids dream. I don’t need school or exams. I’m going to D’palage 4 and joining their Abyssal Run team.”

“You can’t just walk onto a team son. Their practically a fraternal order. You have to have an in with them, be like them, act in their fashion.”

“I’ve already been recruited. You never cared to notice. I’m outta here.”

“Wait!”

Slam

“What’s the frequency Kenneth?”

WC: 230

Warning: There is no violence or even direct threat of it in this story, but it is a bit dark and involves a kid.

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Knock Knock

The sound from my closet door was tiny even in the stillness of my room, but it sent my heart racing. Surely this wasn’t happening. There would be time enough at last, to be ahead of the bad.

I had thought the old man at the park had been insane. I mean, you can’t really trust an unkempt person in a bathrobe trying to feed ducks plastic food stuffs from some toy kitchen set.

Knock Knock

Shoot.

I was missing my opportunity. I moved through the pitch blackness of my room with practiced ease. Hands trembling I opened the door prepared to receive the wisdom from the future me.

“Where am I? Why can’t I see anything?” A small voice called out from the closet.

“Oh, sorry I’ll get the lights. You can come out of there. You will find my bed next to the clock, the clock.” I said as I made my way to the light switch. Why did I sound so small in the future did things keep getting worse and I ended with throat or worse brain damage?

“Ow, I stepped on something pokey.”

Definitely brain damage. “Just stay there.”

After I turned on the lights, I stared at the wall not able to face the wreck of my future. When the voice asked who I was and if I had kidnapped them I had to turn around. The boy looked to be about 7. wait a boy. Why was their a kid in my apartment?

The boy whimpered.

“I didn’t kidnap you and I’ll get you home.” I knelt down, my knee crushing layers of chip bags, and raised my hands. “What’s your name?”

“Timmy, Timmy Johnson. Can I call my dad I no the number.” He rattled off the number, but he hadn’t needed to.

I finally recognized that horrid bowl cut and smattering of light freckles on only the left cheek. I had lost them both when I hit middle school. The latter from sneaking to a barber with my allowance the and former was the one good thing to come out of puberty.

How could I prove to him I was him? “I know, I am you Timmy. I’m from the future.”

“Wow, Really? That’s so rad.”

Had I really been this gullible? Was it being gullible when you were believing the truth?

“Yeah it is. Why don’t you go sit on the bed now while I try to figure out how to get you back home.”

“Where am I.”

“It’s my room.”

He kicked his legs over the side of the bed, a loop of string threatening to fly of his foot. He went still for a moment and glanced at the door. “Won’t dad get mad with you?”

“I don’t live with him. I haven’t since I was 13.” I t was a week after my first trip to a barber. Seeing the widening of his eye, I continued, “I went to live with mom. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Wasn’t he ang– upset.”

An ambulance blared through the night somewhere in the distance, and we listened to it in silence. I groped for what to say to myself. I had been waiting for a future me to tell me what to do. I had always been waiting for others to help me or to tell me what to do. Maybe it was time for me to step up.

“He was but I… had help from a teacher and others. What month and year is it?”

“November 1995.” He said full of pride. “Next week is Thanksgiving.”

He nodded. I gave a quiet sigh of relief. My second grade teacher had made a point of visiting me before I left. She had apologized for knowing things weren’t great at home but hadn’t been able to help me. Even now I remembered her asking me each day if everything was alright and the pit that opened in my stomach each time. Also, I hadn’t known at the time, but my dad had several kilos of substances to sell hidden in the garage that holiday week. It was the perfect time.

I quickly went to my desk and pushed junk around until I found a pen and something to write on. It was warranty for my VR system. It would be a bit of an anachronism but that shouldn’t matter. I wrote the information I had while telling younger me the same. Then I folded the paper and gave it to myself.

“Give this to Ms. Carral. She will help you.” I said, leaving out that it was one of many outcomes. I was holding out hope.

Younger me nodded and let me guide him to the closet now a tunnel. He smiled as he disappeared down the tunnel.

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Word Count: 799