By Martin Anton Smith
Tim Teeter’s problems were not at all anodyne – they were explosive. And yet all his attempts to fix them were feeble, sclerotic even. Yes, he would try to apply a poultice to his wounded life, but with his band-aid solutions, Tim only ever ended up surfing the sulkiness-laced silence of his messy bedroom. Tim’s ‘one man think tanks’ always ended with his own blank faced recommendations.
Tim hadn’t always been like this – for the first fifteen years of adulthood he was creating what a conservative parent might refer to as “quietly succeeding in the corporate world”. Of course, Tim’s parents, like them all – were wrong.
For Tim It was more a slow realisation that that the corporate world he had wedded himself to was just a scam to steal a human beings time on Earth & energetic vitality. So, after fifteen years of filling out propaganda laced budget spreadsheets, & being bullied by a wide array of bosses & associates he decided that he’d leave the easy way – he took a baseball bat to his boss’s computer, & a bunch of other screens for good measure.
That was all over now, a semi-distant memory. A memory that now somehow didn’t quite feel as if it was real, & had actually happened. But that’s was just his brains way of coping with the embedded trauma – to make his past life seem like the fading remains of a vivid nightmare.
Tim was by now simply in what is dubbed a ‘holding pattern’; he had closed one chapter of life but had not yet properly opened the next one. Or said more correctly, he had thrown the book he was reading into the fire & had not yet gone to the bookstore to buy another book, more suited to his interests to read.
So, right now he was stuck like a light beam eternally spiralling an event horizon of a black hole. Someone might say he was in ‘no man’s land’ – neither putting his front foot forward, or retreating to plan an atttack.
But for Tim the most important thing right now was that he wasn’t being sucked into something else, something definitive, some dark sapping void that he wouldn’t like & couldn’t handle. He couldn’t repeat the past, at all costs.
Tim’s existence right now was a kind of ‘Peregrinations in Purgatory’. He had taken on a job as a postman. He hated the early mornings. He hated his boss – who was like a mean version of Homer Simpson, both in looks and demeaner. The guys & handful of women he worked with were mostly nice but most by now had had the life well beaten out of them by their ‘as nice as the SS’ managers.
An example of the managers meanness was this example: The ‘mean homer simpson’ manager had waited untill one of his postmen. this postman was knocknamed ‘Scroungey’- had arrived back to the sorting room, after he’d delivered his round. The conversation, which had a large audience of other fellow postmen went like this.
“Hey Scroungey! – I heard you’ve been feeding Mr Tambourine’s dog snacks – is that true”?
“Yeah, I’ve been giving it some dried snacks here & there, so what”
“Well I’ve just heard that the dog had an elergic reaction to that food & it’s dead & the owner says he’s gonna sue us – you’re probably gonna lose your job Scroungey”
Scroungey had been totally fooled by ‘Mean Homer’s’ good acting job. He pleadingly replied.
“What! That’s not my fault, I talked to the owner she never told me about the dog havign an elergy! Honest ‘mean homer’ come on, trust me, how was I to know the Dog had an elergy?”
This was when ‘mean homer started laughing, it was a evil villain kind of laugh – or the one a serial killer might have. He was enjoying making Scroungey think he might lose his job. All the others, including Tim had watched in horror. This kind of thing happened all the time. But Tim knew this was just temporary. He wouldn’t end up here for decades like every other person there.
That night Tim went back to his grungey bedsit, where he of course lived alone. Every night he read sci-fi novels & short stories to help his psyche survive until this holding pattern had played itself out & his new mission in life would emerge.
This was ok but a little too boring. Tim had an idea: mantra. He’d heard about mantra’s while watching an old Beatles documentary, about the time they had gone to india to learn about transcendentalism. Of course that stuff was all flakey crap to him, but he also had an open enough mind to try things & find out for himself. He put the book down & sat up in a lotus position.
He started the mantra.
” Ommm….Ommm…Ommm….Yes…my life is indeed Kafka-esque…Ommm….& it is also also Phillip K. Dick-esque like too…Omm.”
Indeed Kafka & Phillip K. Dick were his favourite authors, with all the rest a distant third. He repeated this mantra for three hours non stop. He wanted to give the mantra a fair chance of working, to give it ‘a far shake of the sauce bottle’ as Tim had once heard an Aussie postman at work say. Though it was three hours it seemed to Tim like fifteen minutes tops. In fact It was only the slam of the Chef returning from his shift at midnight that had broken the trance. This made Tim happy, he had his first real smile for months.
But his good mood didn’t last long. His mind started it’s internal monologue.
“Things are deteriorating So quickly. My hopes of improving my life to become Asimov-esque – that is stable & predictable, are now like seeing a distant flicker of candlelight – held up by a very rich man standing on the surface Proxima -b in the Alpha Centuri system.
But then Tim had an idea to fix this depressive funk he’s suddenly entered post mantra – sure it was a long shot but worth a try.
He looked over to a Betelgeuse like sized pile of coats & disguarded clothes in the corner of his room. He took a run up & slid under the coats finding himself on the bottom of it. He felt a sense of calm come over him – he was insulated from the real world. The smell of the coats & clotehs was only musty, & not stinky. This was becasue his routine was to leave his used underware & tee shirts in the shower room as he showered.
Then, as he was lying under the weighty coats & clothes he felt a hard-edged rub against his hand. He fumbled to the source like the blind man he was under this musty but relaxing clothes-mountain. He found the hard shape & realised it was a book left inside one of his coat pockets.
He took it out of the pocket & popped his head & the book he was clutching out from underneath the pile. In the low light of his dingey joint he looked at the front cover.
“A Trip to Rigel Via Orion’s Belt”
By Tim Teeter”
The front image was of a giant blue star that had a marble-swirl look to it. In the image there was in the stars orbit an Earth lookalike planet, exept the continents looked totally different shape. In the foreground was an approaching spacecraft that looked somewhat similar to ‘The Enterprise’.
Tim liked the image, but he didn’t recognise the book – he figured he must have picked it up at one of the many second hand bookstores he frequented, & somehow forgotten about it – which was unlike him as an ardent sci-fi book lover. Then he took a double take at the writer’s name.
“Hey….Shit!! that guy has the same name as me”, Tim said out loud – as he did when highly surprised, even if he was by himself. Tim turned to the back cover – and there it was – a photograph of the author.
It was picture of himself, perhaps twenty years in the future as a sixty-year-old. Tim’s fears instantly disappeared. He knew after looking at this picture he’d be ok & his problems were only temporary. Tim was sure this was a book from his distant future, that had somehow popped into his life twenty years before he had written it.
Tim figured that maybe it was a ‘glitch in the matrix’ type thing that he’d heard of from the internet videos. Tim knew a lot about physics from his school days & that’s why he didn’t think his ‘book from the future’ popping into existence in his present was an unbelievable thing. Tim knew that quantum mechnics says that particles & anti-particles pop into existence seemingly ‘from nothing’ all the time. Tim thought that the book was perhaps some kind of effect wherby the quantum effect somehow magnifies into something large like a book.
But Tim was mistaken. In reality the book suddenly appearing was not a undiscovered quantum physics effect at all. For the real Tim Teeter from the photo the book’s back cover was not the Tim same Teeter that was stuck in a holding pattern, worked as a postman & had dived under his Betelgeuse sized clump of washing for mental health reasons.
Yes – the photo did look like identically like him, or what he would almost certainly look like in twenty years, but it definitely wasn’t him & it also definitely wasn’t him as a succesful Sci-fi writer from the future. but Tim didn’t realise this.
Tim now felt like a ‘new man’. He had a warmth in his chest. He had a sence of sureity about his existence. He felt suddenly like he figured a rich man might feel. He felt like he could now happily deal with all the crappy depressing ‘holding pattern life’ that was his reality. Tim’s knowledge of his ‘good future life’ – even though it was false, allowed him to smile as he waded through his very deep trough of bullshit that followed him everywhere tenty-four-seven.
Unfortunately this feeling would only last until around ten days – until some time late in the next week. His anxiety would then return with interest when he went back to his supposed ‘future book’ & he would read the publisher details page. He’d read the date of publication, the country it was written in etc which would destroy his post-mantra reality in an instant.
That night under the coats was Tim’s best night sleep ever. And so were the next nine nights. Why would he stop sleeping under his coats, trousers & shirts now? They’d lead him to the book. He also decided to use his sick leave to bunk the post office, he had to enjoy the feel good time rather than waste it at that crap hole. All day & night He read all his stacks of unread sci-fi books & mind other bending fiction books.
During those ten days of wrongful-victory-bliss he had the time of his life – he’d read so much stuff he’d even kept the mantra’s going every time he’s read ten pages of text as well. Sure he was putting himself in a ‘manic state’ & he knew it – but what did it matter? – he told himself. He knew it would all work out ok – the book had destined it!.
At around night five after finding the book under the musty coats, his sweet restoritive sleeps started to have a kink in them. Perhaps the mantra’s & the reading had caught up with him. On night five he developed a reccuring nightmare.
The nightmare went like this: Tim found himself as an unemployed & depressed praying mantis who had staged an elaborate break in to his own flat, & was now reporting it to a series of disinterested police as a ‘killer-bad-guys-out-to-get-him, he-was-just-lucky-to-not-be-there-at-the-time’ thesis.
In the nightmare no matter how much he as a ‘sincere sounding praying mantis’ tried, the various police officers wouldn’t listen for a second. They all suspected him of staging the break in, in the hopes of insurance pay out.
The nightmare plot continued to the last part: He as the praying mantis had got so stressed that the cops wouldn’t be suckered into his scam, It got to the point where he was so stressed he told the reporter from the local rag an extremily elaborate story about all the scenarios of ‘who were the bad guys out for him’ that he felt he would have to leave to go live safely in New Zealand so to hide out from the killer burglars who were one hundred percent sure to return & ‘take him out’.
By the ninth & final night’s sleep under the musty clothes mountain, & the fifth consequetive night of the ‘burgled praying mantis’ nightmare, Tim was almost at mental breaking point. By now it was like he’s become one with the sci-fi stories he’s been reading all day & night for the last nine days & nights with reckless abandon.
That afternoon on the tenth day he emerged from underneath the pile & went over to the coffee table which was only a foot away from ‘musty clothes mountain’. As he looked at the cover of the book he instantly felt cured of his manic state. He flipped to the publishers info page. He froze like a statue made from ice chipped from Saturn’s moon of Titan when he eyes read the following words.
Published by Tim Teeter in 2019 By Sleeping Mantis Press.
Tim fell backwards onto the top of ‘clothes mountain’. he fell still holding the book. When he landed on the clothes the book’s edge had hit his lip & cut it, & it had even dislodged his two front teeth. The last thing Tim felt was the whack of the book, and the feeling of trickling blood from his mouth. His eyes slowly closed & he lost consciousness.
In three days time two police officers forced their way in by breaking in the door. They quickly saw Tim’s arched body on the top of ‘clothes mountain’. The book was lying nearby him with it’s sprawled pages facing downwards. They saw his bloody face & teeth knocked out. They also looked around at the bomb site all around them. The room full of broken bottles, various detritus seemingly thrown from drawers, books thrown out of the many book cases, which had all toppled over. The saw the book next to Tim, but didn’t think much of it.
They immediately suspected foul play, emanating from break in. Tom Trevelli, who was the senior partner of the two, called the job into to the Precinct & prepared themselves for a double shift. Tom was an ardent sci-fi himself, which helped him escape the drudgery of cop work. He’d been sick of being a Cop for at least a decade now, but was stuck inside of what he had coined ‘The black hole of the Force’. Just as well he had Sci-fi, and that’s how he spent all his spare time after he clocked out – alone with snacks, beer & Sci-fi in his one bedroom unit.
While waiting for the forensics team both of them figured they’d read from the book., then when they heard the others coming, they’d place it back exactly as they’d found it. One of the cop’s put on his gloves & lifted the book. He was a little startled when he read the words on the front Cover.
A Trip To Orion’s Belt Via Rigel
By Tom Trevelli
He almost died himself after he turned to the back page & looked at the photograph of the author – it looked just like himself only about twenty years older. His partner Alex saw his discomfort.
“Hey Tom, what’s up you look like you just saw a Ghost?”
Tom looked up at Alex, walked over gingerly & showed him the book.
“Look at the auther & photo man – it’s as if it’s actually me! I’m taking this damn book home”.
Alex after looking dumbfounded, looked at Tom & deadpanned his words.
“I didn’t see nothing Tom – we never solve these kind of cases anyway – that book won’t matter none”.
With Alex’s reply, Tom gingerly picked up another book at random from the floor, dropping it the first time he tried. He put it face down with pages sprawled back to the exact position of the one he was now quickly stuffing down his pants.
As Tom got back to his feet he smiled at Alex & they both heard approaching distant wail of their fellow cops in squad cars coming in from the Precinct.
The End
Anton Martin Smith Writer 