When I started last night with two beers and the words “Yeah, I can do that,” I never stopped to wonder where I’d end up the next morning. Hung over as hell with a lampshade on my head? Would it be in the bed with an alien warrior goddess? Or uttering the words “Holy shit I missed 1700’s Colonial America and ended up in Space Narnia”. Believe me when I say this: it doesn’t even make sense in context. It was just one of those nights. The answer?

All of the above.

Time travel gets pretty complicated.

~

Post-Industrialization Earth, 201X.

11:23 PM, Campus Apartments.

 

“Hey, you guys want to do something different tonight?” I asked just as my friends had finished setting up their orc figurines and copious stacks of sheets. Michael and Anthony stared up at me, their eyes screaming dick move. I shrugged, ignoring their eye rolling. So what if they took half an hour just to set up? “We could maybe go out for a few drinks. Have some fun. Ya know.”

Anthony snorted, adjusting his glasses against his freckled face. His soulless sniffle sent an irritated shiver down my spine, his pale complexion sickly against his red hair. He snorted again before retorting,  “And what, pick up chicks? That’s what you said last time. It never works. Ever.”

I tried to speak with a snappy retort, but our mutual, portly friend interrupted.

Mark held up a finger, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came out. We stared at him, silent. His eyes bulged out like a fish, switching between Anthony and I, no longer blinking as his face flushed. His hand grasped his neck. Choking and gagging.  Face turning red. Anthony finally lost it when Mark pretended to cry and turned away, shaking in muffled laughter and pounding the table. Hilarious.

“You know what? Forget it. I’m going home.” My friends didn’t put up a fight, instead going back to their fantasy battles. Sighing, I stood up from the table and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I hadn’t even bothered to take out any sheets yet. Somehow I knew this would happen.  Flattering. Leaving the apartment behind, I made the journey to mine. Granted, our doors were only two meters apart on the campus apartments. Still, it was a soothing quiet journey. My abode. Alone at last.

“Whatever,” I muttered to myself as I grabbed a couple beers—better to be honest upfront than make multiple trips—and plopped on the couch, sending gears and wires to the floor. My backpack fell to the side, filled with worthless schematics and formulas. All failed proposals, since they didn’t “follow the curriculum.” The memories stung deep, only encouraging me to indulge my habit tonight. Popping one of the bottles open, I got to work chugging, killing those precious brain cells and watching mediocre rom-coms on the television.

It wasn’t until my fifth beer that it finally occurred to me.

“You know…” I drooled, wiping my sleeve as I stared at the old and hammy science fiction movie on the small screen. Some mad scientist dude had made some machine thingy and was picking up midget elf chicks and fighting off the giant moon gremlins or whatever. The plot was somewhat lost on me, as was the title. Something about a time traveler. I nodded. Time travel. “Yeah, I can totally do that. And I’ll totally get laid doing it!”

My eyes scanned my apartment for what I could use. Various wires and failed gadgets and dumb contraptions lying about, littering my apartment with failed memories and ambitions. Sure, classes like Statics were hard enough, but building a time machine had to be easy. I tapped my forehead. “System’s holding me back.”

It was about the time my memories started to fade, but I vaguely recall breaking into the gym and stealing one of the machines and a water dispenser. No idea how campus security failed that spot-check, but I managed it. Couldn’t remember which machine, though.

Yeah, I was that drunk.

Hours were then spent calculating, computing, munching, drinking and deriving. A hundred search engine results on my laptop, thousands of lines of data scanned and deciphered by yours truly. Only a dozen pictures of cats. Some aspect of my mind, the part not throbbing with dull drunkenness, wondered why I hadn’t taken Theoretical Physics since clearly I was some brilliant prodigy. Or maybe that was the alcohol talking. Then again, writing Temporal Physics on your resume was better for landing in the crazy house than an internship.

“Heh,” I muttered to myself, finishing a rough sketch for my microwave modification. The exact reason was unknown, but microwaves were good for time travel. And picking up women. Especially the last part. Couldn’t remember where I had heard or saw it, but it must be true. Theoretical physics at its finest. I giggled. “Ain’t nothing theoretical about this!”

Math, alcohol, and television from the Age of Dinosaurs. A terrible combination on a Saturday night, but the influence had an overwhelming influ—er, effect over my over imaginative mind. The greatest miracle of all? I didn’t puke once. All of it allowed me to juggle and derive formulas, using a bit of Perturbation Theory mixed with String Theory, Chaos Theory, and a splash of Murphy’s Law. The last one was especially important, from what I could recall.

Then I blacked out.

~

Somewhere? Some time?

Morning? ???

 

I shifted, my cheek resting against something hard. Groaning—damn, my head was pounding—I lifted it, gazing around my apartment with glossy eyes. Nothing was out of the ordinary the first time I looked. There had always been a water dispenser swinging from the ceiling, right?

Wait, that can’t be right. I blinked, certain things no long adding up. Rubbing my eyes, I looked again around the apartment. And then I looked down at my makeshift nest of gears. “What… the hell happened last night? And why the hell am I still pedaling on a cycle machine? ”

I jumped off the faux-bicycle, initially stumbling on my feet. Shuffling to the wall for a closer look as well as balance, foggy memories began to rise to the surface. My head turned, glancing at the floor for a split-second before returning to the wall. Weird, all my spare parts were gone. The only nuts and bolts not missing were attached to yours truly. And the wall was all veiny with pulsing wires and metal bits! There had to be a connection.

Blinking, my mind made that connection. That incredibly obvious connection. Why did I screw and weld nuts and bolts to the wall? Shaking my head, I groaned, “Right....”

“Okay, I think I had a little too much,” I muttered, clutching my queasy stomach and shuffling toward my front door. Nothing like curing a good hangover by puking into Anthony’s toilet. His floor had this calming, soothing sensation of not being mine that made hangovers that much more pleasant to handle. Best of all, I didn’t have to clean up if I missed! Ah, friendship.

At the door, I sighed and ran a hand through my scraggly hair—except, I would have if it weren’t for the strange hat. Without pondering it too much, I just threw it off and stared at the stiff lampshade in my hand. Universally recognized as the accessory for those who had truly partied. Shaking my head, I clicked my tongue in disappointment. “Yeah, definitely had too much.”

Tossing it to the side, I finally turned my attention back to the door and threw it open. And then I immediately closed it.

“Well, fuck.”

I opened the door again. Nope. Closed it again.

“Okay, I can’t be that drunk.”

I opened the door once more, and there it was. Leaning out the door frame, I gazed out into the distance. Nothing but trees and snow as far as I could see. Not much with these prescription glasses, though. Still, the visual dissonance of my home appearing in the middle of nowhere kept me frozen, the freezing cold having nothing to do with my icy blood. What was this place? Where was I? Looking outside my apartment itself, it wasn’t like I was walking out of a hole or portal or tree. My apartment itself, steel-reinforced concrete shattered and jagged at the ends, looked like it had been ripped out of the building itself.

Regaining conscious thought and other somewhat important faculties, I stepped outside to inspect this strange new world. My feet crushed the snow underneath, sinking a good centimeter before touching solid ice. I spun in a slow circle, watching as snowflakes fell in the middle of spring. It was like I walked into my wardrobe, which probably wasn’t unlikely considering last night—even though I didn’t own one. Which made more sense than the alienation I was feeling now. The queasy stomach did not make it any easier. Part of me prayed an ice queen didn’t show up out of the blue. Well, not the evil sorceress kind.

However long I was unconscious, part of me was still drunk and only beginning to enter the hangover stage. Which would probably explain why I was fine with leaving my apartment to explore. Never mind the weather or my light clothes.

Strolling through the woods and whistling a fine tune, nothing was immediately out of the ordinary. A few mossy rocks rolled around on their own, following me for a few meters until I looked over my shoulder. Like fangirls. Green, pulsing, rocky fangirls. Plus, the sky was unusually pretty, I thought as I closed my eyes and tilted my head to face the sky. It wasn’t everyday the two moons were illuminated next to the rising sun on such a pleasant morning.

My mind slowly churned faster and faster as the remaining alcohol burned through my system. It must have been hours since I left my dislocated apartment, and I’ve yet to meet signs of civilization. Maybe I just needed a shower?

My search finally ended as the sun floated straight above, the two moons waning over the horizon. I was standing on some rock plateau overseeing a grass clearing, scanning the canopy for treehouses, when a twig snapped.

Perhaps it was the alcohol arousing my bestial instincts from centuries of humanization, and definitely not me being some kind of coward that sent me tumbling down a pile of rubble and hiding behind a giant rock. Yes, it was a tactical withdrawal to observe my surroundings. A twig snapping in the middle of a quiet forest is always a bad thing. Movies taught me that.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, gazing down at the clearing as a figure skulked through. A woman, crouched with a weapon as if she were hunting.

A woman. Well, yes, a woman. Just a different kind of woman. I mean, I’m not racist, but I’m sure most people don’t have large antlers growing out of their head. Yes. Antlers. I was currently resisting the rising urge to have a panic attack.

The initial shock wore off, and I ignored my throbbing instincts to run the other direction. Not a difficult feat while drunk. Shuffling down gravel, jumping down rocks, and a leap off a small ledge returned me safely to the lower elevation. My entrance started the woman, but she didn’t toss a spear or anything so jarring. She only stood there, speaking rapidly in some strange tongue and gesturing with some kind of rocky sword thing with a barely-restrained scowl twisting her otherwise pretty face.

 I ignored those confusing, buzzing of words as I burned her image into my head. She left me breathless, although that wasn’t a hard feat either. Strong-muscled, a few inches shorter or taller than me, and wearing some kind of leather outfit crossed between some medieval militia armor and that one actress in Michael’s porn folder. A cute brunette, just with antlers growing out of her head and her skin an ethereal shade of bronze. Probably a native. Okay, that might have been racist to say. But yeah, she was pretty hot.

Shrugging, I put off the weirdness with the remnants of the alcohol surging through my bloodstream. My non-survival instincts, the most important kind, deemed it appropriate to approach her. Priorities: hit on attractive woman first, then find a way home.

Standing rigid, she allowed my approach, but her visible muscles grew tense and her sword grip tightened. An attractive, somewhat confused and possibly irritated woman was in front of me. Most important thing of all: she had a pulse. Probably. The antlers were no big deal anyway. I slicked my hair back. Time to make some mad game.

I opened my mouth to say, “Hey cutie, is it mating season or am I just happy to see you?”

Well, I would have anyway. It came out more like, “Hey—blararghhh…!” as I projectile vomited over the woman. If that hadn’t been humiliating enough, the antlered woman screamed and headbutted me right in the groin.

Farewell, future children.

Pain, thy name is Matthew Hanson. And I just invented time travel. Kinda.