I was on a 7-47 about to leave for Houston. The Pilot announced that there were slight engine troubles and take-off would be delayed. It was late and the few other passengers were sleeping. I was engrossed in a great novel, reading by the light of the small overhead lamp.

The sudden feeling of someone watching me wrenched me out of my book. I turned and looked to my left. A man in a trench coat was staring back at me with obvious interest.

Without a word, the man took a seat next to me. The first thing I noticed about him was the gruesome looking scar running from the middle of his forehead to his left cheek bone. The grotesque mark looked as if it might have caused considerable pain. He appeared about ten years older than me, and I realized that, if he were younger, and had no scar, he might look a lot like me. This fact startled me, yet it seemed to make perfect sense.

The man was studying me, also. He seemed especially interested in my face, particularly my forehead. The stranger's hand kept straying to his scar, as if remembering the past.

When I asked him if I knew him, he answered no, and in a dead serious voice, asked me to keep my head down. I was about to ask him what he meant but at that moment, my seat started to shake. I looked around and saw that the whole plane was convulsing. I frantically searched for an explanation, but found none. The other passengers were sharing my panicked state. The small section was filled with cries of terror.

I looked back at the stranger for some kind of reassurance. I disdainfully discovered that he was no longer there. The plane's shaking was now accompanied with a threatening rumble. I looked out my small window only to see the ambulance and fire crew racing toward us. I forced myself to put my head down.

Immediately, I heard the explosion. I felt the rush of air tug on my clothing. I felt the flames sizzle the hair on the back of my neck. I heard the grating sound of steel crunching. I heard the mournful wails of my fellow travelers as they were consumed by the raging fire.

Then it was over. The shaking had stopped, along with the wind, the rumbling, and the screaming. There was only me, fire, and death. I got up and scanned the wreckage. My eyes were drawn to my seat, untouched among the carnage. There, in the tan, cushioned seat, embedded into the thick, foam padding, was a spear like rod of steel.

My hand traced an imaginary line from my forehead to my left cheek bone. The future had been changed.

Ya, but I want to know is how the future version of the guy got to meet that past version without obliterating the universe. Acorrding to the laws of physics... Quick! Click here to go back to my main page, here to go back to my menu of literature, or here to go to GeoCities before I bore you to death!