No Time Wasters

"WANTED: Someone to travel back in time with me."

Seamus smirked. It said, "This isn't a joke", but what else could it be?

If he could time-travel, he'd leave work ten minutes earlier and not miss the earlier train.

He turned to the back of the newspaper for the football results, and pushed the little block of text to the back of his mind. Silly. It wouldn't stay there, though. "You'll get paid when we get back." Seamus lingered on that. Bills stacked up, and his teacher's salary was modest. An extraordinary task would command an extraordinary payment, no?

What am I thinking!

Flicking back to the ad, he circled it, eyeing the part that said, "Must bring own weapons". How could anybody not be intrigued by such? He couldn't leave it alone, folding it up and tucking it into his briefcase, only to retrieve it and stare at it again moments later. "Safety not guaranteed." This should have put him off.

He arrived at his apartment and went through his usual evening routine. Maybe it was the simple supper for one, eyeing him like a cyclops, and judging his solitary, predictable life. It could've been the Scotch he poured himself for a treat, that burned his throat. Apparently, it also scorched the tiny pocket of his brain where common sense and scepticism went, hand-in-hand, to die. Perhaps it was looking at it a final time, lingering on "I have only done this once before."

He wrote a note, and, before he could change his mind, went to put it in the outgoing mail. It was a joke, he told himself. I won't hear anything back.

He was wrong. The reply was handwritten, and included an address (a diner), today's date, and a time. Midnight. Obviously.

The letters, uppercase and narrow, gave the impression that they'd been painstakingly formed. Even as he pocketed it, he wondered if he'd take it any further. It'll be kids. Laughing.

So why did he shrug into his coat and head to the designated meeting spot, bowing his head against the rain?

At first, he thought no one was there, and felt a fool, and then a small girl stepped into the light.

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Monday 11th November at 21.49

Quick Author's Note

I couldn't quite finish this one in 366 words, so by my own lights, this one fails as a micro! There will be a follow up.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 316 (!!!) daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January.

ONLY FIFTY DAYS TO GO!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and I am extremely grateful for your ongoing support.

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments.

I am still plodding away, catching up on reads. If I'm already up to date with your stories, I read someone else's!

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

Here are more woodland shenanigans:

Here's my latest dollar challenge. I think you might enjoy it:

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Thank you again!