I ran hard from Billings Place to the East 2nd school yard and saw the sniper at the gate, shooting me in the gut, where I fell, died. It hadn’t happened like this before; coming back, I’d changed things. I’d been a survivor of the massacre. Shit. I had no time to think about the ramifications of this change. Like a ton of bricks, I threw myself at the sniper before my kids were among the first casualties splattered all over the green top. I severed his spine with a bowie knife. When he fell forward I kicked his assault rifle away from his body, and grabbed my kids and ran from the yard, pulling Sarita and Manny hard behind me.
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Hysterical, they looked up at me, “Dad? B-but?” I’d just died in front of them, but here I was, gray haired, 15 years older, saving them.
“It’s Dad.” I ran harder, pulling them home just a few blocks away. My younger self hadn’t faded completely; I thought I might disappear if I’d had, if he’d had. I didn’t know; nobody did, but I was going to find out about time paradoxes and the butterfly effect in one fell swoop.
My kids were crying; I ignored them and rushed into my building minutes later, ringing the bell since I didn’t have keys. Sara came down, so achingly beautiful, I threw my arms around her body. “Ronnie? What?” I kissed her face everywhere.
“Wait,” she said, noticing the kids were crying; Sara pushed me away, noting the differences in me. I wouldn’t let her go; after the massacre, Sara had taken forty sleeping pills. After the massacre, I’d become obsessed with time. After the massacre, I’d lost my mind and somehow learned things I couldn’t have learned before.
Sarita reached up and tugged at my shirt, “Papi? Daddy?” I pulled Sarita and Manny into an embrace. I started sobbing, “I missed you so much. I missed you so much.”
Sara stopped pushing me, she hugged me harder, “What happened? Please,” she started to cry then, and I shut my eyes, waiting to not exist, hoping I’d be able to stay. I didn’t know.
And I didn’t care. I’d saved them all. I’d saved them.
This story previously appeared in Daily Science Fiction.
Edited by Mitchelle Lumumba.
Born in Jersey, raised in Brooklyn: I'm a guy who's always been "writing" in his head and never, ever gave a real writing career a shot. I'd spend a decade or two not committing to anything, and here I am finally convincing myself to not waste time. It's never too late and my novel FOR THIS I WOULD BLEED might have an agent. Fingers crossed, because good things happen when you commit and stop wasting time.