Part 3 - Jester (Tuesday 6th December 2011)
What was he going to do? Jester felt too weary to cry and too dazed to do anything else except lie on the bed with his hands on his head and his eyes
closed, hiding from the mean-spirited world that on a whim had turned against him. As his thoughts came and went Jester grew more and more agitated.
He grabbed the other pillow and held it over his head to create another barrier.
“What am I going to do?” He wondered aloud against the fabric of the pillow, and for what must have been the hundredth time his stomach churned
when there was still no answer. “It’s the 6th of December 2011, for goodness sake, not the 21st of December 2012!” Which is when it should have
He was certain that when he had got up that morning, which now felt like a very long time ago, it had been the 21st of December 2012.
“Somehow I’ve gone back in time to 2011.” Jester said again, a fact which stubbornly just didn’t want to sink in. “That, or I’m going
mad.” He wasn’t sure which of the two was the most preferable. “Or both because I’m already half-way there by talking to myself.”
To begin with, Jester had thought that it might have been concussion, some kind of mistake, an elaborate joke or maybe he really was losing his mind,
but then he realised that it was the only explanation, even though it was completely impossible.
“I’ve time-travelled back to 2011.” He repeated again, the words still not sounding right.
Jester removed the pillow and rolled over, opening his eyes. “It’s time travel!” He exclaimed.
It was true. His wallet still held the receipts from his visit to the city from earlier that day, or whenever it was now because it seemed it was no
longer the 21st December 2012, physical evidence that had travelled back with him. His train and bus tickets, a receipt for the coffee and toast he
had eaten that morning, and the receipt that came with the money the landlord had paid him. All were dated the 21st December 2012, which by all
accounts was now over a year in the future.
Not knowing what to do he had checked himself into a hotel, situated not far from the railway station, as he did not want to put too much distance
between himself and the city. Once there, he had tried to work out what had happened and how he was going to sort it out.
The television flickered, catching his attention as it lit up the dark room. He had left it on and had forgotten all about it.
“And what do you want? Are you going to mock me again?” he asked, but the television was only the messenger and he shouldn’t be shooting it
The closing credits of a late night film were rolling down the screen. There was no music, it was silent as he had muted it earlier too, tired of
listening to the reporter on yet another news bulletin recounting a news story that Jester had heard before. After they ended, an advert for a new
television series flashed up. It was one that would be starting in the New Year, in 2012, a series he had already watched in its entirety.
He glanced at the bottle on the bedside table. It was very tempting. “And I know what you want too,” he told it, wondering if he was strong enough
to resist after his resolve was being so fully tested.
Along with the gum and newspapers he had also bought a bottle of vodka. Initially when he had grabbed it, it was on a whim and he had not actually
intended to drink it, as he didn’t usually indulge in the hard stuff and lagers were more his thing. Jester knew too that it was not a good idea to
drink alcohol when you had suspected concussion, but it wouldn’t do any harm would it? Jester didn’t really believe he was concussed, not anymore,
not now and things were already so monumentally wrong, that surely a little drink couldn’t hurt, could it?
“Okay,” he said, giving in. “It can’t make things any worse than they are.” Waking up with a hangover had never been so appealing.
Rolling off the bed, Jester grabbed the bottle and went over to the dressing table where a small kettle, two cups and a basket were neatly arranged on
a tray. The cups had some milk cartons, teabags and sugar and coffee sachets stuffed in them. The little basket held a handful of individually wrapped
biscuits. Tipping out the cartons and sachets from one of the cups, he opened the bottle. Discarding the lid on to the tray next to the watch, he
poured some of the clear liquid into the cup.
edit on 30/11/2014 by YarlanZey because: (no reason given)