I am a freelance writer. I write novels, short stories, and nonfiction books. I also specialize in scientific writing.
John lifts his hand to cover his eyes against the rays of light as he walks outside. The sun is bright on this July morning. His home is situated in a quaint little town hidden in the mountains of Uzbekistan. His father had been a goat herder and recently died last August. He left John his small cottage and over two hundred acres of grasslands where goats would graze at midnight. This was John's quiet place; a hidden gem tucked away hidden from the rest of the world.
John walks up a steep hill towards a ridge overlooking a wide valley. Shrubs are spaced evenly across the outer walls of the valley towards a dense forest. John lifts himself towards a large stone and rests a minute on its surface. He hears a loud shout behind him.
"What are you doing here?" The voice says.
"This is my home," John replies.
I wish I knew
"I don't think it is," the voice grows louder. "Who are you?"
"No, this is my property. My father left me this land. This is my home."
John turns around, and immediately his eyes fall upon a tall figure, dressed in a black suit with a ski mask over his face.
"Why don't you show your face?" John asks. "You are saying this isn't my property. I can assure you it is."
"How can you be so sure?" The masked man repeats. "Can you prove it?"
"Well, I have documents to prove it. I have the deed to the property. I don't feel I need to explain myself to a stranger. This is my land."
Who Are You?
The masked man walks up closer to John and takes out a compass and hands it to him.
"What is this for?" John inquires, confused.
"You are lost in the world, John," the man replies. "This isn't your world."
"What do you mean? Of course, it is my world."
"Before you say that, what do you know about compasses?"
"They always point north," John replies.
"Take a look at the compass I've given you."
John studies the compass and notices compass continues to spin and never lands in any direction. It's like a sped-up clock, spinning counter-clockwise hundreds of rotations a minute.
"So, you have a broken compass," John continues. "What does this prove?"
"Who do you think I am?" The man asks John.
"I have no idea. Why would I know who you are?" He replies. "I don't even know how you got here. This land is empty for hundreds of miles. I hardly ever see anyone here."
The man takes off his mask and reveals his face. John's eyes refocus on the man's face.
"This is impossible," John replies. "It can't be."
John glances at the man and realizes it's him. He's about twenty years older with greying hairs.
"I am you," the man replies. "to tell you this isn't your world, John. It's mine. You came here about forty days ago, and you've been resting in my cottage. I found you in the ravine near the base of the mountain. I don't know how you got there, but this place is not yours. This is my world."
"How can that be?" John replies.
"Do you remember waking up and coming for a walk?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, my father is still alive, John. In your world, your father died. He's out to town right now, but he'll return later and you'll see that this isn't your place."
"This can't be real," John remarks.
"I think you are from another world. I don't know how you got here, but somehow you're here."
"How come the compass does this?" John asks, pointing at the spinning dial.
"I think there's time anomaly whenever we are together. I studied to be a physicist in Moscow," the man replies. "I think something temporally happened, and you came here."
"We conducted experiments at CERN to assess the effect of Higgs Field on particles. There was an accident at the collider a few weeks ago. At first, I thought it was nothing huge, but I suppose it began to cause our universes to converge. That's the only thing I can think of, John."
"This is real?"
"You are standing here, aren't you?"
"I am you," John replies. "There's a multiverse..."
"It appears so."