Braking Distance - Tapa blanda

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Calum Kerr is a short story and flash-fiction writer living in Southampton. He is an associate lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Winchester, the fiction editor of Gumbo Press who produce the bi-monthly literary e-magazine, Word Gumbo, and is the co-ordinator for National Flash-Fiction Day 2012. His stories have appeared in a number of journals and magazines and his current project, flash365, can be viewed online at flash365.blogspot.com. More information can be found at www.calumkerr.co.uk.

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Closing the Circle

It’s strange to see yourself from another angle. I suppose famous actors have this feeling all the time. No wonder they have a distorted sense of self.

It’s strange to be here. I remember this evening so well. It was the moment, the fulcrum, the single point in time which changed everything.

I didn’t know that at the time, of course. And I probably would never have identified it without help, but Professor Higgins tells me he has narrowed the causality down to this single event, so here I am.

I spent some time in the dining area, drinking coffee and watching people come and go, and then, when it seemed about the right time, I got up and walked out into the main concourse area. I watched myself arrive and walk into the Game Zone and start my daily ritual of feeding the machines.

I can remember doing that, but it feels like it was someone else. Well, in the strictest sense I suppose it was. After all, this isn’t my body, it’s just one we’ve borrowed for the occasion.

I stood out in the light and watched myself in the darkness, pressing the buttons and shuttling the coins from tray to slot. I remembered how lonely and desperate I had felt. I remembered how much I had wanted to step out into the light and talk to someone, but how I hadn’t. How I couldn’t.

I was waiting for the event which would set me in motion, the starting gun for everything that was to come.

And finally it arrived. Someone in the cafeteria dropped a tray. It hit the floor with a loud slap and repeated hard cracks as crockery broke. I started to move closer to the Zone. I saw my younger self press the button for the last time. I watched him check his wallet and find it empty, and as he made his way back out towards his car, I walked towards him.

“Alright, mate,” I said to him. “Think I’ve seen you here before. How are the machines? Paying out?”

He ignored me and walked out into the night, and I watched him go, but I remembered what happened next.

I remember stepping out into the night and stopping as the cold air hit me. I remembered thinking about the simple human gesture that I had just ignored. I remember deciding to finally do something different with my life, something to make it better.