The desire to succeed, I have found, can be quite a powerful motivator. That is not to say that I am not deeply aggravated to find my workshop has been trashed again. However, it does mean that I have to start all over again. This would be more of a deterrent had I not already memorized the blueprints for my time machine. I ignore the dire warnings painted on the walls and begin cleaning up the mess that my future self made. I know that this will work—how would my future self be visiting me if it didn’t?—but I have to finish it. I will be the first person to build a functional time machine. I’ll be able to see the dinosaurs, see what really happened at Sinai, and talk to Alexander Hamilton. I finish cleaning up the mess my future self left and salvage whatever I can from the wreckage. As I begin model 22, I resolve not to leave my workshop until I have completed it. That way my future self won’t be able to interfere without me seeing. Three days later, my hands are shaking from caffeine intake and my hair is a mess. But muscle memory from the 21 previous times I have built this device has guided me. It’s complete. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. I did it. I did it! As I start to key in the date, there’s a flash of light behind me. My future self has arrived. I turn around and face her. “You again! Why can’t you just let me have this?!” “Because you don’t know what you’re doing!” she exclaims. “You’re going to completely mess up history! It’ll launch a series of disasters!” I shrug. “Eh, worth it.” I punch the button on my fully functional time machine and disappear.
Eh, Worth It
Eve Schizer
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