Fracture

Matteo wasn't looking at the sign; not really. His eyes may have been open and pointed in that direction, sure, but he didn't much care that the painted words read 'Fitz & Rowling's Worlde Faimous Carnivale', or that it was decorated with little stars and more glitter than you'd see on the floor of a department store after Christmas. No - the sign could have said 'HALT & FROGS SHALLE HOP INTO THY NASAL PASSAGES' for all he cared. His mind was a million miles away, swirling with thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. Then a tiny hand slipped into his own and reality came crashing down.

Time is a lot like an old sweater - it only holds its shape through force of habit, and is therefore terribly easy to unravel; all you have to do is pull the right thread and the whole tired thing disintegrates gratefully into a pile of yarn. But, if you have the know-how and a pair of knitting needles, it's the work of a few moments to take that yarn and start all over. To make it into a scarf. The same yarn, the same colour, the same size, just a new pattern of stitches. Go left instead of right, up instead of down, try this instead of that; an endless set of variations that all lead to equally unknowable and alluring ends. Matteo had done it countless times over the course of his life without a second thought; sweater to scarf to hat to mittens to blanket... again and again and again! Never the same thing twice. And that's why he'd brought them here - Freida and the kids - why he'd given into the children's pleading to let them all visit the midway. He'd wanted their last day of existence as a family to be a good one! Full of junk food and games and rides and colours... yes. He wanted to remember the kids like this. Before he pulled the thread and unraveled for good the timeline that had given them life. After tonight, Frieda wouldn't know him. He wouldn't live in this town. He'd be off down another road, taking new turns and seeing new sights.

He'd gained all he could from this pattern.

Matteo looked down into the smiling face of Roe, doing his best not to let the clamor of the carnival overwhelm him. She was a tiny thing - a teacup - and barely able to reach his hand even by standing on her tippy-toes.She looked so much like her mother... Matteo returned her smile and scooped her into his arms, careful in the process not to make her drop the massive stuffed animal she was clinging to. She'd won it earlier in the day from a ring-toss game and hadn't let it out of her sight since. Melanzana had been so jealous... the thought made Matteo's smile widen. Roe, seeing this, giggled musically and snuggled into his chest. Where was Melanzana? His little Eggplant? Her mother had taken her to see the sideshow while he and Row finished their funnel cake. Roe hadn't wanted to see the sideshow because the posters scared her. But now the sun was low on the horizon. Soon Frida and Melanzana would return. They'd all go home, smiling and laughing, swapping stories about their day as they readied for bed. He'd kiss the children goodnight and close their door. He'd say goodnight to Freida....

And here the universe splits in two.

In one, Matteo carried out his plan. It ends abruptly. There is no future, only the past and the present, and it circles back upon itself endlessly. Roe and Melanzana hatch, grow, go to the carnival, sleep... and begin the next morning by hatching from their eggs once more. They are unaware of their circling. Unaware of their non-lives. They are happy. The Matteo here is only a shadow of what once was. The real thing is far away, living other lives. Maybe he pauses once in a while to consider what he has lost. But it is far more likely that he does not.

In the other, Matteo looks deeply into the eyes of Frieda and finds himself unable to pull the final thread. The sweater has grown too comfortable, too familiar, too loved to be destroyed. He curls up next to her that night and dreams lovely dreams, to wake the next morning and eat breakfast with his family. Roe sucks her thumb while bacon cooks in a pan on the stove, Freida brushes Melanzana's unruly hair. A huge stuffed hippo, purple and nearly the size of Roe herself, sits in a chair at the table and looks on. It knows the future is never certain; there could be pain and sadness, fear and instability. But it also knows that there will be love and joy, warmth and excitement in equal measure. For this universe DOES have a future. As Freida sets down the brush and Melanzana squirms free, running to help her father with the bacon, the Hippo's button eyes shine. It knows that here, in the best of all places, Matteo will never be quite so flippant with his time twisting as he once was, for he has finally grown enough to realize that he has found the ending he'd always been looking for.

Both universes are equally real. Equally valid.

Neither is aware the other exists.

There are always repercussions when one plays with Time.