What I Would Tell My Younger Self

What I Would Tell My Younger Self

 

About E.L. Drayton

Writer of novels, short stories, scripts, and reviews.
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  • Svarmani Wolfborn

    The flat disk flashes as a whirring buzz signals that the machine was more than just some cool looking carbon fiber. I feel a warmth coming over me as suddenly I am standing in the middle of a familiar field. I know this place like it is the back of my hand. The house, an old two story farmhouse. From where I stand I can smell mom’s cooking and hear my siblings playing with the goat. I walk over to my younger self. That long thick dark hair whipping in the wind. In my hands, a book, I guess somethings never change. As I take a seat on the ground next to her, I begin to speak. “You don’t know me and maybe you never will either, but I know you.”

    Younger me looks up at me with a weird look pasted over her face. We strike up a conversation of what things were and will be like over the next few years of life. I know that time for me in this time period is short so before I stand up I touch my younger self’s cheek. “Promise me that you will follow this advice,” I implore of myself. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do what you want in life. You have a gift and even if you don’t see it now, all those stories you have been writing, one day people will want to read them.” I stood up and walked back to the time machine.

    I stepped on the machine using my foot to touch the time shift pad. This was just a thin button that was on the bottom of the disk. After the whirring buzzing stopped this time, I expect to be in a familiar place but find that instead I was in an unfamiliar place. Something felt familiar but then my mind could not recall this place. I walk through the nearest door into a larger book printing area. A tall man extends his hand to me. He looks very well polished, like all of his job was done in an office. I happen to glance to a glass window which projects my own reflection back at me. I look polished as I never had before.

    “Ms. B, we weren’t expecting you just yet. Let me show you your new book, we just finished printing a thousand copies.” Younger me had taken my advice and I was no longer that hopeful amatuer writer, but an actual author.