One Man's Future is Another Man's Past

by SeptemberObserver

There is a Third Dimension, altering slightly from the others throughout history but still culminating in a very important meeting in Oslo, Norway, 2167. In an anomaly of time-travel, always unpredictable, Walter and Michael's mission is touched by the wings of a simple butterfly. Nothing will be the same for a certain Observer.

The Butterfly Effect

Oslo, Norway, September 21, 2167

The wings of a butterfly are beautiful.

To the casual observer, the butterfly is a gentle flurry of activity as it floats from one meal to the next. Perhaps it warrants a brief glance, a tender smile as the days of childhood are renewed in the soul. Memories of chasing the fleet creatures in a park, in the woods, in carefree life and wonder.

To the casual observer, the butterfly might even go unseen, so tiny and ineffective. Hundreds might stroll by it in a single day, never suspecting, never knowing the pleasure it brings. And hundreds do so on this particular day, bright with the sunshine of hope and new beginnings.

For him, at least. He is buoyant, nearly jubilant, launching himself into the crosswalk and disregarding the angry squealing alarms of the vehicles that are trying to edge through the intersection. He does not notice, for his mind bends solely upon the briefcase in his left hand. The case cradles his life's work, an extraordinary tool that will revolutionize the entirety of mankind.

Or so he tends to think. He finds it hard to be anything less than optimistic, for the future has never looked so promising. The work to which he and eleven others have dedicated their lives is tantalizingly close to completion.

He misses the butterfly, much like he misses the angry drivers and the amused pedestrians, whispering among each other about the "mad scientists" swarming the city these days. They know his face; everyone does now, because the whole world is waiting on him and the others. To save them? To evolve them? He is almost as amused by them as they are by him.

He does not miss the tiny body that slams into him, nearly knocking him over, but he keeps his balance and glances down. A young girl, no more than four years of age, is already bouncing away from him. He might have followed her with his gaze, might have seen the beautiful little flashes of gold and blue, but instead his eyes catch on a ribbon of yellow. One of her hair-ties has attached itself to the latch of his briefcase in their collision. Annoyed, he pulls it off and continues on his way to the others.

She has fixed on the butterfly, and in her pursuit no pedestrian is safe. The flashing glittery wings entrance her wide new eyes. She flits from flower to flower, always a step, a wing-space, behind. They move together, two tiny creatures in a world that pays them no heed. The mother is back several blocks, deeply engaged in a conversation with friends.

The daughter continues on her quest, outstretched chubby fingers narrowly missing the dusty wings. For the first time, the butterfly notices her, and alarmed, it alters its trajectory. Erratic now, it flits away from the flowers, down the side of the gentle slope, out onto the flat cold landscape of concrete and exhaust.

She follows, bold and brave, unpredictable in her love of beauty. The alarms squeal again, louder and longer, the screech of an engine thrusting desperately in reverse. Another engine, encroaching from the other side. Her fingers close around the butterfly as the world closes around her.

He reads about it in the papers the next morning, still euphoric from the acceptance of the board, the final clearance for his invention. His eyes skim down the digital display, eyeing the details of the case with scientific disinterest: An intersection collision near his workplace. Four casualties, a thirty-year-old man, a young girl, an old man, and a strange, hairless boy. An inexplicable explosion of light at the moment of impact. All very curious.

He pauses when he sees the smooth profile of the unidentified boy, the timeless face, and something stirs in him, something pulling at his mind, but his coffee is cold, and he sets down his display to reheat it. The moment is gone.

He will never know the pleasure of watching a butterfly pass from flower to flower, nor will the hundreds of others that follow him. They will never know love or hate, sorrow or fear, taste or smell. Their fates will be sealed.

The wings of a butterfly are catastrophic.

Welcome to the Third Dimension, wherein the plan goes amiss thanks to the wings of a butterfly. There is more than meets the eye to a certain Observer. I will be most honored if you drop off a review! :)