Samantha's P.O.V;
I never understood just why the Book would choose to warp me when I least expected it. More often than not, Jodi, Freddi, and I would be sent out to some unknown location, usually to save the boys from whatever trouble they were in. Sometimes, we would decide on our own to travel, usually enjoying to real life history that we could finally experience for ourselves.
Today, however, it was quite the opposite. Last I remembered was standing in my room, attempting to lure Rivets from under my bed with a trail of thumbtacks.
"Rivets, come on out, sweetie." I cooed to my adorable little kitty.
"Meow." Rivets sounds angry, but I needed my cat to come out so I could finally tackle that ever growing pile of books and clothes I had stored under my bed. With the cat not budging, I turned to get the rest of the thumbtacks from off my bed. I, however, never actually got to do that as the next thing I know, I'm standing in someone's kitchen.
"What the?" I fanned, what I could now see, green mist, out of my eyes, looking around to inspect the new place. A backpack sat on top of a dining table, four chairs set up, but only one with a jacket tossed over it. I recognized the only jacket there; it belonged to my own great grandfather, Sam, though, it looked a lot more worn than the last time I saw it. And if I remember correctly, I had just seen it last week when we warped to Russia, so unless Sam had dragged it through a trail of gravel, the jacket shouldn't have been that faded already. Searching for more clues, I picked up the book bag off the table, unzipping it to look through the contents.
"College letters?" I picked one up, this one to Yale, examining it. I knew already that it wasn't the university that Sam attended, but the date on the letter let me know that it was the year 2013, "Why would the book warp me here?"
I set the letter back into the back pack, but instead of setting it down, I slung it over my shoulder. If the house was still in the order I remembered it from 2005 (again, I had last seen it last week), Sam's room should still be on the second floor, first door on the left. The stairs creaked in new places than I remember, making me mentally scold the boys for the damage they most likely caused to them, and finally reached my destination.
Surprisingly enough, the door to the room was open and, confirming my suspicion, Sam sat inside. His back was to the door and it took all my being not to tap him and scare his pants off!
Instead, I decided to be polite and knock lightly on the open door, "Hey, Sam!" I greeted in a happier tone than usual. It wasn't every day I got to see my favorite granddad and honestly, I loved to see him.
Though today, he didn't seem so happy to see me.
"Go away..." He mumbled, pulling his legs up on to the bed with him.
"Everything alright, granddad?" I teased, nudging the door open with my foot so I could invite myself in. Sam doesn't move from the bed, let alone respond to what I just said, "Granddad?" I tried again, though I could actually hear my voice lose a bit of its edge to it; something was definitely wrong. Looking more so at the bed itself, I moved a sweater out of the way and sat down in front of Sam, attempting to get a look at his face.
Maybe he was just having a bad face day or something.
"Helllo, Sam, you in there?" I waved my hand in front of his face, trying to get a reaction from him. I get a slight head lift, just enough to see his eyes over a pair of taped up frames. Never in all the time traveling I've done have I seen such lifeless eyes. It was like someone took all the fun and excitement from them, leaving nothing behind but an old shell of what they once were.
Though his eyes were still dark brown in color, they seemed to be fogged over, almost unseeing. He looks right at me now and I would honestly be lying if I said I wasn't freaking out just a little bit.
"What's the point?" He asks, his voice, though deepened to some extent, still held on to the last bit of childishness it held, making the question sound more like a whimsical thought that only a child would care to know.
"What? Point to what?" I tucked my right leg under me, attempting to sit up just a bit taller. Sam is probably eighteen years old now, causing him to tower over me, though regardless of this, Sam is still hunched over in his spot, only adding to the gloominess of his appearance.
"I'm never gonna accomplish anything that matters..." He mumbles, seeming to get impatient with my presence, "What's the point of even being alive..."
Never has a question hit me like a ton of bricks. I don't know why, but I begin to panic just a little bit, reaching out to set my hand on one of Sam's shoulders, "Hey," I give him a slight shake, "What are you talking about?"
"I've made up my mind, Samantha..." His voice has some kind of new found confidence that causes me to grab him by both shoulders, scared that he'd disappear if I didn't, "I just don't want to live anymore..."
"What..." My grip on his shoulders lessens before tightening again, my own shakiness sends him into a fit of trembling, "No, no! You can't!"
"I've made up my mind..."
"Sam, listen to me, you can't do this!" I stare him in the eyes, but he doesn't seem to notice at all. He seems locked in his own little world now.
"What do I have to live for..."
"What about me!? I'm not gonna get to live!"
"I'm sorry, Samantha...maybe its better this way..."
"No!" I finally let go of sobs I didn't even realize I had, already choking on my own tears. I shake him harder, hoping and praying that it would knock the lights back in to him, "I want to live, I WANT TO LIVE!" my own arms give out on me and I fall forward, landing in a desperate hug, "P-please...if you won't live for yourself...can you live for me..."
"...What?" Same seems confused by my question now, actually seeming a bit tense by it. It's a start anyway.
"Can you live for me, at least? Don't I count as anything?" I find a spot on the wall, a mirror actually, to stare at. I couldn't bring myself to look directly at Sam anymore, not wanting my tears to return again. From the mirror, I can see Sam staring ahead of himself, now looking more lost in thought than actually lost. There's a long pause in the conversation, though it was pretty one-sided to begin with, before Sam speaks again,
"Y-you do count as something..."
"So do you. Sam, you're gonna do amazing things in your life, they just haven't happened yet..."
"I will?" Sam's arms find their way around my shoulders, returning the hug as well as letting me know that he is actually listening,
"Yes. Granddad, you're going to be one of the greates-." And just like that, my arms no longer hold anything but air and I find myself sitting in my own bedroom again. Rivets jumps into my lap and all I can do is absentmindedly pet the cat, still thinking about what I just saw.
Eight years later (2113)
"Ugh, this one has a stain." I picked at the front of my favorite dress, noticing a grease stain from the last time I wore it, specifically last week, but in the year 2012, more importantly, at a graduation party.
"Just wear a brooch over it." Jodie suggests, kicking her legs up on my bed, her nose stuck in a magazine.
"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" I asked, picking up a brush. I had long since grown my hair out to reach the middle of my back, but found that it was so much harder to tame now that I couldn't throw it into the spiky pigtails I wore it in years ago.
"Where are you going, anyway?" Jodie doesn't even bother to look up, "It better not need the Book, Alex will try to steal it if I take it out of its hiding place." Jodie comments in anger about her younger brother, but I shake my head, opening a drawer of my dresser to retrieve my own mode of transportation.
"Sam's pocket watch? I thought it was broken." Jodie sits up now, trying to get a better look at the thing.
"Nah, I got someone to fix it...well, let's hope it works!' I offer her an eager smile as I set the date. I hardly have time to blink as I now find myself seated in a grand auditorium, surrounded by some of the greatest minds of their century. The man beside me, who's blonde hair has long since grayed, leans over to tap my shoulder,
"Hey, young lady, you were almost late." He teases, reaching up to adjust the baseball cap on his head.
"Shut up, Fred, he hasn't even been called up yet," The man beside him nudges him with his elbow. Even with the lack of hair and addition of wrinkles, I can still easily recognize the men to be Fred and Joe, but my focus doesn't stay on them.
My eyes turn back to the stage and I watch as my great grandfather Sam, now seventy-three years old, step out in front of millions of people.
The year is 2068 and I feel tears sting the corners of my eyes as Sam walks up to the microphone set on stage to give his acceptance speech for his Nobel Peace Prize for his latest invention.
The very invention in my jacket pocket.
His time travel pocket watch.
Disclaimers: I own nothing