Hello everyone, thought I'd never post anything on here again? Well, me too. I didn't think I'd ever post anything on here after I finished The Darkest Hour. But, I have had this on my hard drive since February of 2017 and have finally decided to post the first part. It was literally titled idk man see if you still want to write this in two weeks. Well 4 years later i am still working on it. I am going to try my best to update this regularly, wether weekly or bi-weekly. Until then, my loves, I have missed you all very much. Enjoy.
Prologue
The human condition is a versatile ideal. In life, we maintain many polarized convictions: we love, though we hate. We are hopelessly romantic, yet still terribly pessimistic. We leap toward the skies without limitation, but only while one hand grasps the ground firmly to keep us anchored in reality.
Among these convictions is a two-sided perception of our very existence. On one hand, there's something stitched within our rationalities; something that has us believing our lives are unable to be changed. Immutable. That there are only our decisions, a beginning, and an end. That those decisions can turn the corners of our fate and bend the will of our destiny, but in the end, we so stubbornly, always, reach the same finale in the end.
On the more idealistic side of this existential dichotomy is the belief that our lives are but a small pinprick in the universe and its vast existences. That there are hundreds, thousands, even millions of versions of ourselves living somewhere among the entirety of time and space. Scores of lifetimes twisting and turning like branches; stemming from the smallest decisions-deviating from one story and creating an entirely new reality. It seems impractical to assume that we-as humans with an unquenchable yearning for the impossible-do not imagine what kind of histories we are a part of in these boughs of innumerable realities. Are we happier? Sadder? Do we live more fulfilling lives? Or do we even exist at all?
Perhaps, upon the realization that we may not exist in those various narratives of time, we may ask ourselves an even more burning question: what impact does our existence have? How are the lives of those we have now-the ones we cherish, love-different without us? It seems disheartening to assume they are better off without ever having known us, but who knows? Perhaps they are. Or perhaps not knowing us makes all the ill-fated difference in someone's life. Unfortunately for us, we don't have the power to transcend realities; we do not possess the ability to peek into our alternative lives and see what we've made of ourselves.
But sometimes-in the face of overwhelming impossibility-extraordinary circumstances clash with the slimmest of chances. And born from those clashes are remarkable possibilities we may often dismiss as nothing more than the purely inconceivable daydreams of those whose minds wander too far out beyond the confines of reality.
Pavel Chekov had no notion of the events that would soon unfold after he woke one seemingly ordinary morning aboard the Enterprise. The day seemed as commonplace and trite as the many that had come before and the many, he had assumed, that would come after. But this day meant something more in the grand scheme of his reality. One of those rare clashes of chance and circumstance was about to take place.
He'd have the unparalleled opportunity to see into one of those untold number of alternate lives we all only dream about on the days we're left wondering: what could have been different? Not only that, but he'd get to live it.
