Original Story - 'He Called You By Your Real Name'

Now that my WiP is with my trusted reader – though I have to be extremely patient as she’s battling with her health at the moment but still wants to read it, for which I am grateful – obviously, I still have to keep up with my writing. That’s something I’m guilty of – getting lax with writing regularly when I’ve come to a ‘pause’ or ‘stop’ point with whatever I’m working on.

In an effort to hold myself accountable, I’m stating here that I’m planning on posting at least two stories a month on Tuesdays, interspersed with book reviews. As with my previous writing exercises, I’m working off prompts from ‘A Writer’s Book of Days’ by Judy Reeves.

Here’s the first one…

(Image - StockSnap on Pixabay)

He Called You By Your Real Name

He called me by my real name… a name I haven’t heard in years, a name that’s only used in official documents. So unused to hearing it, I carry on walking, not realising it’s me.

It’s only when he says it again, louder this time, that it registers, and I gradually come to a stop. Slowly, I turn, my scalp prickling, aware of the lateness of the hour and the near-deserted street.

The man stands unmoving some distance from me, under the harsh glare of the streetlamp. Aware of my eyes bulging, I can’t stop staring. He’s about my height but bulkier. What really holds my attention, though, is the empty space where his left arm should be.

“I don’t know you…” The words force their way past my suddenly dry throat, so faint I barely hear myself.

“Yes, you do,” he says.

Even as I wonder how he could have possibly heard me, my certainty that I don’t know him gives me courage, reflected in my stronger tone. “No, I don’t. How come you know my name?”

“Your real name, your true name. I know it well.”

Unease crawls up my spine, stopped short by a realisation. “The guys put you up to this, didn’t they? Nick and Andy, trying to freak me out.” I can feel my smile widening. “Almost… you can tell them it almost worked.” Chuckling, I start to turn.

“Do I… no. No, I don’t.” He seemed to be talking to himself before lifting his head again to look at me. “No one sent me.”

With a growl, I march up to him. “So you know my name, big deal. I don’t know you. I’m tired, I’m hungry and I’m going home. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m calling the police.”

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

About to walk away, I stop. Tilting my head back, I stare up at the dark sky. “No. Go away.”

“Jaroth.”

I’m on the verge of cursing. “I said, stop calling me.”

“I’m telling you my name.”

I turn to look at him. He hasn’t moved, still illuminated by the streetlight.

“You know why we share the same name?”

“Coincidence?” My sarcastic tone, a limp attempt to hide my growing anxiety.

“I’m you. The ‘you’ of the future. A future…” Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s very confusing…”

This white-haired, wild-haired man is me? With the scarred face and missing left arm? This… this old man is what I’ll become? A snort escapes me. “Do you think me an idiot?”

Opening his eyes, he fixes me with a steady gaze. “Say my name, our name. Look me in the eye and say it.”

Not for the first time, I turn from him. “I’m not playing your stupid game.”

He grabs my arm. “Say it.” His wide-eyed stare pierces me; I can’t look away.

Not wanting to, still I whisper, “Jaroth…” Pain jolts through me; there’s a bright white flash of light. All I hear is my own scream.

When I finally open my eyes, when silence gradually returns, I realise I’m staring at the sky. My back is sore; I’ve fallen over.

Up on my elbows, I push myself to a seated position… as the man sits up opposite me. I don’t know how to explain it, but I know. Looking at him, I know – he is me, many years from now. “How… how is this possible?”

His body sags in obvious relief. “You believe me now?”

Reluctantly, I nod as I get to my feet the same time he does.

“I have so much to tell you. Jeff,” he says with a smile. “I still prefer ‘Jeff’, even now. I can’t remember the last time I was called by my… our real given name.”

“Even in school…”

“Yes, even then, everyone called us ‘Jeff’.”

My mind is still rebelling against this whole revelation. This sort of thing only happens in books and films. Doesn’t it? I want to go home, to forget him. I want to return to my normal life, my structured life.

I remain where I am, not moving. And ask, “How did you get here?”

He opens his shirt to reveal a device strapped to his chest.

Before I can stop myself, I recoil slightly, grimacing at the scars that run down the left side of his torso. Shaking my head, I refuse to allow myself to wonder how I-he got those. “That brought you here? And that’s how you’ll return?”

He indicates the gently pulsating triangular light that makes up the top half of the device. “When I push this, he said it will get me back. He tried to explain how it works, but I don’t really understand. Science was never our strong suit, was it?”

I struggle to return his grin. Although I’m a naturally curious guy, I don’t want to know who the ‘he’ is, the one responsible for the device. “Why are you here?”

A frown instantly replaces his smile. “I had to come, even though it’s not allowed. It cost me almost everything I have to pay him… But it’s the only way and it’ll be worth it. You need to stop the accident that caused this.” He holds up his stump of an arm.

Aware my mouth is hanging open, I stutter before speaking. “Is it a disaster? An end of the world type thing? Saving someone?” The thought that I’ve become some sort of hero is taking over my mind.

Staring, he slowly shakes his head. “No. It’s an accident. A stupid accident. That’s why I’m here, to tell you how to stop it.” Disgust twists his features. “I hate going through life with this, the scars, the pitying looks…”

That’s it? Nothing earth-shattering? Nothing heroic? Realising he’s explaining the accident and how I’m to stop it, I force my attention back to him.

Disbelief washes over me. Stepping back, I can’t stop shaking my head. “This happened when you were robbing a bank? Is that what you do?”

He’s trying to explain but I don’t want to hear any of it. “That’s not me. I’d never do something like that. You’re not me. I don’t know who you are, but you are not me.”

“Listen–”

“No! You deserve what happened to you.”

He extends his hand towards me.

I lunge forward and slam my palm against the pulsating triangle.

It’s as if time has stopped. Neither of us move. A sudden rush of air sweeps past me. Stumbling forward, I brace myself.

He’s sucked away into nothingness, his scream echoing in my ears.

And I am left standing alone under the glare of the streetlamp. My structured, normal life a thing of the past.