Ms. Anachron dreamt….
***
There was her husband, Dace Senoit, a.k.a. the DREAM SEEKER, the star of this universe, window shopping on Fifth Avenue. She was playing the camera, so to speak, present but not there.
She turned her gaze and saw a younger man who looked like Dace, dressed in the latest Uniqlo fashion. He was shooting video on his iPhone while walking, talking into a bluetooth earpiece: “… so many people struggling. So many needing a spark, but there’s just one me. I hope this vlog will help reach more people. Now, I’m going to try some words, whatever comes to mind. If you feel something, well, you’ll know. Okay … ultimate….”
As she followed this kid, a taxi drove by. Her gaze caught the eye of another Dace clone. This time, he was about thirty years older, scruffy looking, overweight, chewing nicorette gum. Before she could react, he returned her gaze (so, suddenly she was present, or at least present to the cabbie) and said, “Earth-X,” and blew her a kiss.
Ms. Anachron caught sight of her husband, her Dream Seeker, and saw him talking to a man in his 80′s. A spry old man who wore a pinstripe grey suit and fedora, he carried a wooden cane mostly for effect, rarely leaning on it. They were the same height. They looked each other in the eye, their vision parallel to the ground. She heard her husband say, “… that was the Golden Age….”
A sense of terror struck her. It was 2010. 2010. The year was heavy, somehow. She sensed something was coming. Was it 2012? Mayan calendar phobia?
No. The world was not coming to an end like that, at least not on December 21st, 2012. Like the Bible says, “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father … the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”
Something was ending, though. She could feel it. And something had already ended.
2010. It was 2010.
Next year was the 10-year anniversary of something. Ah. It’s been 10 years since terror attacks at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and Flight 93. Of course.
Not. That wasn’t the anniversary that scared her subconscious. What else?
The anthrax envelope? Bush’s decision to only fund existing stem cell lines? The Arizona Diamondbacks beating Mariano Rivera on a fluke hit, winning the World Series?
No. No. No.
It was … what?
She was back on Fifth Avenue, this time present, and standing in front of her husband. Different versions of Dace stood around her, Dream Seekers from different eras and timelines.
Her Dace spoke: “In 2011, it’ll be ten years since I hit my prime. Next year, I’ll be ten years older than my demographic. My replacement is in training. He blogs and vlogs. He’s speaks the modern lingo. He’s the new generation’s Dream Seeker. He is their story, just as my friends here represent the older generations, and I represent mine.”
What? You’re being replaced?
“Well,” Dace answered her thoughts, “not just me. All of us. This world. This universe of people we’ve met and never met. All the Icons, too. The Realtor will get a reboot, as will the Gambler. Everything will start fresh. This moving timeline is coming to an end. We have, maybe, six months left, and most of that will be off-panel.”
Off-panel? Replaced? All of us?
“All of us. You. Off-panel. We’ll know the story, but our demographic has moved on; the younger demographic? They never cared about us. They think we’re old. Anyway, we’ll basically cease to exist, except amongst ourselves.”
She looked around. Dace kept talking about 10-year segments in time that shift for unseen audiences and an unseen hand that makes the shift. She looked into the face of the Golden Age cabbie Dream Seeker, then the Silver Age Earth-X’er, and others. It was a nightmare.
This wasn’t real.
It was just a vision. Anachronistic elements pieced together in order to deal with thoughts of mortality.
No way. Not real.
It can’t end like this. Can it?
***
Ms. Anachron awoke, and looked at her husband. Their world could end tomorrow, but her love for the Dream Seeker would never end. If the timeline changed, it would not affect them. She would love Dace, even if the unseen audience stopped watching.
