My Future Self Will Hate Me For This - Short Fiction

Out There

I had not bothered with giving myself a name. Names were tiresome things, a bit eccentric, really, and everyone would just mix them up anyways, make spelling mistakes, relate them to the wrong person, etc., etc.

It was enough of a challenge to go Out There, so why make it even more complicated?

I took a last breath, struggled into my jacket (it was way more comfortable once you had put it on, I swear), collected the papers I needed and put the heart on my sleeve, giving it only one skeptical look. It was red.

Well, what exactly had I expected? A blue thing? Green? Maybe one with some nice stripes on it, or a polka dot pattern? One that changed colours like a chameleon?

I gave it another critical look. Maybe I could make it change colours. There was the option to paint it, right? And the whole sense of being Out There is that people know stuff about you (but not too much, World beware), right? So why not give it a little... emotional touch? I could probably paint it according to my emotions, like those mood-detecting bracelets, for example. But did I really want to?

Did I want to go back? Wasn't it for the best if I could just, maybe, lock myself up in my room again and never go out and listen to music or talk to, well, myself?

Probably, yes, but I told myself that that was not the reason I was here, so I oughtn't do it.

I stepped through the door into Out There and slammed the papers on the desk. I had imagined that there would be a whole lot of faces staring at me, but, in fact, there was not even one. I coughed, waited one second for something to happen and put the heart off my sleeve and onto the pile of papers.

I looked at the whole thing, nodded, and waited.