Back to the Future Fan-fiction

Chapter Two || Time Slowly Takes It's Toll

Marty settled precariously onto the park bench with a depressing sigh as he thought about his old friend, Doctor Emmett Brown, or "Doc" for short. It had been almost a couple months since Marty had seen him, and he felt empty without him. His other friends had drifted apart from him, including his band members, and Jennifer hadn't been happy nor talkative lately since he was so out of it.

His days had been getting longer and longer. Memories in his head had kept reorganizing, and he couldn't remember which had happened when. Sometimes, he would get migraines so bad he would have to skip school and stay locked in his room for hours at a time. As desperately as his parents tried to get him up and excited for school, nothing could replace the hole in his heart that once belonged to time traveling.

Needles and his gang also continued to torment him horribly, to make things worse. Some days he was let off easily and only given a shove by his gang, where as other days Marty was left with bruises and scratches so bad he would have to wear a hoodie or a jacket to hide up all the marks. Never had he worn his denim jacket so much and felt so ashamed.

And while his family life had significantly improved, he had always felt like he didn't fit in. He had no idea how his present self was supposed to act after coming back from the past, let alone how much his family and friends changed. It felt like an entire new world with no one to talk to, and slowly but surely the time took its toll on him.

Quietly, Marty began to whimper in his bed. He had missed his friend Doc dearly, and was sure he was never going to see him again. Ever since he and Doc had gotten back from the west, he had been slowly breaking down, knowing that while Doc was happy, Marty wouldn't be without his friend.

Marty laid in his bed for what felt like hours, hugging himself, before subsiding into quietness. He felt broken, and no one could fix him. Not the wonders of time itself.

After another ten minutes, he wiped his feelings from his face and walked back to his house, head down, with hands stuffed in his pockets. He turned onto another road, where the honking of a familiar truck buzzed angrily at him. "Hey chicken!" Yelled Needles gang, throwing trash at him. "Eat this!" They laughed hysterically and sped off. Marty only felt worse as he felt hot tears going down his face. He would've at least expected Needles to respect him somewhat in this universe, but Needles obviously hadn't changed. Needles only made him feel worse, pushing him further and further away from wanting to live.

Five minutes later, he arrived home. Nobody was home except himself; which relieved him. No one that would bother him.

Marty walked slowly to the bathroom and looked through the medicine cabinet. He searched through for a minute before finding what he wanted; the scratches all over his body.

"Chicken," Marty mumbled to himself, scowling at the sight of his scars from the years of Needles and Biff tormenting him. He figured that as he returned back from the future, he would at least gain the courage to stand up to his lifelong bullies. But alas, the bullying continued to get worse, and scars built layers upon Marty's skin.

He knew he was never actively depressed, but he felt as if he didn't have a purpose living in the universe. Everything he had done had benefited his family, but what about him? He never felt like he got what he deserved. And so with that, he didn't feel need to stay on earth. His time was done when he came back and fulfilled his deeds. And ironically, he decided he would die the same way he came back to the future- and finish the falling off of the Eastwood ravine, as to how rumored he died in 1885. He was going to place this into action, and preferably soon. Tonight.

Marty looked at himself in the mirror one more time. He was a mess- his hair was fumbled up and he had huge eye bags underneath his eyes for a lack of sleep. He was visibly covered with bruises from bullies and the spark in his cerulean eyes he had once was long gone. You could tell something was wrong, but no one had done anything about it. Not even the Doc seemed to care. After all, he was busy with a family of his own.