Mansplain

The universe, if you think about it, isn't some grand, expanding ball of energy and matter. No, it's much simpler than that—a humble laundry hamper, stuffed to the brim with tablecloths. Old ones, new ones, some a bit threadbare, others still bright with the fresh promise of a meal to come. The tablecloths, they swirl around in an endless dance, sometimes clinging to each other, sometimes drifting apart, but always part of the same greater pile.

Imagine, if you will, a hand reaching into this hamper. A hand with fingers that know the weight of creation, the softness of existence, the subtle power that lies in the folds of each cloth. It pulls, it tugs, it rearranges the fabric of reality itself—fold by fold, wrinkle by wrinkle.

And within each fold, there’s a secret. A secret waiting to be uncovered, to be explored, to be felt.

Perhaps that hand belongs to you. Or perhaps it’s simply the hand of the universe itself, playing with its creation, teasing out the threads of time and space, the way a lover might untangle a knot in the sheets.

This is the story of one such hand, one such time, one such tangle.

"Shit," Elorae swore, "shit shit shit!"

She knew it was her last chance, her last try. Her superiors had warned her of a misstep, what would happen to her, what they would do to her. Even the thought made her shiver in fear. And they could, too. The power that they held was impressive, more than anything she would ever be able to muster. It was the reason they were in charge.

And so she'd promised. No more unauthorized experiments, no more mistakes. And she'd tried to behave, but this one, this one last idea, it had called to her. Something inside her was unable to resist the temptation. What could it hurt? It was just a small idea, a teensy-tiny idea, it would take just an iota of power, a smidge of creative energy, a hint of magic, and then she'd be done with it forever. No more curiosity, straight and narrow, well-behaved Elorae.

But she spilled.

Just a little.

Over the table-top, down onto the floor, and through to the next tier of reality. And then it was gone.

"Shit!" she swore again, staring into the gap where her idea had slipped through to another world, another life. Maybe it wouldn't be a big deal? I mean, how much trouble could her little concoction cause, anyway?

The soft morning light felt like knives to Joey Granger's eyes, which he was decidedly keeping shut. The night before, his eighteenth birthday, he had imbibed a bit too much. Could you blame him? He was a young man, eager to enter into the next phase of manhood, of becoming an adult. Of course, a bit of wisdom might have served him well, especially because it was a school night. He would have skipped, but no matter the hangover he was experiencing, he still had his history test that morning. There was still one month of high school remaining until he was free, and he didn't want a history test holding back his diploma.

And so, laying in bed, eyes shut, stomach rolling, he tried to find the willpower to get out of bed. If only he knew the change that had occurred to him while he slept, perhaps he would have been more eager to start his day. But that would come soon enough. While he had been on the Earth for eighteen years, his life was just about to begin.