I wake up. I greet the ones I’ve gotten closest to. I eat breakfast. I prepare myself to go out hunting.
...Man, this is fucking boring. The only interesting thing to do here is to compare these humans to the other hominids I’ve visited, but even then, there really isn’t much to say. At least with other hominids I could make mental notes of their differing traits, their level of intelligence and the such. But with these guys, there’s nothing to say. They’re humans. They’re cavemen. That’s literally it.
I have grown bored of these people.
Hm. I feel like I’m getting strangely similar to Jon from watchmen. That’s probably not a good thing. Okay, let’s pull myself together. If it isn’t funny, we’ll just make it funny.
That leaves me with only one question. What is the funniest thing to do with cavemen?
I bring a wooden bowl of stew to my face. Those funny souls have given me an idea. Namely, modern people can be pretty hilarious to deal with. Putting them in strange situations is funny. The more normal they are, the better they react. Not as in they react maturely and responsibly, but more so in a funny way. Also, this will allow me to check something I’ve been pretty interested in for a while.
How will a modern man’s gut fare with the diet of his primal ancestors?
Before all this, I remember the paleo diet being a pretty big thing among health gurus, with the main idea being that eating like a neanderthal might just be what God intended. Or something. That our gut is only suited to the things we ate back then.
I’m kind of unsure about this since we eat plenty of raw or half-cooked things that should probably be avoided. Also, we don’t eat any paleo brownies either. What a shame.
So. The plan is ready, and it’s pretty simple, too. It’ll even make a funny imprint in the future.
I slurp my stew. The tribe is sitting around a big pot.
In a flash of light, a guy appears beside Kir. My comrades probably don’t understand what he’s wearing in the least, but I certainly do. It’s a suit. Normal suit. He’s also got a briefcase and a phone, but I’m much more interested in looking at his astonished face. I mean, I’d probably react the same if I was suddenly teleported several tens of thousands of years into the past, but anyway. It’s a good face; almost as good as the ones my comrades are giving him.
A commotion erupts, which is only to be expected.
The guy - Jean-Pierre Grenouille - falls on his ass, making his briefcase spill everywhere as he shouts in French. Since I spent a few million years taking in most of human knowledge, I can understand what he’s saying, but the other cavemen certainly can’t. They’re just panicking to high hell. Which is also an understandable reaction. They’re shouting in caveman, he’s shouting in French.
If I wanted to, I could be a mediator here. Y’know, translating between them and everything. But that would reveal my part in his kidnapping. And I don’t want that. I want him to git cucked.
Ah, of course, I’ll make sure to protect him. He’s not gonna die out here. Not instantly, at least. Furthermore, if these here humans could accept a hog-looking man like me, I’m sure they’ll accept just about anyone. Ah, assuming Jean-Pierre here doesn’t attack them or something. That’d be a bad course of events.
Hm. Lost in thought, it seems I sort of missed how people have begun poking spears in his face. Ah, how nostalgic. Well, let’s stop this here.
“Leave him be,” I say gruffly, stepping between him and their spears. “He ain’t done nothing.”
“Sure,” one of my closer friends - Kir - says. “But he seriously appeared from nowhere. I can’t even understand what he’s trying to say!”
“As I did?” That shut him up. Well, he was the one who taught me their language, so it’s not like I can be too mean to him. I smile, though I’m sure it’s hardly pretty. “Take it easy. He hasn’t done anythin’ yet. You gave me a chance, why not him?”
Lots of conflicted expressions all around. I’ve hardly been as immense of a help as I was during my round with the neanderthals, but they can’t deny my skill in hunting.
People start murmuring about how maybe that strange guy might also be a nice guy, just like Ungin, despite the fact that he looks like a boar. Hey. Not cool. Kir volunteers to teach him the language since it seems he’ll need it. Nice to know my presence made them a little more accepting of outsiders, I guess.
I turn around to face Jean-Pierre. Ah, he’s shaking in his boots. I only just reach up to his chest, but I don’t doubt that I’ve got the raw muscle to lift him if needed. I don’t think it’s needed though. So, while he stares at me in fear and confusion, I debate whether or not to shake his hand. So far, the practice hasn’t quite caught on with cavemen, so I’ll have to go with the next best thing. I pat him on the back. His lower back, that is. I can’t reach up higher.
He seems confused. Again, only to be expected.
But, once the others approach him as well, each bearing unthreatening expressions, he starts relaxing a little. Though, he is muttering something about whether or not this is a reality tv-show or something. But it seems he’s realized that since he was literally teleported from within a bathroom, it’s pretty much impossible that this is some ambitious tv-show. He’s still not accepted the reality that he’s time travelled, though. Shame. It’ll come, I guess.
As true proof of acceptance, he’s granted a bowl of stew. He doesn’t know it, but the tawny pieces of meat in it are actually from an animal he would consider extinct. I can’t tell him that, though, since it’d blow my cover. Man. I wish I could do that. It’d be funny.
Anyway, right now, people are introducing themselves to Jean-Pierre. Of course, once it comes to it, I will introduce myself as well.
I've been going by the name Ungin for a few thousand years now, so I’m pretty comfortable with it. Once people start talking modern languages I might go back to my real name. I’m not sure, but for now, Ungir I am. Call me sentimental if you want, but it’s good. In turn, Jean-Pierre introduces himself by his own name. People kinda can’t pronounce it though. Not that he’s having an easier time. As a matter of fact, he’s having quite a lot of trouble with a few stranger names, not including my own.
In the end, after too much squabbling back and forth, people decide just to call him Pier. Get fucked, frenchie. He seems a little unhappy with the name, but whatever. Comfort of the many over the discomfort of the few. Bitch.
As usual, the group divides into a few categories, with most either going out to hunt or gather. Kir and Pier stay home though, and so do I. My reason is simple. I gotta protect Pier.
Like, don’t get me wrong, he’s a busy family man + business man, I get that. But, damn is he scrawny. What little mass he actually has is mostly fat. Shame on your wife.
He is hardly suited for hunting. Not that he’s better suited to gathering. Or anything else, for that matter. He’s not a good cook as far as I’m aware. He used to play the clarinet in third grade but decided to quit to focus on school. His only real hobby is building model planes, something that has next to no use now.
This man couldn’t build a combustible engine even if he had every part prepared. As a matter of fact, statistically, very few people can do that. Much like most, Pier knows the general way most things work without the proper understanding to actually apply it in a situation such as this. He can’t become a smith, there are plenty of people here much better at sharpening flint of starting fires or tanning hides… All and all, he’s pretty much completely useless.
Which is perfect, since it means his effect on the timeline is minimal.
I’m not sure if I can say the same thing about the things in his suitcase. If I’m right, he should have a few folders of boring bank reports or whatever, as well as a computer. A computer. One of those things nature has a hard time breaking down. Still, it’s not like it’ll take any more than a few thousand years for all of it to be gone, so maybe I shouldn’t worry too much. Michael hasn’t said anything either, so it should be fine. Probably.
I look over to where Kir and Pier are sitting. Pier looks extremely distracted, mostly by just about everything. I’m glad he’s moving through the five stages of grief quite quickly, but I’m starting to think he might have gotten stuck on depression. Whoops. Well, he’ll get past it.
Oh no. He’s crying. Kir seems confused. He looks at me for help. I avert my gaze. Sorry bro, I kinda suck at consoling people.
Kir ends up hugging Pier, a movement that’s pretty much commonplace around here. Pier shrinks away. Whoa, pattern break. It seems the stereotype of frenchies being overly physical might not be true after all. Or maybe it depends from individual to individual. Either that or Pier just doesn’t like being hugged by a big sweaty caveman. Which is a little strange. I mean, Kir washed himself just last week, so he isn’t dirty or anything.
Weirdo. Or, well, I mean, I guess it would be pretty normal to get upset once you realize you’ll probably never see your children and wife again, so he might just be normal. Hmm. Unsure.
After a few minutes, after being offered a variety of berries picked yesterday (only slightly mushy), Pier calms down. Good. Okay. Then, while he’s calm, Kir teaches him how to say “I am”, “Hello”, and such. Neato. Pier’s pronunciation is a little off though. Well, more like a lot off, but it’s fine. He’s a noob. We welcome noobs here.
Hours pass. Pier tries his best to learn the language despite everything. Sometimes he’ll take out his phone just to check if it works.
I actually wasn’t sure what to do with his phone and computer, but in the end, I had decided to just make sure they couldn’t reach the internet. However, everything else works just fine, including his clock and calendar. I didn’t need to make sure those parts worked or anything, I just thought it’d be funny. Also, it seems to make him more accepting of his fate.
Yes, after only a few hours, he’s come to accept that he’s totally fucked. It might have gone a little too far though, since I’ve heard him praying at times for the cavemen not to eat him. Like, dude. Have some faith in your fellow man, yo.
On that note, he’s actually become pretty proficient in this language. Not immensely or so, but it’s clear he’s a surprisingly smart guy. Well, he does speak both German and English as well, so it should almost be expected that he’s quick with languages. By this point, he’s able to introduce himself and say a few basic lines. It seems Kir has become a rather excellent tutor after only two students. Neato.
The hunters and the gatherers return. Hohoho. Now for the main course of this experiment.
Kir continues teaching Pier the language even as a red deer is disembowelled in front of his face. Pier is visibly disgusted to the point of barely being able to look at it. Lol.
Within an hour or so, dinner is prepared. Pier takes one look at it. “I can’t eat that.”
Everybody stares at him where he’s sitting, still clad in his suit and tie. “What’d he say?” someone asks. “Not sure… Kir, didn’t you teach him how to speak?”
Kir, who’s sitting squished in-between me and Pier, perks up. “Hey, it’s only been a few hours! He’s not like Ungin at all. My guess is it’ll take him a lot of days more.”
Pier seems upset that people ignored him. “I-,” he says in our language. “Cannot,” he signs a cross over his mouth. “Eat,” he makes a movement of eating. “This,” he points at the food.
Glances are exchanged. “He wants to eat?” “He’s quite welcome to eat, there’s enough for everyone.” “I don’t see why he has to ask.”
Guess they missed the meaning of the cross and the shaking of the head he’s doing now. Well, guess I’ll have to help him out. “I believe he’s tryin’ to say he can’t eat this here food.”
“Ohhhh,” most people say. Then, followed by a chorus of “Why?” shoved right in Pier’s face. I don’t think he knows that word yet, so he’s more frightened than anything. Though, it seems our general question came across, since he then says,
“I-, I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat. Eggs are fine, but…” He’s a fucking what now. “Look, I’m obviously fine with you all eating meat, I’m not about to ask you not to because of my own preferences, I just…”
People are frowning. Guess his long-winded explanation was a little too long-winded, leaving most confused or irritated.
One of the cooks, an older, homely woman, pours a bowl and hands it to him. He accepts it out of politeness more than anything. Oh, man, he’s visibly upset. Dude, just eat your damn food. Your only option here is to starve. It seems he’s understood that as well, since once the rest of us get some food and start eating, he, too, puts the bowl to his lips. He avoids the more pronounced pieces of veal, though. Kir eats it instead. Aw. I would’ve wanted it.
During the dinner, Pier makes no comment whatsoever on what it tastes like. No “this is shit,” no “this is better than expected,” no “I think I’m going to puke.” He just sat there and ate. What a weirdo. This makes my goal of observing his emotions, opinions and developments just a little harder than expected. Oh well.
Until night falls, Kir teaches Pier more words and expressions. We go to bed. Pier can’t fall asleep all night for self-explanatory reasons. I could sleep just fine, but I wanted to stay up and stare at Pier from across the cave, so that’s what I did.
It’s a little boring, especially when he takes out his dying phone to look at pictures of his kids.
Get over it, bro. You’re a caveman now.
In the morning, as excepted, Pier is sluggish as fuck since he barely slept a wink. Not that I’m any different. Considering that all he did was cry and sniffle all night I should probably have just gone to sleep anyways. It wasn’t worth it.
Anyway, the experiment continues. Pier continues eating caveman food which is, so far, not really making him too happy. Just a day in and he’s already entering coffee- and sugar-withdrawal. He’s damn lucky he never got into any stronger drugs like smoking or alcohol. Hm. On the other hand, sugar is eight times as addictive as cocaine, so maybe that’s worse. As a matter of fact, this very second, he is certainly jitterish. Probably from the sugar-withdrawal, since the lack of an invigorating cup ‘a joe in the morning only works to make him more tired. He’s slouching real good.
This development will probably be the most interesting part.
…
Am I cruel? I knit my bushy brows. Well, I did displace a man from his time and force him into a situation where he would normally die within, oh, ten years or so. Furthermore, it’s not like his family isn’t missing him either. If I put my mind to it, I can already tell that he’s been registered missing, with the footage of him entering a bathroom and never leaving being seen as rather riveting and head-scratching. An interesting situation and an interesting mystery. I’m rather pleased with it. But, looking at Pier, I can’t help but feel a slight twinge of pity. Look at him there, trying his best to learn the language, shaking from more reasons than he should.
Alright. I’ve decided. I’ll try to be a little kind to him. Maybe.
Forcing him to quit cold-turkey like this might be too much, so while everybody else is eating, I rise and leave the gathering, heading straight into the woods. I haven’t been with these guys for more than a few months, but I know the area well enough. Let’s see, somewhere around here… There we are.
A small bush of blueberries. The womenfolk were already past here yesterday, but the underside of the bush remains filled. I had counted on their sloppiness. So, I gather a handful of berries and return to the gathering. Then, I hand the berries to Pier.
“Huh? For me?” I fight the urge to nod since I’m not supposed to understand French. I almost wish I didn’t to begin with. Picking up on my clues, Pier switches to his extremely rudimentary caveman language. “Th-, fank you.” Then I nod. Good.
Alright, good deed of the day: completed. Now I don’t need to have that hanging over my conscience anymore.
Much like yesterday, Pier spends the day being taught the language. Furthermore, towards the evening, he must have realized that not eating meat in this situation would probably kill him. We have no real plant-based source of protein nearby, not to even speak of how there are no B12 vitamins in this time period. If he doesn’t eat meat, he’s fucked. Thankfully, he realized this himself without me needing to tell him somehow.
So, mournfully, like he was breaking some old vow, he eats meat. Going by his facial expression, it wasn’t that bad.
Days pass. His speaking gets better. He is definitely in the acceptance phase of his grief, even though he still cries himself to sleep at night. Bro, my pity only goes so far. Show me interesting results instead.
Oh, on that note, his coffee addiction began abating after a few days, at which point he could wake up and not look like a zombie despite not having his morning espresso. Then, after a little while more, it reared again, putting him into a bit of a frenzy. He got over it eventually though.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The sugar addiction took longer. He spent many days cramming berries down his pie-hole until someone finally put the brakes on it and told him to save some for the rest. So, he had to stick to his small, daily allowance. This was based on how much he had contributed for the day, so since he mostly just spent his days learning the language, most people nowadays saw him as a moocher and freeloader. The only reason they didn’t force him to leave was that they had already seen how useful I became once I learnt the language. Despite the fact that my disfigured teeth gave me a strange accent.
That was the only reason, but even then, it wasn’t like he’d be able to hunt well even if he did know the language. The man worked at a bank. And now they seriously expect him to wrangle a mongoose with his bare hands. Sorry, he’s not that kinda man.
On the other hand, he has been growing better as of recently. I check his pulse nightly to see how his body’s doing. At the start, his bpm was surprisingly high, but after a few weeks of this here diet, it’s started to ebb out, ignoring a spike he got after gorging himself on too many berries.
More interesting, he’s been acting quite funny. This is easily explained by the fact that his diet and lifestyle has changed radically in a matter of moments. One day he was just a regular bank accountant, now he’s a caveman. But, I mean, those sorts of things happen, after all. Sure, the chance is about one in seven billion, but it did happen. Ah. I suddenly feel like pitying Pier again.
I glance over at him. He’s speaking half-broken sentences to Kir, who’s telling him what’s wrong and right. He’s really trying his best, huh.
As of recently, Pier’s been trying really hard to hold conversations with people, even though his skill remains pretty basic. But I guess his efforts did have some form of consequences, since it made most people figure that he was good enough at speaking now. In other words, he’s being sent out to hunt. Just the mention of it made him pale significantly. Hehe. Funny.
But he doesn’t try to make excuses. Accepting his debt to us, he agrees to hunt. Though, of course, he would really rather gather, but he hasn’t learnt that word yet. Not that it’d make his time here much safer. No, the safest he can be here is close to me. I’ll protect ‘ya, trust me.
So, we go hunting. Kir follows along, giving us a moment to chat a little. He complains about how I was a much easier student, but I explain that it’s because their language is quite similar to that of nearby neanderthal tribes, within which I grew up. This is a total lie. Technically I did once grow up among neanderthals, but it’s still a lie to make me seem less like Mr Teleporter over there. Kir jokes that I look about the part. Damn this human shell. I will smite ya for this blasphemy. One day.
Hunting day one: Pier tries and fails to catch a small creature. People laugh at him. For the rest of the trip he mostly stays behind, though not so far that a bear could get him outta nowhere. People ask why he isn’t partaking more. Gee, I wonder.
Hunting day two: Pier is still keeping to himself, just observing. The only other thing he does is to try to better his language by talking to Kir. I’m not sure why he doesn’t try to talk to me. I’m right here. Just because I look like a wild hog doesn’t mean I’ll maul you if you strike up a conversation, you know.
Hunting day tree: I got tired of Pier always standing by himself and forced him to join me in actively searching for prey. We talked a little. Well, mostly, I just sort of explained to him how best to hunt. That’s really all. In that way, it seemed less that he was talking to me because he wanted to and more so that he just wanted to learn how to hunt well so he could stay with us. Neat. I wouldn’t mind if we became friends, you know. Anyway, when I caught a wild juvenile boar, I made him slit its throat. He was really hesitant, more than I had expected, but now that he’s a little bloodied I guess he won’t mind it as much next time.
During the coming hunting trips, he actually grew somewhat bold, clearly trying to prove his worth to us. It was actually a little inspiring to watch since he’s the scrawniest of us all. Not counting children and teenagers.
Actually, yeah, he’s scrawnier than most of the teens and kids. But that’s starting to change.
With a semi-active lifestyle and a diet bereft of most sugar and other addictive materials, he’s recovered remarkably fast. His pulse is slow and steady. He’s shedding fast at an impressive rate. In its place, he’s slowly but carefully building muscle. What a turnaround. A real inspirational story of turning your life around. And all you need to replicate it is to lose your job, family, nation and time period to become a caveman.
Sadly, I wouldn’t say he’s much happier. His mood has definitely stabilized, but it’s clearly still in the “I can’t believe I have to shit in the woods every single day” variety.
I’d say he might become happy some day, but I’ve seen very few genuinely happy cavemen. Sure, they can laugh and the kids love to play, but none hold that confident sort of assurance in their way of living that the modern man takes for granted. Wack.
Days and weeks and months pass. Pier grows quite eloquent, and by the time he’s mastered the language, he doesn’t stop either. No, now he starts trying to teach them words. Mostly borrowed words from French for various specific things. He’s going about naming a lot of things. The cavemen don’t value linguistics too highly, but they still respect what he’s doing, so I will as well.
As for hunting, he’s getting proficient, but it’s also clear that he’ll never be as good at it as most of the rest of us. For one, he’s got tinnitus. None of us do.
About a month and a half in, once his language is good enough that you can easily converse with him without any troubles, I ask him to allow me to give him a bodily examination. He blanches. Kind of what I expected, but I really want to see how his body is like after this much time. Once he invariably asks me why the fuck I would want to do that, I explain that he looks different from the rest of us. According to his explanation of his situation (time-travelled from the future, aka exactly what happened), he’s not like us. So, I’m “merely curious” about what his “future body” is like.
He meekly accepts an examination as long as I’m not too rough or through. Oho, I won’t be. I swear it.
We do it in the forest since he, unlike pretty much everyone else, is a bit miffed with nudity. Even after a month and a half with people who don’t mind fucking right then and there; whenever and wherever. So, while he turns a nice shade of beet red, I lie him down on a patch of moss and remove his clothing. He’s still wearing the same suit and tie he arrived in, though he stopped using the tie a while back. He’s also stopped wearing his hard-leather shoes if we’re ever hunting in some rocky area. Nice guy.
Let’s see here now. Fat percentage is at a fair 16%. It was probably around 20% when he got here, so that’s a good change. His musculature is also more pronounced now, which is neat.
I can’t exactly look at his organs, but they seem to be going just fine. Nothing wrong with his lungs or heart. I almost wish I had a stool sample but I think that’s where he draws the line.
As might be expected from a guy who only bathed once three weeks ago in a running river, he isn’t exactly clean. But he doesn’t smell too bad. He is pretty sweaty though.
Fair stubble growth, longer hair… Yeah, my man is turning into an ooga booga caveman. I’m so proud of you.
I slap him on the chest. “Fine growin’.”
“What?” he squeaks back. Okay, I take it back, he’s got a bit more growing to do. But all in its time.
His body is 37 years old, mine is… Mine is just short 21. And yet I’m the one with the bushy-ass beard. Life truly is unfair. Not sure for who, but one of us for sure.
Now that I think about it, I don’t think I could ever become an accountant in any measure. Not because I can’t do math, but just because I’d get way too bored. I’d spend all day daydreaming about writing and in the end, I’d get nothing done. Nightmare scenario. I’m a bit envious that he’s got a family, though.
Alright, back to work. Past this, few real changes will take place in his body. Probably. He’ll be psychically fitter but he is most definitely mentally fucked. His phone and computer ran out of batteries like a month ago even though he only used them to look at pictures of his family. Oh, no, wait, I think I can remember seeing him write a message in google docs to his family, not that his computer will survive. It’d be funny if it did, but it won’t.
Hm. I mean, technically, I could make it last. Hell, I could even make sure it appeared in his family’s backyard or something so they discovered it a little after his disappearance. I could do it.
...Alright, let’s do it. But I’ll make it seem like a favour to him since I kinda fucked his life over.
Fuck, now I feel cruel again. Ahh. Pier, stop making me pity you. I’m sure your next life will be without strife and worry. Unless the reincarnation system decides that you’ll reincarnate in this time period. If that’s the case, my condolences. Sorry I fucked up your life.
Pier gets to his feet again, dusting off his dirty, dirty pants. God, they are dirty. How does he sleep in those things. Better yet, why does he sleep in those things. Mystery. Guess we’ll never get an answer.
“So, uh…” I turn back to him. “Anything good? Interest-, interesting? Valuable?”
No, and yes. Yes for me, no for you, since you should already have been able to tell. “Yer healthier now than before.”
“I am?” Why does he seem genuinely perplexed.
“Yup. Before, yer pulse wuz’ off the charts.”
Okay, he didn’t understand my words. Well, whatever. Fine with me. Life will go on, after all. And I’m here to see it.
Years pass.
Welcome back. I’m quite proud of Pier. He’s actually shed his suit (after it got so torn it was pretty much just loose threads) and accepted his caveman status. To further punctuate this, he doesn’t even attempt to shave his head and beard any longer, just letting it be what it is. I’m so proud of him. Furthermore, he’s grown into quite the respectable man, with a firm body type and a slim musculature that allows him to run for ages.
I didn’t notice it before since his body was fucked by his peak modern diet, but now that he’s eating properly, but he’s actually a bit further along in the course of evolution than most here. For once, he’s not hideous to look at. Even more so, he’s got quite deft hands. Good for pulling rope and sharpening blades.
He pretty much liked anything that isn’t hunting, so I guess he’s still a bit of a wimp.
But, the funniest thing of all, in his attempt to move on, he’s found himself a little missie. She’s currently pregnant. Well, that’s the course of nature. If you lose one family you’ve just gotta make another one, in another state, under a new name and address. The government doesn’t have to name.
Oh, also, it’s a little self-explanatory, but he doesn’t cry himself to sleep anymore. Which is good. Since it was a bit distracting.
He’s also good friends with Kir. Not so much with me. Even though I’m good friends with Kir. It feels pretty weird considering that we both like the same guy. Normally, that would make us friends by proxy. But not so. It might sound a little pessimistic, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of the way I look. I’m hardly a looker, and this has quite an effect on a lot of people, including myself. The older I get the more laboured my breathing feels and the more obvious it is that my teeth are horribly deformed. I feel like a wheezing pug or something. I guess it’s because my chest is compressed like a squeezed barrell, but I really wouldn’t know.
I think I’ve got maybe five or ten years left on this body, mostly since I can hardly chew anymore. Man. Being deformed sucks.
Okay, back to the present. Michael hasn’t said anything about Pier’s presence fucking up the timeline, so it should be fine. I think. If it isn’t, that’s on me.
Alright. Off we go.
I die sooner than expected. But I do die the best way possible: protecting Pier.
Fucker was sent out hunting even though he had better things to do, and I came along, as always. Meeting a damn bear had not been in the book. We lost two men almost immediately, with the rest deciding to run. This included Pier, which was a good choice since he had a second kid on the way. As if I could let him miss that. So, I threw myself between him and the bear. Stopped it dead in its tracks. The moment its jaws and claws sank into my flesh I knew this was it.
So, with the last of my strength, I shoved the broken end of a spear into its neck. It fell and crushed me under its immense weight. And that was how I died. But at least Pier lived.
Alright, alright, alright. I’ve got me a letter to write.
Jean-Pierre Grenouille died on the fourth of August, 17 933 BC. He died of an accidental injury that later became infected, causing necrosis and eventually death. He left a total of two wives and five children in his wake. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself back home, in his own house. The house he still hadn’t paid off the mortgage on. The house his wife spent months picking out for them. The home she had made for him.
For a moment, he stood there, wondering if it might just be a dream. No, if what had happened before had been a dream. It must have been. People didn’t just time travel out of nowhere. If they did, it would be common knowledge.
But then he noticed the state of his own body. A drooping and thin beard clung to his face. His right arm was covered in a mould-like mass of black, peeling flesh, accentuated by patches of white infection. It stunk like rotten meat. Or, no, it had stunk. It didn’t stink anymore. In fact, he couldn’t smell anything from himself anymore. Nothing at all.
Something here was very wrong, but the answer seemed to linger in the back of his mind. You died. You are in the afterlife. One day, you will be reborn. Those three facts floated like happy spectres, but once he realized the truth of them, they vanished as though they had never been there at all, leaving him confused and dazzled.
Then, in a brilliant white light, his body was cleared of any injury and he seemed to regress in age to twelve years ago, before he time travelled. Young again. But he was still wearing his pelt. It felt strange.
He looked around. The house was empty of people but crammed full of stuff. Stuff that had once been his. Little paintings and portraits. A case containing his old clarinet. Hadn’t his mother sold it once it was clear he wouldn’t pick it up again? But before he could focus on anything, before he could even look at the bookshelf and the computer, he found his eyes drawn to a single letter sitting perched on his coffee table, leaning on a vase of white lilies. He gingerly removed it. On the side of it, it said, To Pier from A Close Friend.
Unconsciously, his brows knit together. He swallowed. He opened it carefully. It opened gracefully and cleanly despite his lack of a letter opener. Within, he found a single folded piece of paper. It was soft to the touch. He unfolded it and held it within trembling hands.
Dearest Pier.
My condolences on your unfortunate demise, I am sorry I was not present for it as I was preoccupied at the time. This is where I would ask if your wife and kids are doing okay but I imagine that is a bit of a sore subject.
Enough about that. What I want to say is this: I’m sorry. Or, rather, I hope you will forgive me.
Thoughts whirled in Pierre’s head like frenzied flies. Who wrote this? Why? How do they know Pierre? Worst of all, what did they do to him?
I am what caused your chronological misplacement. It was for an experiment, and it was very much successful, if you were to ask me.
...An experiment? On time travel? Did some lunatic scientist make him time travel back to the caveman times? What kind of man would do that!?
Anger boiled in his heart.
But, do believe me when I say that there wasn’t a moment when I did not pity you. In fact, I felt quite sorry for you. I tried my best to help in any way that I could, something that eventually claimed my life. But don’t worry. As you are experiencing now, death is not eternal. Life is.
Pierre swallowed. There was something very odd about this. Worst of all, going by the way they were writing, it was almost as though they had been there every step of the way. Watching him from afar. Or… Maybe he was closer than Pierre thought?
The thought made a fresh series of goosebumps spread across his spiritual body.
Though, if anything, this did confirm that he had died, and this was the afterlife. His afterlife looked like his old house. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. To distract himself, he kept reading.
In fact, you are quite able to visit both of your families - as well as friends - anytime you like. The wonders of the afterlife. There is a compendium in your bookshelf containing every single person of interest you’ve come into contact with. It might seem excessive, but once you open it I’m sure you’ll find that it only contains people of interest.
Pierre put down the letter and walked over to the bookshelf with purposeful steps. Indeed, there was a rather large book there called Soul Compendium. He retrieved it.
On the first page, he found his name written, as well as a strange phrase. Displacement Beyond All, Survival of All. He had no idea what it meant and he didn’t want to think about it either. So, he started flipping through the compendium. The letter had been correct. The name and face of every person he had ever cherished - as well as some basic information on their life and death - could be found within.
Old school classmates, ancestors of note, family members… All there. It was almost frightening, and briefly, Pierre wondered how in the world this information had been collected. But, when he thought about it, wasn’t it obvious? Whoever had created this afterlife - whoever had created this compendium - must be God. That was the answer.
Saying that Pierre was anxious to meet his old wife and children as well as all his old friends was a bit of an understatement. Yet, he couldn’t do so in good conscience without first finishing the letter. So, he returned to it.
On a final note, since I truly am sorry to have displaced you and removed you from your life and your family and all that, I’ve decided to do you a little favour. Since it’s in repayment to the matter of kidnapping you, don’t even think of thanking about it.
In short, I’ve made sure that your family has discovered your computer in a relatively good state. I won’t say much about it, but know that your wife was able to charge it and receive access to it, though I had to then crash it since it wouldn’t be interesting if it fell into the government’s hands. I hope that’s alright.
Now, I’ll leave you to your afterlife. I hope you enjoy it, since it took quite a bit of thought to create.
Ta ta for now,
//Your friend
Pierre had to manually return his dropped jaw to its rightful place.
This was… A very strange turn of events. He really wasn’t sure what to say about it. Somehow, it felt like making his computer arrive with his wife was not exactly a tit-for-tat when it came to kidnapping him from his time, but, at the same time, it was more than he could ever ask for. That it couldn’t be turned in to the police was unimportant, his wife knowing what happened to him is much more important.
But, that final part…
Pierre shivered. Something here was wrong.
The writer of this letter… He had, somehow, taken Pierre several thousands of years back in time, brought his computer into the future, sent a letter to a dead man, and also claimed to have created this afterlife. The picture thus created was not a pretty one, but, at the same time, there was only one thing Pierre could do.
He returned to the compendium. It contained most of his relationships. This had to include the people of his tribe. The other cavemen. There had been around forty of them in total.
Pierre rifled through it until he got to the part about the cavemen. As expected, there was an entry for each one. No… No, not quite. Someone was missing. Pierre couldn’t tell who yet. He’d need to go through them all one by one. But, somehow, he could tell he had the time. So he got to it.
...He found it. The person missing.
You could possibly have made the comment that the missing person just wasn’t interesting to Pierre, but with this person, it was practically impossible.
It was the man with the face of a bulldog. The first man who had stood up for him. After that, Pierre had been hesitant to approach him since he always seemed so angry about something. In hindsight, it was probably just the way his face was formed, but Pierre couldn’t help but feel intimidated, even though the man only stood at the level of his chest. During their years together, their relationship had been rather tense. Even worse, since he had a strange, large-lipped accent, Pierre had had problems just understanding him for a few years.
But he was certainly a man of interest. Pierre swallowed. If he remembered correctly, he’d even thrown himself to a bear just to let Pierre live. If that wasn’t a memorable man, Pierre didn't know who was.
...And, yes, he obviously knew the man’s name. It was right on the tip of his tongue. Something about U. Or a Y.
That person was missing.
But why? And how? And what did this mean?
Something chimed further into the house. Pierre turned to look at it and found himself looking at a computer. Well, that’s… There can’t be an internet in the afterlife, right? That’d just be far too convenient. But… He might as well try.
Pierre sat down in front of the monitor and stared at it. How did you start one of these again?... Oh, yeah, the big button! Pierre leaned down and pressed it, successfully booting up the computer. It instantly activated what appeared to be a browser called Gabriel for some damn reason. But it seemed to work alright, so…
There was a search bar. There was nothing else. Pierre swallowed. He typed in google dot com. Nothing. He erased it. He tried it again but spelt google like gooble. He got a hit.
A google-lookalike stared back at him, identical except for the b instead of g. What a ripoff.
But, this did tell him that this certainly wasn’t the regular internet. No, this must be some sort of aethernet, or spiritweb, or whatever. This was a good thing, since it might mean he could get some questions. He searched Soul Compendium issues in the hopes of finding something - anything.
Nothing. Not a single result. Which was… Odd. So, he searched for simply Soul Compendium. One hit. A wikipedia parody called WickerPedia met him. Who the hell came up with these puns? Well, it might have an answer, so…
The page was distressingly short, mainly just explaining what it was and how to use it, which Pierre already knew somewhat intuitively. Hrm. Maybe if he refreshes it a bunch of times it might update? No, if he wanted to wait, he might as well check out some other website, if it exists. Hopefully, there might be a place where you can ask questions. Pierre decided to look for that.
After a somewhat long search, he finally found such a website. One that quickly explained that since pretty much no one knew anything about the afterlife, it might take a while to get an answer. Pierre had expected something like that, but it was good enough. Before him, about 7 questions had been asked, most of them which any sensible human soul should be able to answer. One of them, however, asked how in the hell it was that one of their ancestors was a literal dinosaur. Furthermore, according to the information in one of the books in her bookshelf, the particular species of dinosaur she had been should have been a solitary creature. Yet, she and around 4 of her siblings had banded together as a pack. It shouldn’t have been possible.
Unless someone that should have been in the compendium had been removed, Pierre thought. His mind began scurrying for an answer. This woman… she might be able to help him.
He desperately wanted to talk to his family, but solving this mystery had to come first.
Getting the woman’s name was as easy as checking her profile. Miranda Ritter.
Something in the back of his mind told him to write her a letter, so he did, briefly explaining that he, too, had had a strange encounter with someone who no longer existed in his compendium. He sent the message. Instantly, he got an answer, telling him that she would love to meet and discuss it.
They met at her house, and Pierre decided to bring his compendium and the letter. Strangely enough, he found that her house seemed to be a shabby wooden peasant home from the 1 700’s. Likewise, she wore near-medieval clothes that reflected this. A gentle fog of perplexion fell over his mind before it was dispelled with a single thought. Ah, this is the afterlife, huh?
They shook hands and sat down at the kitchen table. The house would easily have been able to contain an entire peasant family, so her being alone was a bit sad. Then again, Pierre had the same situation.
She explained her situation quickly. To her, she’d been in the afterlife for over a month, which she had spent aquaintecing herself with a little bit of everything. Firstly, she could instinctually read. Secondly, learning to use the internet had been pretty hard on her, though it was, much like many other things, very instinctual. Learning about dinosaurs had come as a bit of a shock. That was actually the first book in her sparse bookshelf that she had read. She had loved it, already finding herself enamoured with the massive lizards. Pierre didn’t exactly understand her love, but once he explained his own situation in extended detail, she must have seen him as equally baffling.
“So… You’re actually from the future?”
“And the past, as well.”
“Whoa…”
Pierre folded his hands, preparing himself to answer the question they both held so close. It wasn’t that the answer was a farfetched one or that Pierre felt stupid for not realizing it instantly, it was just that it felt like such a surreal idea that he couldn’t possibly accept it. “I believe that the blank in our compendiums is God.”
She stared at him for a few long seconds. “I assure you, I have been most faithful to our lord! I’d never let Him become a-,”
“Not like that!” Pierre interrupted. “I mean the literal blank. The person who took me back in time, who watched me from close in the form of a bulldog-faced man - that was God.” She seemed extremely hesitant to believe anything like that. Pierre swallowed again. “The person who brought your previous form and your previous siblings together - that was also God.”
“B-, but…” She frowned deeply. “Why would He do such a thing? Shouldn’t he, I dunno, send an angel to do stuff like that?”
Pierre shrugged. “That would be the normal thing.” His mind wandered back to the way the bulldog-, God acted. “I think… I think he’s just a strange person. Sorry if it sounds blasphemous, but I think he just does things for no real reason.” Even more so, God must be pretty human to take pity on Pierre. To feel regret for what he did. Or maybe Pierre was just pathetic enough to make a being beyond humans feel sorry for him.
“Possibly… Not sure if I agree with you, but you have a good point. It’s not like we have any alternative, right?”
Pierre smiled wryly. “Not quite.”
And so, a conclusion was drawn.