In the darkness, there was a voice, but I had no strength to get up.

Then, it was gone.

Morning.

Three hourglasses, filled with red, blue, and green sand. They measured the time until the end of my sentence in all of the three remaining timelines of my existence.

My prison held many like me, yet it had no door or gratings. It was a large wall of cosmical proportions, filled cube rooms separated by walls with the frontal side removed.

I could see the outside pretty well, but there was nothing except the abyss below and endless empty space in front of me.

In four cubes below my second temporal self, the prisoners were trees. Their branches reached far outside my prison, but I had no desire to explore elsewhere. I had to serve my sentence. In the winter, they bore tasty fruits, which became my only means of sustenance. I only had to place a spell of temporal lock to prevent the food from rotting.

Before, in the first timeline, there used to be a faceless woman in traditional eastern attire. She would arrive on a hanging cart and bring us samples of her oriental cuisine. Ramen, peking duck, you name it. Occasionally, she would bring us fortune cookies.

I didn't like their taste and they always came with vague prophecies that could apply to anyone, so I never paid attention to what was written inside of them, until the last day. It was the day when we didn't receive anything but the fortune cookies. I left mine on a plate in the corner of a room, untouched.

Then day after day, it turned out that all the predictions from the cookies were very detailed and happened to become true in the most unsuspected ways.

That was the first time when I've rushed to read my cookie, unlike ignoring the contents for years.

I opened it with great anticipation, only to find that there was nothing on the paper.

What could that mean? I don't know. Perhaps nothing applied to a man with three futures and no future at the same time.

As for the third of me, the floor of my room is bare sand. Every time I wake up, there are prints of someone's boots in different spots. However, that's impossible. All prisons surroundings the third of me are empty, it's the most lone and barren zone. I tried staying awake for a whole night, but I couldn't see anything in the cold dark. What surrounded me, was just silence.

The next morning, the new prints were on the sand.

I've tried again, moving around and searching with my arms, but I could have never find who leaves the prints.

Many days passed, weather was ever-changing, from the rain to floating soap bubbles, from the citrine sunshine to absolute darkness. It was always different, yet nothing here was changing.

Until today.

I, to be precise - my second self, have received a small package. There was a clock with three hands, a book, and a bag of instant coffee.

From whom it may have come, I didn't know.

[ ... ]

Four days have passed for my first self, one day for my second self, eleven days for my third self.

The tribunal has arrived at the room of my first self.

It consisted of twelve marble heads, they deliberated about my fate for long hours, then sentenced me to death. Only my first self, though.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I don't know what crimes did I commit to deserve it. All I did was altering the temporal weave of the universe, and it wasn't fully my fault. I was born this way. Once, just once, my body acted instinctively, on its own accord, but they told me that I was taught how to block it, by parents and teachers. It was the truth, but every day, it was like the power was seeping through me.

I couldn't hold it forever. I had to at least learn to control it, but it was taboo to them.

This, my fate, is the result. They're going to come again, in an unspecified time, and sentence another of me to death with their crafty lies. Each time, they became more complex, just to portray that I didn't learn my lesson.

Another of me will be gone.

I just want to live, in all the timelines that I've still got.

[ ... ]

Six days without the first me, seventy-one days without the first me.

The new clock I had broke, or to be precise, just one of its hands.

The coffee tastes great.

The book was short. It was a biography of a person who lived their entire life on Amnesty.

Amnesty, I wish I could find my way there. I would be out of their reach. It accepts anyone, you can serve there forever, pay your debts or just live and serve on the ship.

Who has sent me that book? What it depicted was like a dream that will never come true, but I'm still grateful, for just teaching me that there exists a place for ones like me, like us.

When my third – now new first - self woke, there were no shoeprints anymore. Instead, there were prints of small bare feet and an arcane ring, spanning across my entire room.

Is that how are they going to murder me? With the vile sorcery?

The less of me there is, the harder it becomes to erase me from existence without triggering the reaction of the temporal immune system, but I would never expect them to resort to black magic.

I hope it hurts when you sleep at night, thinking of what you are doing.

[ ... ]

One thousand days for the new first me, I've lost all desire to count the days as the second me. The time is acting strange. I don't know what's happening, my second mind is hazy. My second self hears whispers in the walls, I think that it is going crazy. I wanted to jump, just jump outside, into the abyss.

As for the sane me, the magic ring is still here. They didn't use it. Yet. Thank heavens.

My second self has access to a steel chain, I think I'm might use it to tie myself until my madness is over. I don't want to risk another death.

Today's weather at the first is nice, the air glows like a prism and smells sweet. I think I'm going to take a nap.

It happened again.

Again. AGAIN. AgaGAGAGAin. AgaIN. Again! Again... Again?

The nightmare.

All my past self are looking at me. Worms crawling out of their rotting skulls.

They're pointing fingers at me.

I know what's coming. I know!!! I'm next! It's always this way.

[ ... ]

I, my second self, was falling for twelve of my first self's days until I've died from dehydration. There's only one of me left.

The night has come. I hear whispers in the walls, similar to the one heard by my second self.

"Who are you?" - I spoke.

"Tomorrow." - It replied and I heard it clearly, for the first time.

[ ... ]

The day has come. There, she was sitting at the edge of my cell, staring at the endless space.

"You're awake, greetings." - Her gentle voice welcomed me.

"Hello." - I've replied. I didn't really know what to say.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Naaria. Also known as the Angel of the Underworld, servant of the witch."

"A witch?" - I was terrified. There was a reason why magistrates banned all black magic.

"The smell of your fear is too invasive."

She knew. - "The witch must've sent you here with a goal in mind."

"No, it's out of my own volition, although it's still part of her plan."

"I would rather not have to do anything with black magic."

"Do you have any other choice?"

I didn't respond, she was right. I had none. - "Why did you come here?"

"You had saved me, or rather, you will save me."

"Me?"

"Yes. I was trapped in a temporal prison. For you, I will be. You had come to rescue me, you're the only person who could save me. That's why I'm saving you, so the past may happen."

"I have averse feelings towards the witch. I understand that you're here to free me..."

"No, I'm not. Only you can do that. I'm only here to send a message, that you – in fact – can save yourself."

"It makes sense, but still... even If I free myself, why would I co-operate with a witch?"

"Because it already happened. Your choice here is limited to what is yet to be written, not to what is bound to happen."

Perhaps she was right, perhaps it was my destiny, but I did not believe in such things. I never liked anything related to time travel. The point is, I know that I can refuse and create another timeline and instability in the universe, but then there would be no one to protect me from the consequences of my decisions. Perhaps, there would be another me again. It's not that I don't respect my other lives, but I would rather avoid overcomplicating my fate, than create new instances.

To me, the decision, albeit not wanted in full, was a simple one.

"I will save you."