Running out of Time 7

I fell backwards from the sidewalk I had been on into a tree. It caught me by the neck and the creases of my legs, making me feel relatively comfortable. As if to say, “Sleep now Greg. You’ve deserved it.” It was almost normal.”

            The tire swing was hanging from a tree. The garage was next to a house, and the car was inside the garage. Had I run through time again? I laid in the tree, feeling as though reality was normal. After getting my fill of non-apocalyptic normal gravity, I jumped from the tree.

            The sudden jarring move as I struck the ground shifted reality back to the apocalyptic scene. Now, I was standing at the base of the sidewalk tree again. Somehow everything looked worse than I had just seen it. Everything was covered in cobwebs, even more fire, and a thick coating of dust. Ketchup was no longer rising into the sky.

            “Greeeeeg!” Someone moaned. Behind me, the withered form of Ketchup emerged from behind the tree. She was grey, rail thin, crusty, and lean. I was surprised I even recognized her. “You’ve been gone for 6 trillion years.” She lifted her forearm, where she had cut a bunch of check marks into her arm.”

            A non-crusty hand grabbed me by my collar and pulled me back onto the vertical sidewalk. It was regular muscular Ketchup. The best version of Ketchup. As if she could hear my thoughts, she spoke. “Pay no attention to her. Time is irrelevant here. Just because that happened to her, it doesn’t mean it will happen to me. It isn’t a death sentence.”

            “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me,” I said.

            “When did I say that?”

            “Like one minute ago.”

            “That must happen to a future version of me. I haven’t said that yet. I may never say that.” My eyes swiftly moved to her feet, and I saw that her shoes, my shoes, were recently bloody.

            “What happened to me?

            “I’m not supposed to tell you,” she said. Again, she started to walk away.

            “Who the hell told you that?” I screamed back up to her in the sky.

            “You did. At least I hope you are him.”

            “Gaw! I am so over this.” I stomped my foot and reality flickered back to normal. Where Ketchup had been standing, there was now an old lady.

            “You are supposed to be nice the elderly,” she muttered as she hobbled away. Freaking old ladies saying crappy things. They always think that they deserve good treatment because they have lived longer. So, now stomping my foot was equal to jumping. If jumping skipped me to the end of time, what happened when I skipped?