Running out Time 6

I went to speak, but I caught an image flickering in the corner of my eye. It was Ketchup and I sitting in the chairs we were currently in. “So it was me,” the image of me said.

            My ketchup responded. “He is just like you. Except he received a different set of powers, which caused an entirely different set of circumstances to play out for him. You are your mortal enemy.” Just like if I was a teenager. I need time to grow and space to mature.

            My eyes were drawn to Ketchup. He face looked exactly like her profile picture, which had been a simple headshot. It didn’t do her hazel eyes justice, but her real life eyes were similar enough that she was easily identifiable. What I hadn’t expected was that she was at least 6’2 and here arms were the size of boa constrictors. It wouldn’t have been so obvious if she didn’t have a sleeveless shirt on. Was that a bloody thumbprint on her bicep? I couldn’t tell. It almost looked like it was smiling at me. As if to say, “I’m a thumbprint, isn’t that interesting.”

            “Are you paying attention? This is important,” Ketchup said, or at least I thought she had said it. I was too busy looking at the bloody thumbprint.

            “No. It really isn’t that interesting.” Once I realized what I had done, I adverted my eyes and muttered, “Sure.”

            “What was the last thing I said?” She said as her face morphed into a scowl.

            “My other self was a space case?”

            Ketchup let out a long drawn out sigh. She dug into her sleeveless shirt pocket. From it she pulled a cube, which she blew at me. Following the illogical gravity, the cube floated over to me. I was so caught off guard by whether or not she was blowing me a kiss, that it hit me square in the chest.

            “What is this?”

            “Look at it really closely,” she said.

            I held the cube up to my eye, and I noticed that it was hollow on the inside. On the interior it looked like it had been painted by a guy setting off paint grenades in an apartment. Some of the wall splatters looked familiar. Then I suddenly realized that it was a very tiny version of my apartment. Maybe an ameba could live in this version of my apartment. That would be a strange deal to run. “Come one come all. One for ya. One for an ameba.”

            “What am I looking at?” It was still entirely possible that I was looking at the apartment for little ameba Greg. I assumed that he didn’t have to deal with the apocalypse chick.

            “He tried to kill you by miniaturizing your apartment. I don’t know when it happens, but you barely make it out of there alive.”

            Something was really bugging me. I was ready to believe that I had been selected by time to fight space crime. I was even okay with the shoes allowing me to travel through time. Perhaps, I was even ready to believe that by some miracle Ketchup was in love with me. “How are you staying so ripped if gravity barely works?”