My eyes opened and revealed my own face staring back at me. I opened my mouth to scream, but the figure standing above my
bed, the one who had my face, covered my mouth with his hand.

“Don’t scream. You’re okay,” he said, his voice sounding the way mine does in one of my freestyle rap recordings. Only his voice, much like his appearance, was gruffer.

Even though he shared my face, it was slightly older. The familiar lines under my eyes were there, only darker. His stubble was thicker than mine could get, even after a weekend of not shaving. The most striking difference was the scar that ran from under his left eye and across his face to above the right side of his mouth.

“I know this is hard to grasp,” he said, his voice calmer than
before. “I’m your future self. I come from the year 2015. I’ve traveled back in time to give you a warning. Before I do that, I know you’re going to need some time to process this. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth and allow you to ask me any questions that might help you deal with this. Do you understand?”

I slowly nodded my head. He removed his hand from my mouth. I began to scream like a hysterical banshee who had just been stabbed. Jumping out of the bed and around my future self, I frantically ran down the hallway. I half expected my future self to tackle me, but a quick glance over my shoulder revealed he hadn’t even followed me into the hallway.

That was when it hit me. If this guy was the future me, and his uncanny resemblance suggested this was indeed the case (unless I had just been parent trapped), he couldn’t hurt me. My experience with countless sci-fi movies suggested if something deadly happened to me, my future self would fade from existence. This knowledge and my own curiosity led me to slowly walk back to the bedroom.

My future self, now sitting on the bed, stared blankly at me. His dark blue jumpsuit didn’t strike me as futuristic. Instead, it made me wonder if I wind up as a janitor. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a janitor, but I have big dreams due to my mad rap skills.

I leaned against the doorway, trying not to pass out from the overwhelming scene before me.

“Okay, now that you’re done with the hysterics, fire away,” he said, scratching the top of his head. Thankfully, his short brown hair contained no gray. I instantly knew my first question.

“Doesn’t our meeting threaten the fabric of the space-time continuum?” I asked.

“The space-time continuum is much more resilient than science fiction movies suggested, which scientists discovered shortly after figuring out time travel in 2013.”

“So people in your time are able to zip back and forth in time with no real consequences? There haven’t been any repercussions?”

“Nope. The only problem, per se, is that it causes some mild side effects. Mostly explosive diarrhea.”

“That explains the horrible stench that burns my nostrils as we speak,” I said, noticing the closed master bathroom door.

“Yeah, fortunately you’re a sound sleeper. Heck, you didn’t even hear me breaking into your living room. Speaking of which, here’s a couple hundred bucks to repair the window,” he said, tossing two wadded up bills at me.

While the $100 bills looked normal at first glance, a closer inspection revealed Barack Obama’s mug staring back at me instead of Franklin’s.

“Why is Obama on the $100 bill?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s one of the many honors he receives after saving America from a massive zombie outbreak in 2012. Plus, Ben Franklin’s reputation drastically declines after he punches the first time traveler’s baby. But I’m not here to discuss Franklin’s baby hatred.”

“Have you come to warn me of the approaching zombie outbreak?” I asked.

“I’m not here to talk about zombies,” my future self responded. “Your assistance is required to help with the Great Robot Uprising. The future of humankind depends on you.”