I’m still me, he thinks, and feels the impersonal force of space-time mocking his claim. No, it says, there is no you. There’s just a set of experiences associated with a body, and both can be changed so easily. You could even give that duality a name – like Marty (such a nice name) – and a soul that claims uniqueness, but people are such fragile, changeable things so much at the mercy of forces beyond their control. Change an event and you change a memory; change a memory and you change a person, and the person that was no longer is. You’re dead, Marty, he imagines the space-time continuum telling him. You died the moment you first went back in time, and a butterfly flapped its wings that otherwise would not have. You’re nothing more than a ghost with lingering memories of a non-existent world, haunting the teenage boy whose home this really is. You don’t belong here. Your time is up, and that time is something that no machine can do a thing about.
Heartbreaking and existential.
Overall Rating: +++++
Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/606975