Falling Forever by P.A. Cornell

In this universe, time runs in reverse.

Though, I suppose that’s all relative.

From my point of view, time is moving backwards, at least for the moment. And not a moment too soon. The spots fade from my vision, but my EMU’s oxygen depletion alarm is still going off. We’re not quite there yet.

I’m falling and falling. Falling forever.

My thoughts drift to you, because that’s what it was like with us. That must be why they call it falling in love. You fall and fall forever. At least that’s what it’s like when it’s real. When it’s good.

The alarm cuts off.

Breathing comes easier now, and I start to notice more as my brain slowly recovers. Below me lies this other Earth that looks so much like ours but isn’t ours. It spins in the wrong direction. Or so it seems to me. Still, It’s not hard to imagine you there, going about your daily life, especially now, when I’m more alone than I’ve ever been.

Somewhere behind me there’s a rift within an anomaly. That’s what we’ve been calling the invisible barrier that marks the border between two universes. Ours, and this one. Somewhere behind that is the ship and the rest of the crew.

I’m wondering if given enough time reversal my suit will repair itself enough to contact them again. If I’ll be able to cross back to our space—back to you.

But I know it doesn’t work that way. I’ve had this thought before, and always the result is the same.

Our universe is expanding. This one is shrinking.

Two forces in opposition.

We thought we could beat it. And we did. Kind of.

Our plan worked well enough to get me across the barrier, anyway, but damaged my suit and cut me off from everyone else in the process.

Now it’s like this universe doesn’t know quite what to do with me.

It runs in one direction while I run in the other. We dance. We struggle. Neither of us comes out on top.

At least not yet.

You remember that song you used to sing? That one from that old show you watched as a kid that was about things that don’t belong? That’s me. I’m the thing here that isn’t like the others.

I know this because for a while, time was running in the proper direction for me. When I first came through. That much was normal, so I had time to panic when my comms and jets failed. I had hours to ponder my predicament as my breathable air dwindled. As I orbited this planet at once so familiar and so alien.

I don’t know what will become of me.

I knew going in there’d be no rescue if anything went wrong.

If I have any regrets, it’s that I didn’t tell you. Yeah, the mission was classified, but if I’d known then what I know now, I would’ve at least said goodbye properly. I would’ve made love to you one last time with the desperation we felt when it was still a new thing for us. Remember that?

Come to think of it, maybe I was the desperate one. You were always so patient. Taking your time as you kissed every inch of me until I practically begged you to fuck me.

I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself, thinking these thoughts now. Maybe my brain’s still a bit off from the lack of oxygen.

I wonder how long this respite will last. It’s never the same twice.

Soon enough the tide will shift, and time will go with it. My air supply will be consumed once more until it’s nearly gone before time shifts back again—I assume. Only my thoughts seem to maintain a steady course, and I’m not sure why that is. Maybe it’s because you figure so prominently. You were always my guiding star.

Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe one of us will win this tug of war and I’ll finally black out and die. Or maybe time will reverse all the way, and I’ll find myself back on our side, before I crossed over, suit intact and Mission Control still in my ear.

Or maybe this universe will decide to just let me drift until I finally burn up in the atmosphere of this other Earth. I don’t know if there’s anyone down there, but if there is, they might even see me, and from their vantage point I’d look like a shooting star.

Aren’t we all made of stardust anyway?

Seems like a fitting end. Like going home.

Except for me, you’re home. And you’re not here.

Time shifts again and as I resign myself to my fate, I reconsider my last thought. You used to say that when a connection between two people was strong enough, it was as if they were joined by an invisible thread. The thread might stretch, but it could never be broken. So maybe you are here. Even now, though we may physically be in two different universes.

Sometimes my thoughts of you are so clear, I can practically touch you. I hear your voice whisper in my ear that no mere space anomaly can come between us.

And in those moments, I’m home, and the stars shine bright, and time doesn’t matter.