[ WP ] A teenage boy , a young man in his twenties , and an old man are sat in a room together . They are the same man at different ages , discussing life .

Simon shivered as he entered the cold room. A metallic table sat in the middle. Around it, three chairs, two of them occupied by men older than him. One of the men looked old. Wrinkles covered his face in a stark contrast to the neatly ironed suit he was wearing. The other man looked terrible. He looked quite young, somewhere in his twenties perhaps, but he had the appearance of one of those alcoholics he sometimes saw sitting on the streets. His clothes looked dirty and his hair was unwashed. As Simon stepped closer, he could smell the reek of alcohol and stale cigarettes emanating from this man. 
 
 The elder gentleman nodded. “ Welcome, Simon, ” he greeted. 
 
 The boy nodded back, unsure what to say. 
 
 The old man smiled. “ My name is Simon, ” he explained. “ The man next to me is Simon too. We ’ re future versions of you so I suppose names bear little relevance in distinguishing us. I shall refer to the man next to me merely as Twenty-eight as that is his age. You may call me Seventy-two and in return I will refer to you as Sixteen. This is a timebubble of sorts, a snapshot of your possible future. ” 
 
 The boy looked around the room. There was nothing aside from the table and the two men sitting by it. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that the door he had entered from had vanished. “ I ’ m dreaming, aren ’ t I? ” he asked. 
 
 Seventy-two shrugged. “ It matters not, Sixteen. If it brings you some comfort to think so, then you ’ re welcome to it. ” 
 
 Twenty-eight glared at the old man. “ Fuckin ’ hell it matters. ” he growled. “ I got ta warn this brat against shit and if he thinks this is a dream then he won ’ t fuckin ’ listen! ” 
 
 Seventy-two smiled, seeming to ignore the man. “ Take a seat, Sixteen, ” he told the young boy gesturing towards the empty chair. 
 
 The boy swallowed hard as he pulled out the chair and sat down. 
 
 “ Now, ” said Seventy-two. “ I believe mister Twenty-eight has something he would like to tell you. Perhaps we should start out there? ” 
 
 Twenty-eight rolled his eyes at the old man. “ ’ ’ Bout time, ” he muttered. “ Listen here, kid, it ’ s about Eliza. You know Eliza, right? That little bitch of a girlfriend you have? ” 
 
 Simon looked at the stinking man. “ What about her? ” he asked. 
 
 “ She ’ s gon na fuck you up! ” shouted Twenty-eight, slamming his fist into the metallic table. “ Sure, everything ’ s all rosy at first, but you kno ’ what? Soon, she ’ ll start wanting more. Ain ’ t ever enough with that bitch. Sure, she says she likes you *now* but jus ’ you wait, kid. Soon she ’ ll start pestering you to get an education. Then she ’ ll start regretting that *she* didn ’ t get one as if you didn ’ t fuckin ’ work all day to provide for her and the accident, you also have to come home to seeing a woman who wishes she was anywhere else. Ungrateful, that ’ s what she is. No respect at all. ” 
 
 Simon swallowed hard, looking at Twenty-eight. That couldn ’ t possibly be him in the future, could it? He looked at the old man for advice but Seventy-two merely smiled back at him. Simon swallowed hard. 
 
 “ Jus ’ leave the bitch, ” muttered Twenty-eight. “ Get someone nice. A proper lady who won ’ t bitch if you have a couple of beers after slaving all day to earn money for the family. ” 
 
 “ I… ” Simon hesitated. How could this possibly be anything but a dream? How could he possibly grow into this person? How could this stinking alcoholic possibly grow into the neatly shaven old man who sat at the other end of the table? Simon looked at the old man. “ Who are you? ” he asked. “ How did Twenty-eight turn into you? ” 
 
 The old man shrugged. “ After Eliza died, I dedicated my life to making things right. Time travel technology was starting to be within the means of the common man and I started saving up to afford it. To bring the two of you here so we could talk. ” 
 
 “ Why the two of us? ” asked Simon. “ Why age Sixteen and Twenty-eight? ” 
 
 The old man kept smiling as he crossed his arms. He gently leaned backwards in his chair. “ You ’ re the important one. Twenty-eight is just here because I hoped it would help you understand what I ’ m about to do. I suppose I got sentimental in my old days like that. ” 
 
 “ So I ’ m here to get guidance? ” asked Simon. “ You ’ re here to tell me what to do to avoid becoming him? ” 
 
 The old man just smiled. 
 
 “ Stop fucking smiling! ” shouted the boy in frustration. “ Tell me what to do, please! ” 
 
 Seventy-two ’ s expression remained the same. “ It doesn ’ t matter, Sixteen, ” he said. “ You see, with old age comes perspective. You start seeing the bigger picture; you begin seeing your life as it was rather than as you wanted it to be. The young man next to me is angry because he *wants* to be the victim but that ’ s not what he is. He ’ s a sad excuse for a human being, a person who blames his poor wife for his own inabilities to see himself for what he really is. ” 
 
 Twenty-eight glared angrily as Seventy-two. “ Fuck you! ” he shouted. 
 
 For a moment, it seemed as if Twenty-eight was about to say more. Then everything went quiet. The old man looked at him with that constant smile on his lips as Twenty-eight ’ s eyes suddenly widened in horror. 
 
 The old man looked back at the horrified Sixteen as Twenty-eight fell lifeless to the ground. “ You see, Sixteen, ” explained the old man, “ I am not here to turn your life on the right course. I only get one chance to save Eliza and I ’ m not going to waste it by taking chances. I could tell you to leave her but what guarantee do I have that you ’ ll really do it? Or that you won ’ t just find another young woman and ruin her life? ” 
 
 Simon trembled. He looked down at his twenty-eight year old self who now lay dead on the floor. “ P-please don ’ t, ” he pleaded as he returned his gaze to Seventy-two. “ I ’ m not that man; I can change, you know that! I ’ ve been warned so now I can turn my life in another direction, I swear! ” 
 
 Seventy-two smiled. For a moment, the young boy thought he saw genuine sympathy in his eyes. “ I ’ m sorry, Sixteen, I really am, ” he said. “ This is how it has to be. ” 
 
 A young boy named Simon disappeared from his home one day. His girlfriend, friends and family mourned as the months went by and the police eventually ceased their investigation. They found no signs of abduction, no notes left behind or anything else that could help solve the mystery of what had happened to the young Simon. There was a brief article in the newspapers but the incident was never widely published in the media. After all, such cases happened quite often.
