(Josie
Sayz: This is a flash-fiction piece that I wrote about my favourite film ‘Back
to the Future’. I chose to post it today (November, 5th) to honour
Doctor Emmett Brown’s vision of the flux capacitor. Disclaimer: I do not own
‘Back to the Future’, its characters or the film events that are mentioned in
my creative piece. My fan-fiction piece is also available on: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10804922/1/Outta-Time.)
Outta Time
5th November 2013
Dear Doc Brown,
Jeez Doc, it’s
been so long since I last saw you. Yet, I feel like I can still remember it as
though it happened only last week. I can’t possibly tell you how much I miss
you, Doc. It’s been nearly thirty years. Gosh, when I actually put pen to paper
it makes me feel so old. I bet you noticed the significance in the date of me
writing this. I thought today would be the perfect date to write to you. Today
always brings back the memories. Believe me, Doc, I wanted to sit and write to
you more times than you could ever imagine, but one thing’s always stopped me:
how can you write to a guy who’s been dead over eighty years? I know that you
managed to get that letter to me in the fifties from 1885 (that I can just
about cope with), but how do you go about sending a letter back in time? Why
did I have to get that DeLorean totalled by that train? That way I could have
used it to go back and visit you. Heck Doc, you have a flying steam train! Why
the hell didn’t you come back and visit me? It’s not like I’d have meddled in
another of your adventures or anything – I’m way through with time travel… but
that doesn’t mean you had to push me out of your life forever, does it? I guess
you probably were better off without me, I mean over the time we spent together
I managed to nearly screw up nearly a hundred and thirty years of history. It
doesn’t surprise me that you never wanted to come back and see me… or forward
to see me… oh, you get what I mean. Maybe something happened to the time
machine. Maybe you destroyed it, like you asked me to destroy the DeLorean. You
could have at least warned me first.
Where do I
start, Doc, you’ve missed so much. Me and Jennifer got married, we’ve got two
great kids, Marlene and Marty Junior. And let me tell you, Marty Junior’s nothing
like the wimpy kid that I met back in the old 2015. And my job, well, Doc, you
should see me. For a start, I’m not pushover like my old man and I don’t
go to an office everyday either and I don’t have Needles hanging over my head. On
the day I arrived back (for the last time) in 1985, I never challenge Needles
in that drag race and I never broke my arm. You were right, my future wasn’t
already written and I could change it – heck, I did. And you’ll never guess what,
Doc, ‘The Pinheads’ made it big. We were rock stars, jamming on stages all over
the world. We were huge. There were sell out concerts, screaming fans, flights
to LA, Hollywood, a European tour, loads of cash, did I mention the millions of
screaming fans? It was heavy, Doc, you should have seen it. But just like
everything… it never lasted. After five good years, the band broke up. We all went
our separate ways. I went solo, had a few number one hits, a couple of number
one albums – one went platinum. Doc it was amazing. I could never have imagined
that just changing the outcome of that drag race with Needles could have
changed the future, my future, so much. I’ve retired from the limelight a
little now to spend as much time as possible with the kids, but I still go out
and play a few shows here and there and do a few charity gigs.
My parents,
Dave and Linda are doing great too. Dave’s a deputy-manager of a big up-town
company – who’d have known. And Linda owns her own hair salon down town. Mom’s
happily retired, enjoying the quiet life and Dad, well Doc, you should see him.
Not only is he the boarding director of a massive marketing company – still
even though he’s in his seventies, but he’s a famous sci-fi novelist. I know
you said not to meddle, but getting George to stand up to Biff was probably the
best thing I’ve ever done for the man. I bet you’re wondering about Biff too,
huh? Well he’s not exactly the wimp that I met when we went back to 1985 the
first time, but he’s not as aggressive as he used to be either. He was Dad’s PA
until about a decade ago when he retired. He’s in some local retirement home
now and his kids… well let’s just say his grandson isn’t a cyborg. But they are
the local bullies – just like Biff and his gang back in 1955 I dare say. I mean,
I don’t see much of them but Marlene and Junior mention him and his lot from
time to time. They’re yet to get mixed up with him and his gang, which
hopefully means that the Hill Valley bank heist of 2015 will never happen –
fingers crossed. Junior’s nothing like the loser he was when I met him before,
so let’s just hope things say that way. Besides, I wouldn’t have you to come
help me – I mean him, out this time if things go bad.
How are you,
Doc? You’ve got to be pushing ninety now – well you would if you were still
here, with me in 2013. How are Clara, Jules and Verne? And how’s about Einie,
Doc? I mean I’ve looked you guys up in the history books, but that’s nothing
compared to actually hearing from you myself. Don’t worry, I won’t dwell too
much – I know how you say no one should know too much about their own destiny.
There’s
something else you should know, being as you stayed back in 1885, when I came
back to 1985, your house, The Brown’s Mansion, hadn’t been destroyed by fire in
the sixties. It was all still there, except it was empty and all boarded off. By
staying in 1885, Doc, you must have created some sort of time paradox (or
something or other that you were always warning me about), because it’s like you
never existed, only in history. There’s no record of you alive and living in
1985… or 1955. It’s like the mansion was just left, abandoned. I tried racking
my brain for years over this: just because you went back in time to 1885,
doesn’t mean that you weren’t born in 1920 to your parents, right? So does that
mean that somehow you managed to meet your parents and convince them not to
meet, or not to have you? Or did they have you and you managed to stop the fire
that destroyed your house? I haven’t got a clue what happened, Doc. For years I
tried to find out what had happened to you, to the house, but there just isn’t
any record of you existing anymore in 1985, 1955 or anywhere after the you who
I left for 1885 dies. However, after becoming a rock ‘n’ roll star and earning
enough money, I actually bought The Brown Mansion and restored it to its former
1950s glory. I even kept its name to remind me of you. I even taught my kids
all about you. I’m not entirely sure that they believe me about the time travel
thing, but they do respect your house and we, well I, visit your grave
regularly. That probably sounds kind of creepy, I know, and don’t worry, I know
that you don‘t want to know how, why or when it happened, so I’ll spare you the
details.
But out of everything
that’s happened, Doc, there’s one thing that’s been bugging me: the future isn’t
what it was. I know I changed my life and everything, but I’m not talking about
that, I mean the world’s changed. There are no flying cars, no fast drying
clothes, no hydrated pizza, no one-size-adjusts-to-all jackets, no DNA readers
for front door locks. Doc, these screwballs haven’t even invented the hoverboard
yet. And there’s no sign of cyborgs anywhere! There had been times when I could
talk to Jennifer about this stuff, about the future, about what we’d seen, but
now she refuses to admit that the whole time travel thing ever happened – she’s
just wrote it off as a bad dream. I’m so alone here, Doc. There’s no one to
turn to who wouldn’t think that I’m a nut. That’s one of the reasons why I’m
writing to you, Doc: Have you ever been surrounded by people, but still felt so
lonely.
Now I know
we went back in time to 1885, but I didn’t think I’d screwed it up that badly
that I could have changed what 2015 will be like. Okay so maybe a beat Buford, saved
Hill Valley from living in fear, stopped you from being shot but hey, you’re
the one who stopped Miss Clara Clayton from falling down the ravine. Now it’s
called the Eastwood Ravine, Doc, not the
Clayton Ravine – as in me, ‘Clint Eastwood’, I still can’t get used to it.
But I’ve
been thinking about it. Why’s everything different? Well not too different, I
mean ‘Nike’ have just invented self-tying shoes (about time) and they actually
have 1980s vintage diners – although a virtual image of Michael Jackson doing
the moonwalk doesn’t actually serve you, but the colours, music and food are
all there. They’re just lacking so far behind in technology. But then it hit
me: you. You, Doc, are the reason that technology hasn’t progressed. You were
the one who should have invented cyborgs, and hydrated pizza and flying cars
and DNA front door locks and hoverboards. Doc we need you. I need you. The
future needs you. We’re running out of time. October 21st 2015 isn’t
that far away, Doc, and the world’s nothing like it was when we visited it
almost thirty years ago – it’s taken a serious downgrade.
You know
Doc, not a day goes by when I don’t think about you or the adventures that we
had. I have no idea if you’ll ever get this – I’ve never had to send a letter
back in time before. I’m not even sure what to do with it really. All I know is
I miss you, and I mean really miss
you, Doc. If there is any way that you can send me a sign, hop by in your
stream train (the rail line is still where it always has been), a letter to the
Post Office from 1885… 1880-anything – even 1909, anything Doc, seriously. It’s
driving me crazy. There’s no way that I’ll ever forget you, Doc. I just hope
that you haven’t forgotten me.
Your friend always,
Marty
McFly
- Josie -
