The paradox was that while we had been sitting in a cafe in Paris, waiting for the kick, our future selves had reprogrammed the jukebox to play nothing but St. Etienne. So we sat and we drank our tea and slowly, little by little, we became our own dream. The future died there amongst the earl grey and gilt picture frames, and with it, so did she.

She wasn't more than 10 when the meteor struck Beijing, the meteor we should have been there to stop. Huddled in a doorway, she died wrapped in red silk and fire. She was the one who could have changed everything.

In your future, she didn't exist. In your future, the world burnt. In ours, we burnt it.

sent from my paradox


Want to comment? Login or Join

Login Sign up

tom.hamshere (joined almost 12 years ago)
Visit Website

It's me. I'm here. You can relax.

2 favorites

Story information


Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0


Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway.
Prompt suggested by Galen


We like you. Say "Hi."