DOCTOBER '23 ⸺ 「 18 / 31 * LETTER 」
September 1, 1885
The longer he stares at the blank parchment laid out across his desk, the more inexplicably daunting the task before him becomes.
As soon as the ink hits the paper, this situation becomes set in stone. Final. His signature will seal his fate in a contract binding between him and the universe, the terms of which are known only to them and, in about seventy years, to Marty.
Emmett L. Brown becomes a figure lost to time under promise to guard against accidentally doing something to irreparably alter history and the knowledge of how to build another time machine stays trapped with him in the nineteenth century.
It has been eight months now since he arrived, welcomed by locals who knew nothing of his name nor his reputation and were willing to welcome him into their small growing community. As far as time periods to spend out his retirement years went, the late nineteenth century wasn't so bad.
Now all that was left to do was tie up the final loose ends that have frayed far into the future, well out of his reach.
The DeLorean and schematics are in place, waiting to be unearthed by his future-past-counterpart. The map is clear, as are the clues he'd left inside the mine.
The letter—
There's a twinge of regret in his chest as he lifts the quill from the desk. Eight months is a long time to have waited to write this letter, he knows, yet he also knows that so long as his calculations are precise, right down to the second, then the delay will be negligible in the grand scheme of things. He had to first exhaust all avenues before committing himself to a lifetime here.
Now that he has, there is the comfort that, for Marty, no time will have passed.
From here, the letter has a seventy-year, two month, twelve day journey ahead of it.
There are a hundred different ways he could start this letter, a thousand different things to say, and many of them involve reassuring Marty, first and foremost, that he is alive and unharmed. Even if the letter is only delayed by a few moments, a few minutes even, he knows his best friend's tendency to panic and assume the worst.
Marty would likely believe he was dead, and why wouldn't he? The DeLorean was struck by lightning and in a quite literal flash, he was gone, thrown backwards in time when the bolt overloaded the electrical system, destroyed the time circuits, and sent the car accelerating to eighty-eight miles per hour.
He dips his quill in the ink and begins to write.
Dear Marty:
If my calculations are correct, you will receive this letter immediately after you saw the DeLorean struck by lightning.
First, let me assure you that I am alive and well. I have been living happily in the year 1885 these past few months.
Emmett's brows furrow as he continues. Now that he's started, the words spill out across the page in swooping lines and splotches of ink when he's too impatient to wait. If he could, he would fill Marty in on the entirety of these last eight months, but there simply isn't enough paper for a full recount, so he condenses everything, relaying only the most relevant information that he thinks will paint a sufficient picture.
He still has his wishes to write, and in a spot of morbid humour, Emmett notes to himself how this almost sounds like a will.
By the time it catches up with him in 1955, he supposes it will be.
Do not come back for me, though I will miss you terribly, Marty. Watch over Einie for me. Destroy the time machine. This is all I need.
Marty's future is exceptionally bright and Emmett can only hope he will make the most of it. He's instilled in him as much positive reinforcement as he possibly could; the rest is up to him now.
Four pages and a set of instructions later, Emmett finally signs his name, neatly folds up the document, and hurries to the Western Union office.
A single man sits at the desk; a middle-aged gentleman with dark hair greying at the sides, a beard, and thick glasses. He introduces himself as Theodore as Emmett walks up to the counter.
❝How can I help you, Mister—?❞
❝Brown. Emmett Brown.❞
Something flashes in Theodore's green eyes. ❝You're the town's new blacksmith, aren't you? Thought you seemed familiar. What can I do for you?❞
❝It is imperative this letter be delivered with these precise instructions!❞ Emmett hands the instruction letter to Theodore, whose face scrunches up sceptically as he reads it.
❝Hold on a minute. You want us to hold onto this letter until❞—Theodore checks the paper again to be certain his eyes aren't playing tricks on him—❝November 12, 1955, seventy years from now, and deliver it to a kid on the side of the road in front of the...construction site of the Lyon Estate housing development approximately two miles south of the city limits at precisely 9:20PM. And your intended recipient is a five-foot-four, brown haired, blue-eyed boy named Marty McFly who is just going to happen to be standing there?❞
Theodore drops the page onto the desk and stares at Emmett like he's waiting for the punchline to some ridiculous joke. Emmett knows that look well; it is the very same look most of the residents of Hill Valley give him as they deem him mad and shuffle aside to give him a wide berth.
Emmett's resolve never wavers. ❝That's correct.❞
Theodore glances behind him to his colleague who throws a simple, entirely unhelpful shrug back. ❝I'll pay whatever the fee is to hold on to the letter that long,❞ Emmett says, and after a moment and at least four different expressions that pass across his face, Theodore lets out a long sigh.
❝This has to be the craziest, most peculiar request we've ever gotten. Alright, Mister Brown.❞ He shuffles a few papers around at his desk and produces a writing utensil along with a receipt and slides both over to Emmett. He taps a nail on the signature line. ❝Sign here.❞
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Can definitely confirm as a Canadian that this has been a scary summer for wildfires. I live in southern Ontario, and could barely go outside for a week because the smoke coming in on the wind was so bad, I can’t imagine how scary it is for people living in the affected areas. My cousin lives in BC and I’ve been worried about him.
I'm really sorry you have to deal with that. Whenever I open any wildfire maps or smoke maps, Canada is just covered by it. Depending on the scale the map is zoomed at, it looks like the entire province of BC is covered. It looks so scary. Do y'all typically get fires that bad in Ontario? I know that BC and Alberta have more of the typical fire-supported ecosystems (mountains, conifer forests, etc), although that still doesn't mean the amount/intensity of the fires are normal. I haven't put a lot of research into wildfire in Canada, since I was mostly focusing on the area where my story was set, but I was initially quite surprised at how bad it was in the eastern areas of the country too. I hope your cousin is safe.
This summer has been pretty rough for my family, with my Papa's health taking a steep decline, him being hospitalized and placed on hospice, and then dying last month. (I really wish I could say it was peaceful but it was awful to witness.) My aunt was supposed to go on a camping trip with some friends up in Canada, but had to cancel it because of everything happening here. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise I guess--a really weird thing to call a "blessing" I know-- because her friends who went to Canada had to emergecy evacuate the campground and flee because the wildfires were closing in. They left all their belongings. Fortunately, the fire was stopped right before it reached the campground, but it was scary. I'm glad my aunt was not there and was safely down here. These people were fortunate because they're just tourists and can go home--so many people who actually live in Canada right now are in such a scary situation. Many people are not so fortunate, either by losing their life or their homes or their livelihoods.
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