Life was torture for me.  I felt worthless.  Life was worthless.  The universe was heartless.  There’s no point to my existence.  The only reason I’m still alive is because I don’t have the courage to end it.  I don’t have any friends outside of work.  One of my colleagues invited me out to lunch.  He introduced me to a friend of his, Aaron O’Connell.  He’s an odd character.  A quantum physicist with bad hair.  He tells us about an experiment that he’s just completed, and in the future, he hopes to experiment with living creatures.

He invites us back to his house to smoke a bowl.  He’s fascinating.  For the first time in a long time, I find something interesting.  He says that he was able to place a macroscopic item in a superposition.  He found a way to isolate an object from our perceived world.  That’s what I found interesting.  Riding the waves. It sounded like a preferable state for me.  Isolated from the world with no worries.  He went on to say that if the object is kept in an isolated position, it’s capable of being in any and every position at once, without time, matter, or space, but if it comes in contact with light, air, or heat, it once again assumes its only possible position.  

All of us were pretty stoned by the time he got around to telling us about Schrodinger’s cat and the grandfather paradox.  He thought that he may be able to move a macroscopic object back through time.  I confess my suicidal thoughts.  Tell him how I wish I was never born.  If I could go back in time and kill my grandfather, I would.  He says he wants to show me something in his basement.  There’s a small box. He points to it and says, "Well, here’s your big chance.  Can you squeeze into it?" 

The next thing I know, I’m on a farm.  My face is covered in dust.  I notice a familiar looking man on a tractor.  Damn!  It’s my grandfather.  I tell him that I’ve traveled a great distance.  He says, "It’s time for my second meal of the day, boy.  You hungry?"  He tells me to come on up to the house.  He’ll have his wife rustle up some grub.  He hollers, "Goeie Mie, we’ve got a visitor." 

I noticed a grandfather clock.  It’s the exact same clock that my mother had in our living room.  I used to love listening the bells chime.  It was about the only thing that I liked as a child.

As we were finishing our meal, I start contemplating on how I should kill him.  My grandmother, who I’d never met—she had died before I was born, brought us some whiskey.  She didn’t talk much.  She just kept staring at me with an odd little grin.  Almost as if she knew something was up.  I wondered if she’d noticed a family resemblance.  

I was nervous.  My hands were trembling.  How was I going to murder him?  I hadn’t really given it much thought.  My heart was pounding and I was having trouble breathing.  My throat was burning and it felt like it was closing.  I felt myself sliding out of my chair.  At first, I thought it was the whisky, but when I looked up at my grandmother, her grin widened.  I heard the bells chime.  High noon.  

"Whoever thou mayest be, beloved stranger, whom I meet here for the first time, avail thyself of this happy hour and of the stillness around us, and above us, and let me tell thee something of the thought which has suddenly risen before me like a star which would fain shed down its rays upon thee and every one, as befits the nature of light. - Fellow man! Your whole life, like a sand-glass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again, - a long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process. And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole fabric of things which make up your life. This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things:- and for mankind this is always the hour of Noon".—Nietzsche