Alternative Hate

The multiverse theory. At this point, one of the better known scientific theories. The idea that there is an infinite number of universes with slight modifications between them. For example, what did you have for breakfast this morning? Cereal? Fruit? No matter the choice there is a universe where you chose the other option. That’s a small change in an otherwise limitless world.

But what if you started getting deeper. Differences in ages, occupations, power, possessions, choices. The options never cease. Now what if I were to tell you that it’s all true, that the multiverse is alive and well and that there are universes where you could be a king, a queen, a president, alive or dead. How do I know this you ask? Well it’s because I can breach this so-called barrier, I’ve talked to these other sides, to these alternate flips of the coin. And do you know what I can safely say? That each one of them is all assholes.

Take this morning, waking up in my bed in the ass-end hours of the morning and oozing my way to the kitchen already to find a projection of myself from universe A5 waiting for me at the table.

“Damn you look terrible in the morning”, not-me booms out loudly.

I’ve honestly begun to lose track of them, for some reason throughout all of the multiverse I’m the only one who can communicate with all of them, a sort of nexus if you will. You’d think that would be amazing, I mean who doesn’t want a group of friends who completely understand you, and normally you’d be right but I know for a fact that I’m unsufferable.

A5 is still staring at me with something like veiled horror on their face. I forget their name (cause who said names have to be the same) but remember that they’re some sort of famous movie star back on their world. That means that on-top of being entirely too difficult to deal with they also look, sound and act better than I do.

“What do you want?” I drawl back entirely too tired to deal with this.

“Breakfast, your world has much nicer stuff than mine so I’m here to get some”

I raise an eyebrow. This is new. Usually whenever I talk to other Mes it just devolves into insults over what the other does and how much worse I am. This is the first time one of them has actually asked for something.

“You do realise you’re just a projection right? It’s not like I can actually feed you”

Their face drops a little in response,

“Yeah I know but you’re the one with all the magic powers right, I bet you can figure out something” they say with a clear sulk in their tone.

I’m struggling to believe it’s me I’m talking to. I understand that I’m not the best example of a person, I’m rude, dismissive, don’t listen well and generally unpleasant to be around despite what I’ve heard from people. But I don’t throw tantrums or sulk. And that’s exactly what A5 is doing right now, sitting with their arms crossed glaring at me.

“Fine, the sooner I figure this out the faster you can leave” I say turning around to the cupboards.

I pull out a packed of toaster waffles and wave them lazily over my shoulder. I can practically hear A5 brighten up behind me so I’m guessing they will probably work. Walking over to the side of the table I begin to make out the faint static-y outline that covers any of the projections. It’s difficult to see sometimes but it’s the only way I can usually tell after facial features and the like.

“This isn’t going to work” I say. In all fairness it’s not like I haven’t tried this before. When I first started to be able to communicate I tried handing stuff over to the nicer Mes and it never worked so I don’t see how it will be different now.

“Just try, it’s not like there anything else for you to do is there”

I can practically hear the smugness in their voice. So subtle shots at unemployment are what we’re doing now then. I’ll just give them the damn waffles and they can leave.

I drop the packet fully expecting it to hit the floor so it would be fair to describe me as a little shocked when the waffles instead land in their outstretched hand. There’s complete silence in the kitchen, I can hear the slow drip of water from the tap. One drip, two drips, three drips.

“That’s not supposed to happen is it” I whisper out.

“Not usually no, and that fact that it did is probably a bad thing” they respond.

Now that I look the static-y outline that usually encases them seems less harsh than usually, more a shade than anything remotely solid.

“So…” they look up at me, “got anything else worth eating in this dump of a house?”

Oh yeah, I’d almost forgot. No matter what else I’m always an asshole.