Shall Not Sleep [bxb]

Dear Alastair

Dear Alastair,

I have so many feelings I need to get down on paper in this letter. Sorry, but it's going to be a long one, and there are so many topics I need to address that it's going to be organized into parts. Part One is about how grateful I am. Part Two is about my disbelief at how little disbelief I have. Part Three is a guide to the proof I've sent you along with this letter.

Part One:

Thank you so much for the watch. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It's so beautiful. I just keep turning it over and over in my hand and staring at it. People don't wear pocket watches anymore, not unless they're dressing up in a historical costume. Hell, people barely wear watches anymore. They should. I love how heavy it is and the way it sounds. The ticking is so comforting, once you get used to it. Especially at night as I'm drifting off to sleep. I can't think of any words to say thank you, aside from, you know, "thank you," but they seem so inadequate.

Part Two:

Maybe I should still have some skepticism. Maybe a smart person would. But I don't, not anymore. I took the watch into an antique dealer and he confirmed its authenticity, and with the inscription? It's genuine. You're living in 1916, fighting in France at The Somme. I've done a little research and looked up some of what happened there, and... well, I probably shouldn't say anymore, should I? I don't know what to do now. I'm so confused.

Okay, now Part Three:

With this letter, you'll find three photographs. I'm not sure that I should send you these. I don't want to cause rifts in the fabric of time. But the watch doesn't seem to have broken anything. So, here we go.

The first photo is of a brand-new car. I went down to a dealership and picked the shiniest car on the lot. I did some research and found out that you've probably only ever seen black cars. Red is nice, right? This beauty is fully electric, too. You plug it into the wall to charge it up instead of using gasoline. The engine starts with the push of a button. The future is pretty awesome, as far as cars go.

The second photo is of a TV, or television, the one in my living room. It's about a decade out-of-date—new ones are even thinner and bigger and the picture quality is almost as good as real life. I also wish I could send you a video so you could see the picture move, but... oh well. This is a picture of the news anchor reading today's top stories. A train crashed in India, a big storm took out the power in New York, and a famous actor got married. Neat, huh?

The third photo... well, the third photo is me. In my backyard, just staring into the camera lens like a stunned animal. I took a bunch of others, including ones where I'm wearing an actual smile, but this one was the most natural. This is what I really, really look like.

I'm trying to imagine what you might be thinking, seeing me for the first time. It's impossible. If I look distracted in this picture, it's because I was worrying about that. Don't know why.

Anyway. That's my proof.

Take care,

Max Callan

PS—I'm glad you're on leave. You know I worry about you almost all day? Which feels weird... everything that's happening to you has already happened, and my worrying can't change the outcome no matter what, but... it feels like I can help you out if I think good thoughts for you.

What do you do when you're on leave? Can you go home?

Speaking of your home... tell me about it. I know next to nothing about you and you know pretty much all there is to know about me. Not fair, is it?