Imposter Syndrome

It was a cold December evening in the late 20th Century and Ola was making photocopies of a Non-Disclosure Agreement to end his busy day of paralegalling. Three more months of this and he’d have enough money to set up his own firm. He’d been surviving below his means for three years now and saved enough from work to live comfortably while unemployed for the time he tried to set up his own business. He smiled to himself in the dim, empty office, watching the contract copies spit out of the machine in front of him, unaware that he was about to be shunted to another timeline.

Dreams of hustle in a world that was built to kill anything he had were instantly snuffed like thin smoke in the night. Ola’s eye’s took a second to readjust to the brightness that was thrust upon him. He thought maybe something had happened with the photocopier but when he reached out for it, there was nothing before him. He asked aloud if he was dead, his voice dull against his own ears. Cue a roar of audience laughter that crashed over Ola like a wave. He recognised the set up. The young man was on a gameshow. His suspicions were confirmed when the host introduced him.

In the span of just a few minutes Ola saw a new day, centuries away from his own, and learnt of descendants that he hadn’t yet come to sire. They called him from the past to help them win a fortune. Ola didn’t believe he could help. Yes, the questions were about life in Ola’s city at Ola’s time, but Ola had always set his focus to work. Normally, the guests that were called from the past answered quickly and were sent home just as fast. Ola ummed and erred. And the longer he stayed in the future, the more time began to unravel. First, his descendants faded away and everyone forgot why Ola was there. Then the means to send Ola back to the past ceased to exist. By that time, the events fated to pass were already irreversible.