Guillotines and History Essays

"What are you doing here?!" "I had a history essay about the French Reign of Terror." "So you're trying to get your head chopped off?!" Insert record scratch sound here. Hey, I bet you're wondering how I got to this point. Let me explain some things before we continue.

I'm a time traveler. More importantly, I'm trying to get my history degree, and what's the best way to get good grades? Literally going to those places and writing the essay there. I really want to write an essay about Pompeii, but a friend of mine made me make a rule {After an incident that resulted in a literal emu war in Australia} that I'd only time travel for essays and other important purposes.

At one point—I think it might've been during Julius Caesar's assassination?—I may or may not have upset a person, Kyriakos, and after about... a century, I found out he was immortal, and he found out I was a time traveler.

Things got better. There was less attempting to kill me—thank god—and far more lunches.

And here I was, locked up in a dungeon, smiling at Kyriakos, who glared at me from the other side of the cell.

"What are you doing here?!" He said through gritted teeth. His blond hair was unkempt, his clothes neat and orderly. He dressed well like average French citizens from the late 18th century. I only just realized I was crap at french. I knew enough to get by, but I sucked at it.

“I had a history essay,” I admit.

He pinches the bridge of his nose before knocking on the door's lock. “So you’re gonna get your head chopped off?!” He asks as I stand up, holding out my handcuffed wrists. He scowls. “I should leave you locked up like this.” He mutters as he unlocks it with a key.

“But then you wouldn’t get to have lunch with your favorite time traveler,” I say with a smile.

“You’re the only time traveler I’ve met.”

“That’s exactly why I’m your favorite.”

Kyriakos rolls his eyes as he looks at me. “Is anybody as insufferable as you in the future?” He asks.

“Depends. My history professor loves me. I’m the best student.”

“You cheat.”

“I… there’s no rule that says anything about time travel.”

Kyriakos rolls his eyes before nodding his head for me to walk with him.

I sigh and follow him gladly. 

“Do you have any–” He stops when I pull a book from my satchel. 

“The Picture of Dorian Grey,” I say. “I would’ve gotten Sherlock Holmes, too, but they were out of stock.”

Kyriakos smiles softly as he looks down at the book. “It’s weird… the paper?” He says. “Feels’ different.”

I laugh. “Only you would say something like that, Akos."

***

I always made sure to take note of things that would help with my essays, but I would be lying if I said I paid more attention to getting a good grade than to whatever it was Kyriakos said.

“You know, I still haven’t found you. In the future?” I say, looking at Kyriakos.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there are places in the future you haven’t looked,” He says.

I shake my head. That’s the thing. I knew everywhere. I knew where he lived now, during the great depression, where he was stationed in World War One and World War Two. I was a history major, and if I wanted to find somebody, even if they were the average person, I could find him. And I have. I’ve traced it all the way to the 1980s, and he just disappears. And he can’t be dead; he’s immortal, and immortals can’t die. “I’ve looked everywhere, Kyriakos,” I say. “You’re– I don’t mean this in a rude way– but you’re not a notable person in history, and I don’t think you want to be; why would you? You’d have to fake your death every century; it’d get exhausting.”

Kyriakos tilts his head as he listens. 

“The last time I saw you was during the Berlin Wall deconstruction,” I say. “And the last time history saw you was that same day. I can’t find you.”

Kyriakos swallows as he looks at the mug he held. He sets it down, the flowery scent of tea coming off it as he looks at me. “I disappear; that’s how it works. There’s a couple decades where I’m on my own.” He says.

“This is different,” I say. “It’s nearly been forty years, and I don’t know where you are!”

Kyriakos sighs as he looks at me. “Have you ever gone to before I disappeared?” He asks

“Yes. And no matter what, you still disappear,” I say. “How am I supposed to find you when you disappear like this?”

Kyriakos swallows before standing up and walking to a shelf. He reads a few of the old leather-bound books spines before pulling the oldest-looking one and showing it to me. He slides it across the table to me.

The pages were all blank. I furrow my eyebrows as I look back up at Kyriakos. “I’ll write,” He says. “I’ll start writing fifty years before and put the book in a place only you would think of.”

I sigh, looking at the book. Two clasps kept it shut. I nod, meeting Kyriakos’ gaze once more. “Okay,” I say.

Kyriakos nods. “Now, why don’t you head home before you make a dent in the timeline?” He suggests.

I smile softly and nod. That’s a good idea.

***

I sat in a church in the middle of the night as I sat here quietly. I don’t know what I was waiting for if I was waiting for Kyriakos to step through the doors behind me and sit beside me like we used to or for a staff member to remove me from the premises. I sigh heavily before checking beneath the seat. I decide to kneel on the floor as I move pieces of the floorboard, like one of those puzzles I’ve always enjoyed. It clicks into place, and I finally notice the hidden object beneath. A book. I pick it up, flipping quietly through the pages. Each and every page was full of neat writing, pictures, sketches, and even newspaper clippings. I sigh.