The Doomsday Paradox

The night the world ended began with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water and the distant chirp of a cricket. As the internet went down, an unnerving silence replaced the hiss of static from my ham radio. Then, a chilling, inhuman voice whispered nearby.

I ignored the media's pre-war frenzy and the public's stockpiling until now. My ham radio was my sanity's anchor—until a night of terrifying sounds replaced the static.

My desire to flee the chaos likely spread to other global radio operators whom I contacted via radio. I didn't know that my voice, carried by the invisible tendrils of electromagnetic waves, somehow reached the ears of beings far beyond this planet.

Fresh from the shower, I had one more contact to make with a friend down under. Little did I know that the contact that was about to happen would be ‘first contact.’  

Midnight passed on the 13th. Yes, it is a cliche, but it was a Friday the 13th, and without warning, things stopped their usual course. The world seemed to pause, the air icy, the night silent except for the faint hum of my ham radio cutting through the darkness.

A nightmare sound, like a frog's death rattle, startled me. I turned around to see them. Two gray lizard-like creatures with tentacles stared at me, their cold, reptilian eyes unnerving. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat as my breath hitched in my throat.

Like chips of cold obsidian, their eyes bored into me, unblinking and unreadable, sending a shiver down my spine. I wanted to scream, to run, but my legs were heavy, unresponsive, and rooted to the spot. When one of them spoke, the gravelly scrape of its voice against metal sent a jolt through me, threatening my sanity.

I couldn't sit; my body wouldn't cooperate. My legs gave way, and I missed the chair. I hit the floor hard, jarring my teeth and spine. The chair scooted away from me, hitting the wall with a thud, highlighting my awkward sprawl.

Still damp from the shower, my flimsy robe tore loose from the fall. I was surprised by the creatures' stares as they attempted to figure out what happened.

Without warning, they spoke. The words they used were familiar, but the cadence, the rhythm, was strange. They knew my language. "Is that an earth custom?" One of them asked, their eyes narrowing in a way that suggested they were studying me, sizing me up for some unknowable purpose. Their voices were low and gravelly as if they were constantly on the verge of losing their breath, yet their words showed undeniable intelligence.

I shook my head as I tried to cover myself. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Why are you here?” I managed to get out.

Their heads tilted, eyes reflecting my terror and disbelief at my question. The scene before us seemed to blur the line between stroke-induced delusion, dream, and impossible reality. I tried to keep from screaming or peeing myself, my heart pounding like a drumbeat. I worked hard to wrap my head around the events.

"We have listened to your broadcasts," the taller one said, its forked tongue flicking the air. "You speak of peace, of hope, when your kind clamors for war. You understand what is at stake. That is why we chose you."

“Chose me? Chose me for what?”

Fastening my robe, I rose, recognizing this as reality and not some twist of fate from tainted food.

"One of your nations just launched a barrage of powerful weapons toward this place," the creature hissed. "Your nation has responded in kind. Your world and its people will cease to exist in just a few moments. We believe you are the one to stop this from happening." They paused as if to let the gravity of their words sink in. "In nine of your earth minutes, we need to remove you from this world and take you back in time so you can change the past."

My heart leaped into my throat, and I felt sweat beading on my forehead. "Pack what you think you might need to convince them that the future must be changed in one small bag before the missiles arrive."

My eyes widened in shock and disbelief. I saw a wrist device, which I guessed was a clock. I swore as I stood. Two aliens trailed behind me as I flew past a mirror, catching my near-naked reflection. The surreal scene prompted nervous laughter.

I could feel the cold floor on my feet. My knees ground into the carpet as I reached under the bed for my old bag I used in the military. I felt the cool breeze of the open window behind me, and I wanted to dress. I didn’t have time.

I started packing my bag: a fresh change of clothes, my trusty laptop, and all sorts of electronic gadgets. And, just in case, I grabbed some old newspapers that were yellowing at the edges, their pages filled with stories of a world gone haywire. The aliens stared, their cold, unblinking eyes fixated on my every move as I sprinted around the house, stuffing my bag to the brim.

Air raid sirens, designed to warn of an impending storm, wailed in the distance as if mocking my desperate scramble to survive. I stared back at the two silent invaders, their tentacles flicking impatiently. "We've got to leave now!" the shorter one hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without warning, the taller of the two beings reached for the bulging sack of treasures that held my most important belongings while its slender partner tightened its cold, squirming tentacle around my sweaty, nervous hand.

The aliens pressed buttons, and the room shattered like glass. Colors swirled, time folded in on itself, and my body felt like it was being pulled apart and stitched back together. Once the chaos subsided, I found myself in a bed redolent of dust and childhood recollections, gazing at legs that now belonged to a boy, not a man.

Here I was, wide awake and fully aware of my terrifying dreams, back in bed. The bed I had as a child, complete with Pookie Bear by the pillow.

A sudden gasp escaped my throat as the aliens exchanged a glance, then let out an eerie, synchronized chuckle - a sound that seemed more like a high-pitched cackle, as if the very idea of my discomfort amused them to no end. One of them - the taller one, its head a twisted mass of tentacles and glistening eyeballs stared at me. Then, it spoke with an unsettling, lilting tone that seemed to drip with both malevolence and glee. "We have had the pleasure of observing yet another timeline. If you cannot sway the minds of your world leaders, this particular timeline shall vanish, and your entire species will be no more."

If that was a pep talk, it was the worst one ever said.

The creature's words hit me like a physical blow, sending a shiver of pure dread through me. I gasped for breath, my chest constricted by the heavy weight of the unexpected responsibility. My heart pounded in my ears. Then, as suddenly as they had arrived, the two beings dissolved into the surrounding air, their chilling aura and the faint scent of ozone disappearing as quickly as they came.

“Holy Cow!”

My normally raspy voice was gone. The years of smoking hadn’t occurred, and my voice was several octaves higher, reminding me of that old show on TV with a kid nicknamed Beaver.

As the echoes of their final words lingered in the room, I struggled to sit up, my heart still pounding furiously as I stared at the remnants of my adult life piled at the foot of the bed. Instead of books, a high-end sound system, medals from different deployments, and a media room was a small bedroom with shelves holding models I had assembled.

I never knew what had happened with all these things, as they were gone when I returned home from my first tour in the Middle East. My beloved model rockets, dusty stacks of well-worn books, and a bulky old typewriter that had once seemed like the very pinnacle of modern technology were all there. Instantly, my mind raced to figure out how to explain the bizarre events that brought me back to this half-forgotten room, holding humanity's survival key in my trembling hands.

My smartphone was worthless because of the lack of space technology and cell towers. My laptop contained a treasure of information, books from the future, and software that had yet to be invented. There was also music from people who were not yet living. Since it had not been invented, I realized that it had to stay hidden.

The other gadgets had glowing components and strange symbols, showcasing impossible technology. Today, the pinnacle of existing technology was the tube-type radio, its warm glow illuminating the room, and the black-and-white television, with its limited channels offering a grainy but captivating picture.

My first shortwave set, also created with tubes, was on my desk. How long had the aliens been listening to me? I wondered.

Had the aliens warned me and given me more time to prepare, I would have thought this through more carefully.

The change of clothes I brought hung on me, stiff and starched, flapping in the breeze like a scarecrow's rags. Don't even bother with underwear, pants, and the like. Nothing was appropriate. The horrifying reality hit me as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. While exploring my childhood dresser, I discovered sufficient clothing to look presentable while walking around my old home.

Pulling memories from my brain, I dressed and went downstairs to find my mother. My dead mother was very much alive and making breakfast.

I hadn’t cried since my wife passed from cancer; now, here at the breakfast table in 1962, my cheeks were damp. My mother didn’t know what was wrong with me as I hugged her, my face landing on her belly. She was pregnant with my little brother.

I tried to wrap my mind around the implications of this strange transformation. Could it be some cruel joke? A hallucination induced by PTSD from my days in the special forces. Or perhaps it was the work of some malevolent force that sought to play with my mind.

My life was a contradiction. Though my mind was that of a 53-year-old veteran of two wars, I was trapped in a child's body.

She kissed my forehead, making sure I didn’t have a temperature. “Another bad dream?” she asked. I remembered the nightmares, and now I was living one. Nodding, I sat next to my little sister.

Finish your breakfast; you’ll be late for the bus.

Back in the bathroom, brushing my hair and teeth, I stared at myself in the mirror. As I stood there, a child once more, I realized something: it wasn’t just about stopping the war. It was about reminding humanity of what it could be—what it had to be. For all our flaws, we deserved a chance to prove we could rise above them.

While being careful about my words, the memory of Armageddon was still fresh in my mind. It dawned on me that nobody would listen to a seven-year-old boy. My bag's contents would bewilder locals, possibly attracting military attention. Everything I brought with me needed to be stashed in my secret access to the attic.

For now, I needed to shed the anxieties of adulthood—the crushing weight of responsibilities and looming deadlines—and retreat into the more straightforward, innocent world of a carefree seven-year-old, where scraped knees healed quickly and imagination reigned supreme. Drawing on my experiences, I needed to assume a different persona, a new identity. My goal was to achieve a position of power in the business world and to become a successful and influential businessman.

The fate of humanity had been thrust upon me. Why me? Was it solely due to my voice being transmitted via invisible tendrils or radio waves into the ether?

Like the butterfly effect, I needed to know what triggered the chain reaction that caused the launch of nuclear weapons. Since I was unaware of what was happening, I ignored the news. I didn’t know who did what.

The day started with a formal greeting to my teacher. A child acting like a mature adult clearly upset her, but the change in my understanding of all things academic was fun at first.

History changed once more as I suddenly became gifted and talented. On the desk was some unfinished homework: third-grade fractions. Most of them were wrong. I erred initially; I quickly became a math expert in this strange new world. My grades went from average to straight A’s. The teacher corrected me when I said something about 50 states, as there were only 49 at the time.

My childhood prodigy status propelled me to an Ivy League college, a law career, and a surprising foray into the political arena just two years shy of my 53rd birthday; it was a fast-paced journey.

My metamorphosis from killer to lawyer showcased the butterfly effect.

Making sure to keep my hobby of Amateur Radio, I knew that somewhere out there, my words were being heard outside our solar system.

History was about to repeat as I sat in my house beside the radio. This time, I prepared, anticipating a reunion with past guests.

Wearing more than an old robe, I waited for those guests. I had many questions for them. Who were they? Where did they come from? Were they part of the Black Knight Satellite that appears from time to time? Were they stationed on the dark side of the moon? Would the sirens ring out? Did I manage to stave off the annihilation of mankind? The minutes passed. Well, after 1AM, I took a deep breath. The emergency seemed to be over. I had succeeded.

When I found my old bag from that other timeline, I saw an alien device I had missed the first time.

I pushed the red button, and with a click, the device's many lights flickered on, accompanied by a soft hum.

“Congratulations,” the voice boomed, “unlike most of your shortsighted race, you chose to use your considerable intellect for the betterment of all, not just yourself.”

As I stood there, holding the alien device, its soft hum a reminder of the impossible journey I had undertaken, I couldn’t help but reflect on the strange twists of fate that had brought me to this moment. The choices I made—the words I wrote, the lives I touched, and the painful lessons I carried with me—had rippled outward, changing the very fabric of history.

Somewhere, in the vast expanse of the cosmos, those two alien beings were watching, their cryptic smiles a silent acknowledgment of their faith in me. The weight of their words—“If you are unable to sway the minds of your world leaders, your species will be no more”—still echoed in my mind. But now, standing on the other side of history, I understood something fundamental: it wasn’t just about preventing annihilation. It was about proving that humanity could rise above its flaws and that even in the face of destruction, we could choose cooperation over chaos.

The burden of saving the world had shaped me, but the hope for a better future defined me. As the alien device dimmed and fell silent, I smiled, knowing I had done what they asked. The butterfly had flapped its wings, and this time, the storm never came.

As I put the alien device back in the old duffle bag, I noticed something I hadn’t before—a second button, smaller, blinking faintly. A warning? Or a promise? I didn’t press it. Not yet.