Pieces

“Oh ho ho ho. Wow, you really got yourself into quite the mess, my friend. D'you know how long it took to put you back together?” a deep, gravely voice called out. I was unable to respond. “It took me a long time, a very long time, my friend.”

“Oi, don’t you go takin’ all the fuckin’ credit!” a much higher pitched voice chimed in. “Puttin’ together ‘is psyche was harder than findin’ all ‘is little giblets! ‘Specially one like ‘is. Take a look at this shit.” The deep voice began laughing, a great booming laugh that reverberated around… wherever I was, endlessly.

“Well, my friend, aren’t you quite the specimen? Two in intellect, five in psyche, four in physique and three in athletics. That is quite the-”

“That’s more than ‘is allotted skill points you twat.”

“Shit, not again. How many does he get?”

“He gets twelve like the rest of ‘em, you stupid git. Why do we even give ‘em their points? Why won’t we let ‘em choose?”

“We ain’t in the business of letting them choose. That’s not how any of this works.”

“Not like you’d know.”

“Right, there we go. One intellect, five psyche, four physique and two athletics. How’s that?”

“It adds up, at least.”

“Okay. Right. Back to you, my friend. Someone fucked up along the way and put you in a real bad spot, a place you wasn’t meant to be. Lucky for you it got picked up before your explosive demise and we’re here to make amends. Your new life doesn’t come free, mind you, but… well I’ll leave you to figure that out as it happens.” The voices began to fade away and the feeling of the world beneath me returned. My consciousness anchored itself back to the ground from the void it was just floating in. Slowly, I opened my eyes.

The first thing I noticed was the splitting headache I was suffering and my incredibly dry mouth. A dreadful sense of groggy drowsiness washed over me and I collapsed back onto the bed, closing my eyes and groaning in pain. What the fuck happened? Wasn’t I just- what was I just doing? Where was I?

I opened my eyes again and looked around. I was in a bedroom that I didn’t recognise, with bare beige walls, a single window sporting some pathetic blue curtains, a wardrobe and a lonely looking desk.

My head throbbed again and I clutched it in pain. Sod the confusion. I needed some aspirin, now.

Clambering out of bed presented me with my first challenge: I was completely naked. As I struggled to make sense of the situation around me, I noticed the clothes haphazardly strewn about the floor. A blue satin jacket, brown corduroy pants, a beige shirt and a single brown brogue shoe - closer inspection revealed the other shoe beneath the bed, a far cry from the wardrobe where I must have taken the other off. I managed to throw the shirt and pants on before the headache returned and almost made me vomit, and forced myself out the door. I could tell immediately that I had no knowledge of this place, but also that I must be on the upper floor which meant the terrible prospect of navigating stairs. I resolved to carefully make my way down them, but failed at the first hurdle. So I resorted to the tried and true method of slamming myself against the wall and sliding down like a dead body. Sure enough, it worked and I was downstairs in the living room.

“Oh! You must be one of my housemates!” a voice I didn’t recognise called out. I almost shit myself in fear and spun around the living room trying desperately to locate its owner. “Are you okay?”

“Where are you?!” I yelled. “Show yourself! Are you the vile demon that has done this to me?”

“Woah, woah. Calm down buddy” A man stepped out from the kitchen. “I haven't done anything to you. I just got here. In fact, I don’t think anyone else has lived here except you. Before now.” He was quite a handsome looking fellow, with a square head, fairly muscular and sporting quite a plush sweater.

“Who the fuck are you?” I stared at him wide eyed.

“Oh my bad, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Joseph Pryce, but please just call me Joe. I’m studying chemistry here.” He thrust his hand out for me to shake. I ignored it.

“Do you have any aspirin?” I pleaded. Joe laughed. How dare that bastard - a bastard I’d just met, mind - mock my suffering?

“Sure. I just put it in the bathroom actually, hold on.” He left and soon reappeared with two tablets of aspirin and a glass of water. I swallowed them and gulped down the water like Christ after forty days and nights. I then collapsed onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling as my head settled from its agony and I could once more comprehend reality. “So, who are you mystery man?”

“What?” I had almost assumed that Joe was some figment of my deranged imagination, but no, he was a real person and he was still standing in the kitchen looking at me with concern. Well, I say standing. He was leaning on the door frame. “Oh, right. I’m Harry Marston, good to meet you.”

“What do you study?”

“Huh? Study?” I rubbed my forehead and tried to figure out what he meant.

“You’re here for college, right?”

“I’m… not sure. I don’t really remember much right now. Where am I?” Joe’s look of concern only grew worse the more I spoke.

“Jesus, how much did you drink? You’re in Berkeley, San Francisco. I trust you know where San Francisco is?”

“Yes, thank you.” I took a look around the living room. It was painted in the same beige as the bedroom, with two wooden frame sofas - one a three seater, the other two. A fireplace dominated the centre of the room with a clock on the mantelpiece and a mirror above it. To the left of the fireplace was a television. My god, that was an old TV. I stared at it for a while, which drew Joe’s attention.

“You haven't forgotten what a TV is, have you?” he asked, again with genuine worry.

“No… but why is it so fucking old?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at it, does it even have a remote?” Joe walked over to it and had a look before pulling out a metal brick.

“Yeah.” He held it up and showed it to me. I burst out laughing.

“I don’t get it, it’s just a normal TV?” He chuckled awkwardly.

“What year are you living in, man? That thing is ancient!”

“I think I’m living in 1968, unless something happened on the way here?” It took me a while to process what he’d just said. I had yet to calm down from my laughter.

“What do you mean you’re living in 1968?”

“Uh, well, that’s the year? Your amnesia must be real bad, huh?”

“Alright, you’re just being silly now. Come on, it’s not 1968. Unless I’ve travelled back in time or something.” Joe just looked at me.

“Do you need to go to the doctor?” I waved him off and wandered into the kitchen. For all his crazy talk about it being 1968, you’d believe it from the furniture. The fridge, cooker and counters were all exactly like something you’d see in an old magazine or advert from that era. All of them were blueish-green - pretty disgusting really - but clean and functional. Fixing myself another glass of water and downing it in short order, I decided the time had come to clean myself up and make sense of just what the fuck was going on.

Joe had sequestered himself in his room, so I made my way back to mine and changed my clothes. I set about cleaning up the bomb site, but found myself distracted as I looked through the desk. It had all the basic utensils needed for studying at college: pens, notebooks and so forth. It also had a sheet of paper addressed to me from the University of California, Berkeley, informing me that I have been accepted there as a history major. It also contained the date that my semester must have started: September, 1967.