The Bookmark

It looked like a normal, dollar store bookmark, but it worried him...

He studied the bookmark closely, curious as to its origin. With the laminated surface over card-stock, it physically looked like any other cheap bookmark from a office supply store. The design was a simple white with some apparently random Chinese-looking characters written on it. He supposed it was a perfectly good bookmark, but that still didn’t explain the odd man and the smirk he had given from behind his rather long bangs when he handed it to him and scampered off without another word. After turning it over a couple times, and looking around to see if the strange man was still there, he shrugged and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Pulling his phone out, he felt a momentary sense of panic as he realized that he had been thrown off-schedule by five minutes because of the odd interruption to his day. 

Forgetting entirely about the mysterious bookmark in his pocket, he tightened his hold on the briefcase he was carrying and sprinted to the bus stop, arriving at the same time as the bus. Slumping down in a seat, he took a deep breath to fill his lungs with oxygen again. That run had been a bit strenuous. It had been over a decade since he last ran track, and his body wasn’t in the same condition anymore. Checking his email and schedule, he let his brain adjust into his working personality and mindset.

It wasn’t until that evening when he was loosening his tie and taking off his jacket that he remembered the bookmark. Pulling it out, he found that it was still in pristine condition. He raised an eyebrow as he held it and flipped it around some more. Spending all day in his jacket, it should be at least slightly bent in one or two spots. However, it hadn’t been at all damaged. Shaking his head and attributing it to a sturdy lamination, or simply being in the right place in his jacket, he set it down on the table by the front door and wandered into the kitchen to make some dinner, forgetting the bookmark once again.

At 10PM, he sighed and stretched, reaching out to the side for something to mark his book with. His hand fell on the bookmark he had acquired exactly twelve hours beforehand. Frowning, he wondered how it had gotten there, until he remembered moving it when he had set down his drink when the neighbor stopped by needing a jump-start for their car. Mentally shrugging, he grabbed it, marked his place, and shut the book with a soft thump.

His head began to swim the moment the book closed. Standing up, he tried to stagger towards the bathroom, only to collapse after a couple of steps. Struggling to his hands and knees, his breath began to come in ragged gasps. Before he could make it further, he had the sudden sensation of weightlessness. He closed his eyes to reduce any nausea, only to feel cold stone beneath his hands. Opening his eyes, he realized that all his odd symptoms had vanished, save for a lingering feeling not unlike the one when you suddenly stop spinning in a circle. 

Raising his head, he saw a stained-glass window depicting an angel. Turning his head, he realized he was in a church, one that seemed similar to the ones you read about in historical novels. Wooden pews, stained glass, made of stone, empty. Stumbling slightly as he stood, he slowly made his way out of the building, only to blink and rub his eyes.

He certainly wasn’t in Dallas anymore. The current drizzle and crowds hurrying by with umbrellas told him that much. He walked down the stairs of the church and merged with the crowd. Frowning, he walked several blocks without a purpose, an experience new to him. Stopping and moving to the edge of the crowd, he took a moment to assess his current state. He was still in the shirt and trousers he had been wearing, his tie still loose. Tightening that, he checked his pockets. 

His wallet was there, but his phone was gone. Checking his wallet, he noted that all his credit cards were missing, however, he had at least a hundred dollars in cash. His ID was also still there, but something caught his eye about it. His date of birth had changed. Rather than being 12-15-1986, it was now 12-15-1916. He furrowed his brows. He must be dreaming. That was it. If he looked away and back… no. It was still the same. He pinched himself. He studied the clothes around him. He looked at the signs.

Despite what his common sense told him, everything was consistent.

Somehow, he had been thrown back in time to 1946 �" and he was fairly certain it wasn’t a dream.

The thought didn’t bother him as much as one might expect. He could simply start over. He’d already done it twice in his life. Once more couldn’t hurt.

He felt one more object in his back pocket. Pulling it out, he nearly dropped it in shock.

It was the strange bookmark from before. Only now, the strange characters were gone, replaced by words he could clearly read.

Time is a matter of perception, but perception cannot change it.

Author's Note

Written quite awhile back. Wrote as part of a personally-imposed 30-day flash-fiction challenge. This one fulfilled the prompt "time travel, a bookmark, and an angel."