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An Exchange
Did you know that if you look long enough at a photograph of a certain vintage you will eventually find yourself behind the eyes of the person in the picture? I think it has something to do with the chemicals they used to fix the image. I don't know what happens to the consciousness you displace but I suppose it must end up in your vacated body and carry on living that life. They have the harder transition to make, I think. Coming from 1970 I knew something about life in 1870 and could adjust, whereas they will have been plunged into the the wholly unfamiliar.
I wasn't enjoying my life in 1970. It was unhappy and unedifying. On the other hand I didn't have a spouse- and the spouse I found myself with in 1870 was utterly appalling- and needed to be removed. Divorce not really being an option, I used poison. Mercy was my mistake. Or perhaps squeamishness. Instead of administering the stuff slowly with effects that would have counterfeited a natural illness, I baulked at causing prolonged suffering and delivered it all in one go, which raised suspicions...
I will give this note to the chaplain with instructions that he paste it unopened behind the framed portrait photograph of myself that I have left in his safe keeping. My hope is my future self (but will you still be me, dear reader?) will find the picture in such a battered state that they will opt to reframe it before they allow themselves to look too long into the eyes. If they don't (you don't), well, all this will have to be gone through again.
At least in 1870 we no longer execute in public- and use the long rope that breaks the neck and not the short rope that strangles....
I wasn't enjoying my life in 1970. It was unhappy and unedifying. On the other hand I didn't have a spouse- and the spouse I found myself with in 1870 was utterly appalling- and needed to be removed. Divorce not really being an option, I used poison. Mercy was my mistake. Or perhaps squeamishness. Instead of administering the stuff slowly with effects that would have counterfeited a natural illness, I baulked at causing prolonged suffering and delivered it all in one go, which raised suspicions...
I will give this note to the chaplain with instructions that he paste it unopened behind the framed portrait photograph of myself that I have left in his safe keeping. My hope is my future self (but will you still be me, dear reader?) will find the picture in such a battered state that they will opt to reframe it before they allow themselves to look too long into the eyes. If they don't (you don't), well, all this will have to be gone through again.
At least in 1870 we no longer execute in public- and use the long rope that breaks the neck and not the short rope that strangles....