Last week’s prompt was so fun I figured I’d visit it. Welcome back, Casandra-3.
It was another 3 years before I saw Casandra-3 again. I was still living in the same downtown apartment with the same very-hard-to-give-up rent control. I was 26 and right on the edge of too-old-for-this-shit when she made the same haphazard crash landing in the living room, taking out an orchid that had finally started to bloom and a very nice recliner my ex-boyfriend had left behind.
I came running out of the kitchen, coffee in hand, eggs on the stove, to see her sitting on the top of her glider thingy, looking very much the same as when I’d seen her last, give or take the bloody scratches and the smell and the fact that her hair really needed to be re-dyed.
“Hi,” she said, by way of greeting, picking shards of my potted plants out of her dirty blonde hair.
“Do you even know how hard it is to get those to bloom?” I asked. The recliner, which had been speared by the front end of her craft, chose that moment to flop heavily over onto its side.
Casandra-3 shrugged and swung her legs over the side of her glider.
“I smell something burning,” she said.
Shit. The eggs. I ran back into the kitchen and turned off the heat. The dried-out husk of my omelet flopped heavily into the garbage can and I looked at the clock, wondering if I had time to make another before work.
“Call in sick,” Casandra-3 called from the other room, reading my mind. “I like my eggs scrambled with toast, coffee with milk and maple syrup, if you have any. I’m taking a shower.”
“Sure, make yourself at home,” I spat under my breath, but I texted one of my trainees to cover my classes and cracked the rest of the container of eggs into the pan anyways. It wasn’t often that my transdimensional 3rd-self came to visit, and I hadn’t prepared a sequence for today anyways.
Casandra-3 appeared ten minutes later in a pair of my flannel pajamas, dark roots peeking out from her garrish orange blonde hair. She’d managed to wash off all the blood and dirt, but there was still a nasty looking scratch running down her right arm and a scrape running down the left side of her face.
“No toast?” she asked when she sat down.
“No toast,” I answered, already halfway through my own plate.
“Just as well,” she said, pulling at the waistband of the pants she had borrowed which were sliding down her hips.
I scowled and took a huge bite of eggs just to spite her. Casandra-3 polished her own serving in record time. She ate like she hadn’t seen food in four days.
“How was Cassandra-5?” I asked, as she was pouring herself another cup of coffee. “You were there for a long time.”
“I was there for 4 months. What year is it here?”
“Jesus, this dimension moves quick.”
“Wait, so does that mean I’m older than you now?” I asked.
“Yeah, by what, two years and change?” she replied, clearly too lazy to do the math.
“Wow, so you’re, like, a baby.” I said.
“You can’t even rent a car here. Infant.”
“Shut up!” Casandra-3 took a long swig of coffee. “I’ve travelled across 7 different dimensions in 4 months. What the fuck have you done in the past three years that’s more impressive? Gain weight?”
That shut me up.
to be continued…