In a world where time travellers are always fucking things up, what would an ever changing present be like?
The drink in my cup keeps flickering: coffee, tea, post-war ration water.
Sometimes, when I take a sip, it will change into the sweetest tasting orange juice, just before flickering back into irradiated piss-water.
God damn Butterfly Effect.
Even my kitchen is flickering. Sometimes the lights don't work. Sometimes, if we're really unlucky, the roof disappears for a moment, or caves in, and acid rain starts to pour in. It's a real mess.
But at least I've got Mary.
She's the only thing in this world who matters to me. I can't say how I know for sure, but I know Mary's always been with me. Maybe it's that look in her eyes or the way she holds my hand, even as the kitchen table switches: scrap wood with nails sticking out, to exquisite mahogany, to rust-covered corrugated steel.
Yep, Mary's my girl, and even if her hair changes (long, beautiful chestnut curtains, or that short, military crew cut, or tucked up into one of them black hood thingies), she will always be right here with me. She's the only one who stays the same, no matter what those god damn time travelers are monkeying with in the past.
"Marry me, Mary," I say. And she'll laugh, and say, "You know, in some timeline, we probably already are" So, the best we can do is promise to be there for each other. I've given her my promise everyday, and she's given me hers for as far back as I can remember.
Even when the house is on fire, she's sitting right there with me, waiting for a flicker to snuff it out.
Even now, as we're eating breakfast, and the laughter of children (maybe they could've been our own?) switches between the screaming of air-raid sirens, I know I'll be okay.
Because, even when the whole world is always changing, I know I've got my Susan.