Button, Button

Marcus looked at the button. The button was looking back at him, maybe giving a look that said “What, little ol’ me?”

The instruction manual indicated that the button was to be used “In case of emergency, temporal, eternal or otherwise.”

The clock said he’d been alone for three days now, and this room, (a control room?) was empty except for a lot of Kit-Kat bars and baked beans. Marcus liked those things, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.

The button was big, red, and had the numeral “3” on it. A Stereotypical button in fact. Marcus wondered why the button had a “3” when there were no other buttons at all.

He leaned back and chomped a Kit-Kat. Maybe the button would get him home; wherever that was.

Perhaps it would kill him or hurt him.

Tough choice. Chomp. He bunched up the wrapper, pocketed it, and pressed the button, gently.

Behind him stood a man in a pinstripe suit. Marcus was a little taken aback.

“Marcus, let’s talk about your past.”

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Peter.”

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