The life and times of Lafayette Ryder

Midway through my inter-dimensional flight a sudden thought provokes me to switch destinations from the Equestrian universe to my old one. I feel myself flip around and rocket off towards Earth, circa 1950.

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Nestled amidst a dense jungle on a small island near the southern edge of Mexico is a humble log cabin inhabited by an aging, balding man with beer gut and a love of literature.

Going by the alias of Brendon Richards the writer enjoys a simple life of reading, writing, and reading. In the time he has lived in this universe he has written and published over a hundred novels and short stories, several of which have become famous best sellers.

He is working on the next book in one of his more popular series when a high pitched whistle followed by thud from outside.

He spins around in his chair and shouts. “What the-”

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I soar down to the ground and land on a knee, leaving an impact crater where I now kneel. I stand and march onward until I’m at the front door. With a good, solid kick I knock the door off it’s hinges and barge into the house.

“What the fuck?!?” the older me shouts in terror.

“You, me, talk. Now.” I say as I walk over and flop down onto the chair next to him.

“Goddammit!” he yells at me. “You could’ve given me a heart attack!”

“But I didn’t.” I point out. “Now I have half a mind to blow your traitorous head off but if you help me out a bit I’ll let you live.”

“Fine,” He gripes, “fucking fine.” He sits down next to me and sighs. “What’s up?”

“Quick summery; I fucked shit up, went crazy, and now I have to talk to each of my personalities to fix everything.” I explain.

“Ahh, go on.” He says.

“I need to figure out what parts of you are actually mine.”

“The g-”

“I swear to God if you say “that gay part” I’ll fucking kill you.” I threaten.

“How about the “love learning” part.” He offers.

“Hmm maybe.” I say. “What else?”

“The multilingual bit.” He tells me.

“Yep, next.”

“Uh…” he scratches his bearded chin. “We’re both geniuses.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“And that’s all I got.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yep.” He confesses.

“Shit.”

“Ditto.”

We sit and stare at each other for a moment.

“So why did you ditch my mind?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.

“You were a derailing train and I wanted off before you crashed and burned.” He explains.

“That’s comforting.” I dead pan.

“Yep.”

“So…”

“Yeah.”

We sit awkwardly for another minute or two.

“Anything else to chat about?” he asks.

“Not really.” I answer.

“Well then… bye.”

“Bye.” I say.

I walk out of the house, ignoring the busted door as I pass through it, and fly away.

Four of six I guess.

Next up: Dulcie.