TIME-ZONE! Civil War Kronicles, Part 10

Grant opened his eyes. It was...a hospital. He was...dead? He brought his gaze around the room. There was a newspaper on the table beside his bed. The two headlines read:

British finally recognize US
Twentieth Anniversary of the Death of Lincoln

Had he actually broken the time cycle? Had that entire life he had led been a dream? What was the point in even asking questions anymore? He was so weary that he didn’t notice his blatant use of cliched questions. Nothing made sense, everything contradicted everything. Grant sank back down into the escape of his pillow.

He awoke some time later. His son and grandsons were there by his bedside.
“Dad, what happened? Where were you?” his son asked gently.
Grant opened his mouth to speak, to say everything that had happened to him, to explain the thoughts that were haunting him, but then time stopped. Or at least everything but Grant stopped. And the door to his room opened without a sound, as a warm light filled the room.
A man dressed in the costume of a roman centurion, his helmet slightly askew, rushed in. “Sir, we’ve entered a distinctly new age in our development!”
Grant was dumbfounded.
“Oh, sorry. I was just giving a message to a guy who plays a lot of Civ III, and I was dressed like this to make him feel more comfortable. I guess I forgot to change my form.” And without movement or sound, Abraham Lincoln stood there.
“Abe?” Grant questioned, his eyes misting up, “No it can’t be. But who are you?”
“I am Iris, messenger of the gods.”
“The gods? But there’s only one god.”
“There is one god, and there are many gods. The creative forces of this universe have seen fit to manifest themselves in many forms. As I said, I am merely one who makes it able for you humans to comprehend their wills when they believe it is right that you should know their wills. I’m an angel.”
“Well, Angel or Iris or Abe. Whatever you call yourself or look like, why are you here? What did you mean by a new age of development?”
“The era of Hamiltonian-Jeffersonian conflict and influence over your world is over. The agents of both Yog-Sothoth and the Creators have been destroyed, and, because of you, neither power will have any more agents on earth. America is now fully in control of its destiny. You would scarcely believe me if I told you of the progress, industry, expansion, and conquest that America will now undergo.”
“Wait, what did I do? I just messed up and had some weird experience that I can’t even explain to myself.”
“Ulysees S. Grant, because you managed to fuse a parallel timezone with your own just as the remaining entire of timezones dissolved and disappeared forever, both aforementioned timezones continue to be, and there exists a unique connection between the two. But the parallel timezone was already partially damage when you took hold of it. Thus, you can no longer physically go between timezones. It can only be accessed through your imagination.”
“You mean...”
“Yes. It actually was all a dream, despite how cliche that is.”
“What the hell! I made America a better place! I solved all its problems! I saved it! Why can’t I just go back and change everything again.”
“That is impossible.”
“No it isn’t! Go tell your creators to change it! Why would you possibly-”
“SILENCE!” Iris towered angrily above Grant for a moment, but soon came back to his previous size, and spoke again, more calmly, “Ulysees S. Grant, I cannot do what you ask. The creators have deemed it necessary that America must live with its past. Only by learning from it, can your country be truly great. But you must tell no one about the timezone battles, or Hamilton and Jefferson, or anything that has happened.”
“But why?”
“Ulysees S. Grant, Yog-Sothoth’s power...Well, let me just explain to you Yog-Sothoth. As long of the Creators have existed, so has Yog-Sothoth. For everything the Creators have made, Yog-Sothoth has striven to destroy them. He does not wish to rule, but to extinguish. He feeds on destruction. And his power comes from the fear of others. If anyone sholud learn of what has happened, learn about Yog-Sothoth, there will be a panic in the street. Yog-Sothoth would gorge upon that panic, grow until such time as he is strong enough to penetrate your timezone. And once that hole is created, all manner of unspeakable monstrosities will stream in and consume your world. You have heard them, Ulysess S. Grant, rustling on the outer edges of time and space, hungering with an evil nothingness in their hearts. There are those who are able to see them, but they have and will be dismissed as lunatics or fanatics. And that is how it must be. I know you wish to explain everything to your son, but you cannot. Goodbye, Ulysees S. Grant, saviour of your world.”
Time began again. Grant’s mouth was open, he had to say something.
“What happened?” his son had asked, but Grant could only reply, “I do not know.” After an interminable period of silence, his family left, and Grant was left alone in the hospital room.
For the remaining months of his life, Grant would wander the streets and asylums of New York, searching for any “crazy” person who knew of Yog-Sothoth, or could see his dark helpers through the spheres. In one asylum, he managed to find someone responsive, who knew of Yog-Sothoth and was clearly not insane, but as the man opened his mouth, that same warm, soft light filled the room, but this time Grant too stopped, and when time resumed its course, the man was gone. Grant started to drank even more heavily. As he lay dying, his family members refusing to visit him, almost blind with pain, he wrote out his memoirs, not one, but two. The first one, chronicling all the events of his life, he had published; the second one, describing his time between the spheres, he hid, never to see the light of day. And thus did Grant, unrecognized saviour of his world, die, no processions, no parades, just alone, with his demons.

(OP: Nate, May 5 2008)