Reflections into the Future

Phineas was a 25 year old, assistant manager at a fast food franchise - for legal purposes we shall refer to this famous chain as Bluegrass Sautéed Poultry (BSP). He had worked at the chain since he was 18 years old.
Phineas had ambitions to become a successful screen writer, it was the reason he had remained with BSP whilst other, far less capable colleagues had moved on to bigger and better things. Finding an agent or producer interested in his work was becoming a disheartening experience, with a constant flow of rejections filling his inbox.
In recent days, Phineas found himself spending less time submitting his screen plays to literary agents and instead wasting a disproportionate amount of time collecting star players for his Ultimate Team on a well known football game for his games console.
Despite his having addiction, Phineas managed to maintain a moderate social life – more as a result of circumstance than effort. Many of his old school friends had moved away or embarked on long term, serious relationships, however, the turnover of staff at his particular branch of BSP was so high that he found he was regularly attending leaving parties.
His recent promotion to assistant manager had given him a renewed – albeit misplaced – feeling of confidence. He finally built up the courage to ask someone out, possibly one of the new trainees at the restaurant, having seen so many come and go  In the past without giving him a second glance. Now he was management material, it was possible one of the newer employees might just take an interest in him, and there was one that had recently taken his interest.
The lucky girl was Fiona. She was a beautiful blonde 20 year old art graduate, with large blue eyes, defined cheek bones and immaculate skin. She was slim and slightly taller than the average girl. Physically she was perfect, and the previous Phineas would never have dared to ask out someone who was so clearly out of his league, but, things were going to change. Phineas had resolved to escape this lonely loop of isolation and ask Fiona out.
It was the evening of another leaving party; this time a girl by the name of Anouska was leaving to become a nurse and whilst she hadn't been at the branch for long, her departure gave the perfect excuse for an evening of socialising and with it the opportunity for Phineas to make his move on Fiona and put to the test his new found confidence.
In preparing himself for the evening, Phineas selected a suitable outfit then took a hot shower. His shower was no more than a shower head on a long, flexible pipe which he attached to the bath taps and was required to hold in the air above his head as he attempted to apply shampoo and shower gel with his other available hand. He had the water set to very hot, which resulted in the entire room filling with steam.
He stepped out of the bathtub into a bathroom with significantly restricted visibility and tentatively stepped over to the sink in preparation for a shave. He picked up his phone which had been resting on the toilet cistern beside the bath and checked the time. The first thing he noticed was the absence of any call or message notification at the top of the screen. Clearly nobody had called to see when he was expecting to arrive.
Phineas felt a little disappointed in this lack of interest from his work colleagues, but the evening was young. He had every intention of making a good impression and then, perhaps for the next work social, there might just be a missed call or two asking him for an ETA.
With just a towel around his waist, Phineas placed his phone on the side of the sink, balancing it rather precariously on the uneven ceramic surface. He then looked up at the mirror.
Phineas had a well groomed moustache on his top lip and small strip of hair on his chin – which he told people was known as an imperial goatee. He was particularly proud of his goatee; he had spent a lot of time researching the most suitable style for his face shape, and once he had established the perfect style he spent a lot of effort trimming the strip of hair into the shape that now sat proudly on his chin.
However, as proud as he was with his goatee, he could feel the growth of three day old stubble on his cheeks and neck. For other men, this may have had a certain rugged and sexy quality, but Phineas’ facial hair didn't grow that way. His beard grew inconsistently in patches across his face and all the way up his cheeks to just underneath his eyes, giving him a look similar to 1980’s Michael J Fox as he transitioned into Teen Wolf – not even the finished werewolf which would have been preferable, but just random patches of unruly hair across his face.
There was no doubt he needed to shave back his stubble; a clean shaven face would accentuate his imperial goatee whilst also offering a smooth cheek with which Fiona could embrace in a romantic slow dance or similarly intimate occasion.
Phineas stared at the steam covered mirror. There was no chance of any kind of grooming taking place under these conditions. He placed his hand on the glass and wiped across the surface.
For just a couple of seconds he was able to see his reflection looking back at him before the steam from the bathroom produced a new layer across the glass surface.
“For God's sake!” Phineas grumbled to himself, taking hold of his razor.
With another swipe of his hand, he wiped the mirror clean for a second time, but yet again the steam from the bathroom covered the mirror and Phineas found himself becoming irritated.
He pushed the bathroom door open with an outstretched leg in the hope of ridding the bathroom of the excess steam and with a little more force brushed his palm across the mirror. This time he saw the steam covering over the glass within seconds of him clearing it off. Far from reducing the steam from the bathroom, opening the door seemed to have made it worse.
In frustration Phineas thrust his clenched first against the mirror. There was a loud crack as he his first made contact with the glass and Phineas jumped back in surprise.
Realising what he had done, he looked up at the mirror and saw a huge circle of cracks across the glass. It looked like a large, intricate spider web with his reflection captured within the numerous dark, silky threads.
“What an idiot!” He yelled at himself. Phineas couldn't believe what he had just done. One moment of petulance and now he was going to have to shave in-between the cracks. Not to mention the cost of purchasing a new bathroom mirror, which he would have to add to his weekend’s to do list.
He took a moment to compose himself, then took a step forward. He looked down into the empty sink and examined the bowl. The glass in the mirror had cracked, but appeared to have remained in place within the frame. On inspection of the sink, not a single splinter had fallen into the bowl. Phineas gave a slight sigh of relief, as this meant he didn't have to worry about it tonight. However, he didn't have time to consider the implausibility of the mirror retaining its integrity before an unexpected voice caused him to stare at his broken reflection.
“Oh my God, that really hurt!”
Phineas stared in amazement. He hadn’t said a word, not even moved his lips. Yet there was nobody else about, and there was no doubt what he'd heard.
He looked at the broken glass in the mirror, between the cracks he saw his reflection looking back at him, only he appeared to have blood trickling from his chin. Perhaps he had cut himself when he broke the mirror, he hadn't felt any discomfort, but sometimes these things can happen without you realising it.
Phineas raised his hand to his chin, only then realising that his reflection was misbehaving. He had only just lifted his hand to his chin and yet it was at this point he realised that his reflection was already holding his chin and had been doing so before he did. Phineas rubbed his fingers against his chin then pulled his hand away. He expected to see some sign of blood on his fingertips, but there was nothing.
“Listen carefully Phineas. I'm here to help and we don't have much time.” came a voice from the mirror.
Phineas looked back to the mirror slowly and through the cracks in the mirror he saw his eyes staring straight back at him.
“Did you just?” Phineas replied tentatively, “Did you just speak?”
“Phineas! It's me! I know you can hear me. Listen carefully.” his reflection responded.
“Me? What do you mean it’s me? What's going on?” Phineas wondered if, along with cutting his chin without realising, he had also hit his head hard. He placed his hand on his head to feel for a bump and expected – not unreasonably – for his reflection to do the same, but it didn't.
“Don't be alarmed Phineas, I know it must seem crazy, but I can explain everything.” The reflection announced. It was his voice, Phineas recognised that, but it was coming from the mirror and not his own vocal chords like he was somehow able to throw his voice without even attempting to do so.
“What is happening?” Phineas replied.
“Look Phineas, you're not going to believe this, but it's imperative you do. And fast...” There was a pause, as if for dramatic effect, where any decent movie would have inserted a short piece of incidental music, “I'm you!” He finally revealed.
Phineas just stared, as he rubbed his head where he felt he must have suffered a serious knock to have resulted in such a hallucination.
His reflection continued. “I’m you Phineas. From the future.” There was a brief pause, “I can prove it. I know what you're thinking.”
“Well, I imagine that you would, if you are me.” Phineas replied, conscious that if he was to engage with this imaginary version of himself too much he was in danger of encouraging it.
“No!” The reflection objected. “I literally know what you're thinking this second. You're wondering if you bumped your head, whether this is some kind of hallucination. Perhaps there was something in the chicken you ate earlier. Am I right?”
He was right! Except for the chicken. But of course he would be right, even if he was just a construct from his own imagination. He suddenly thought back to his chicken sandwich he'd eaten for lunch; he hadn't checked the date on the packet, but it did have a slightly unpleasant aftertaste. Phineas had initially put this down to the unusual combination of cottage cheese, mayonnaise and jalapeño, but perhaps the fact he was now having a face to face interaction with his own reflection was the side effect of out of date chicken.
“How do you know that’s what I was thinking?” Phineas asked.
“I told you. I'm you. But in the future. We've had this conversation before, except I was where you are.”
“A future me?” Phineas thought, the possibilities were endless. He'd often considered the advantages of interacting with a future version of himself, but never for once believed that it could actually happen. And now, here he was, face to face with an older, more experienced version of himself – and still looking as young as he did at this moment in time.
Phineas had so many questions, but decided to start with the obvious. “If you're a future me? Do I get any of my screen plays produced?”
His reflection seemed to give off a sigh before responding, “Whilst I am a future version of you, I'm not that far into the future I'm afraid. But i do have something very important to tell you.”
“Oh.” Phineas felt a little disappointed, he should have noticed his reflection didn't give signs of being  exceptionally wealthy or even much older than he was. “What about the restaurant? Do I make branch manager at least?”
“Again,” the reflection replied with a tone of disappointment,  “You’re a little ahead of yourself still.”
 “What about football? Can you tell me who wins the Premier league title? Maybe I could win a few quid on that?”
“Nope. Not that far either. Look we don't have much time. Let's not waste it...”
Before Future Phineas could explain, Present Phineas was already thinking of other ways to exploit this opportunity. He interrupted him to ask, “What about this weekend? Can you give me some scores from this weekend?”
His reflection said nothing, just shook his head impatiently.
“OK, OK, no football, I get it. But what about tonight, do I ask Fiona out? What does she say?”
“Still too far ahead. And you’re really wasting time. I need to tell you...”
Present Phineas interrupted his future self once again. “Not even as far as this evening? How far into the future are you exactly?”
“That's not important, we are really running low on time.”
Future Phineas’ voice faded into the distance as Present Phineas stared at his reflection. It was difficult to get a good view through the cracks, but he started to realise that his reflection was in fact topless. On even closer inspection he could see the same shade of three day stubble across his face as he had seen prior to breaking the mirror. Either, he hadn't managed to shave his face this evening, or his future self was only a matter of minutes into the future.
The only real difference was his chin. His perfectly trimmed imperial goatee was now disfigured with a large chunk having been sliced off the left side and a small trace of blood slowly dripping from a cut on his chin. Phineas was horrified, there was no way of salvaging the goatee, it would have to be shaved off entirely and started from scratch.
“Did you hear what I said?” Future Phineas demanded impatiently causing Present Phineas to snap out of his musings with a start. “Of course you didn't, I should know that. This was me five minutes ago.” He muttered to himself, but loud enough for Present Phineas to hear.
“Five minutes? You're just five minutes into the future? What use is that?” Present Phineas yelled.
“If you'll let me speak, I'll tell you.”
But Present Phineas was not in a listening mood. “You said you were from the future, that you had something important to tell me. But you can't make me rich, you can't tell me if my screen writing career will take off or even if I get a promotion at my lousy little branch of BSP. From the looks of you, you can't even tell me if I manage to successfully shave my face before going out tonight. So what the hell could you possibly tell me?”
“if you'll please let me speak...”
“What's the point?” Present Phineas demanded.
At that moment five minutes was up. Future Phineas had failed where countless other Future Phineas’ had failed before him. He watched Present Phineas raise his left hand to his face, just like he himself had done five minutes earlier, forgetting the razor that was still clutched between his fingers.
Future Phineas realised he was stuck in a loop, a continuous cycle of five minutes which would always end with him cutting his chin and ruining his one and only feature that made him look remotely attractive, his imperial goatee beard. There was no chance he could possibly ask Fiona out looking like this. Suddenly his brief rise in confidence had diminished completely.
“Oh my God, that really hurt!” Present Phineas shouted as he felt the blade slice into his chin and blood start to drip from his face.
At that moment Future Phineas was gone, replaced by Present Phineas. He raised his hand to his chin and looked into the mirror where he saw the next Phineas looking back at him and then raise his own hand to his chin in a perplexed manner.
Phineas realised the clock had started ticking. He had five minutes to prevent himself from accidentally taking his blade to his beautiful imperial goatee. He had to convince himself if he was going to change the future.
And so he spoke. “Listen carefully Phineas. I'm here to help and we don't have much time.”