Split (1)

train · 353k rows

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[WP] "Despite all we've been through. Despite all the battles we've fought. I have nothing but hatred towards you".	The way of the world, blood and iron, lead and gunpowder, sadness and grief. That's how I've always seen it, how I've always been forced to see it. War torn, that's what they call the place where I was born. War torn permanently, a little planet full of a special metal - Illudium, they call it. Scifi jokes, those sick fucks get a laugh while the planet was fought over by the Russian Interplanetary Conglomerate and the American Central Sixty... who owns it, who has the most people on it... who, who, who? The war came fast and hard, hit like a truck full of lead bars. The Russians on the planet, the Americans... they split down the middle and both began to fight. Me, a fifteen year old Russian girl stuck on the continent where both parties were present. It always has to be this way, one needs the superconducting metal so bad that they'll fight the other instead of reaching compromise. It comes to war, fucking war, fucking god damn them. "God damn it... the organ damage... hold still," I hiss, setting my MAR down. The damned mag rails overheated anyway, fucking thing is useless now. His intestines are fucked to hell but we can get those fixed... liver though, shit... he's bleeding like crazy. I drag the cannister off my belt and stuff the nozzle in one of the big fucking holes, depress the button. Foam, nasty smelling blood red foam... it fills his abdominal cavity. It'll control things for now, but without a nanite infusion or some serious and immediate reconstructive surgery... "I'm going to die, Anita." "Shut the fuck up, Rorick." He won't though. He never does. He found me cowering in the building. Who was he, I wondered with a dazed mind. A child trapped in a war zone and a big soldier of fortune who saw in me the bitter rage. We'd already been poor, already been brutalized by the Americans and by some Russians alike. Nothing ever changes, and shit always rolls down hill. American poor got shit too, everyone got shit. That's all there is in the universe these days, shit rolling down hill splattering blood all over the pages of every already sodden news story. Nothing changes... nothing but the names. "Anita, listen to me, I need to tell you something," he rasps. Shit, he's bleeding around the fucking foam. Another shell hits and I throw myself over him, stopping dirt and shit that rains down from landing on the wounds. This is a god damn nightmare. We haven't seen action like this since... Ancilar, the Ancilar Rebellion, four years ago. Ain't seen anyone bring the pain like this since then, for sure, since they blew my god damn leg off and I had to get a cold, numb metal one. "I don't give a fuck what you have to tell me." How could I care? He's made me what I am. I can't hate it, who I am, but I can sure wish I was different. I can wish I didn't like the killing, I can wish I could function outside of a war zone. My dead parents, staring at them while he checked me for wounds. My sister, pieces of her, not far away. I was angry. I said the words I never should've said. I told him I wanted to kill them all. To leave none alive. He knew I could do it because I'm psychotic, I lost my mind. Lost it to the shells and the blood because if I'd kept it I'd have gone catatonic and been a corpse. Survival of the fucking fittest, ain't that a bitch. For fuck's sake, why can't I stop this bleeding? Syringe full of nanites, two hundred thousand dollars worth of tiny machines... I stuff it in his neck and inject. It's our last one. If I catch flak or get blown to hell now, I'm dead for sure. "Anita, please... look at me." "Not right now, fuckstick. I'm busy," I nearly growl, throat dry with dust and hoarse from shouting. He put a gun in my hand and told me if I survived, he'd train me. If we managed to get out of the building and to a safer place, he'd teach me how to be like him. He couldn't gotten me off planet to a refugee ship, could've done anything else but no... he saw an opportunity and he took it, he took a little girl and made her a weapon. What's worse is, in his place, I'd do the same thing... because he's made me like him. There were two paths and I walked down the one that turned me into this... this scarred, blood thirsty thing. "Anita, for fuck's sake! Look at me! It's an order!" So I do. I look at him. Graying beard, hair slicked back with sweat and matted dust and blood from a laceration on his scalp. One cold metal eye and one natural hazel one, dark skin like chocolate. I look at him and I know he's going to die and... My god, the satisfaction is appalling. "What? What do you fucking want!? I'm trying to save your life!" He laughs dryly. What a tool. Holding my hands while I learned to shoot. Patching up my first bullet wound. Why do we fight, I asked him? He gave me a good, long answer. "Anita, I love you." No. Don't you fucking dare, you son of a bitch! I keep silent a while, staring, remembering. Why don't we ever just stop? Why do we fight wars but not try to end them quickly? Why are we the best there is, and still we just fan the flames? Because when the fire dies, you'd think it's over, he told her. You'd think that the ash gets swept up. But some asshole doesn't douse the fire very well, and then an ember blows out into tall grass and a new fire starts up. It spreads fast and hard and hits a forest. Then people come, people interfere, and the fire gets put out. The natural order is fought off. The older trees, they have thicker bark. They can survive the fire, but they don't have to. The ballast on the forest floor builds up then, every year, getting more and more. Dry leaves and needles, old brances, dry bramble, dead trees... it gets more and more. Then some dumb sack of shit starts a campfire and douses it poorly. It's the dry grass all over again. This time though, there's three feet deep dry material on the forest floor and the people can't put it out. Soon, the whole world is burning. One way or another, the ballast is going to be cleared. Trees are going to die, even some of the old ones. The world is gonna go to shit. But then it's going to pass on, and the world will be burned clean. Then a new day will dawn. A rain will fall, then new leaves will grow. It'll be a long, long time before the world catches fire again. We're not here to put the fire out, kiddo, he said. We're here to make it grow, to burn the world clean. People gotta die, wars gotta happen, but at least we can fight on the right side and burn the whole god damn world clean. Maybe more people die now, but it's better in the long run. When the fire dies, it's not over unless the whole fucking planet is covered in charcoal. "You fucking what!?" I shout, covering him again as another shell hits nearby. I must have misheard him. "I love you!" he shouts back. When I move, I can see he's going. The nanites can't close off the blood vessels fast enough and the bleeding is slowing, his pulse is down, his pupils are dilating. "I can't fucking believe you." He seems confused. Not odd for a dying man. "What?" We had sex when I hit eighteen, but it was never making love. Fucking in trenches does not a relationship make. He made dumb plans, got us fucked over several times. He never liked listening to me and we got hurt a lot because of it. Nobody's perfect, but he's so far from it. I don't know why I stayed with him after the civil war. I could've left. Set out on my own. But I needed him. He needed me. So we went together, and we fucked. I showed him every inch of my body because there was no one else. We kissed. I even tricked myself into thinking I was in love with him for a while. "You son of a bitch. I'm covered in scars. I have a fake leg and a fake hand. My heart isn't even flesh and blood anymore. I'm known as a killer. If I go a weak without murdering someone I get antsy," I practically spit, getting in close. I press my lips to his, and then I move to whisper in his ear. "Despite all we've been through, despite all the battles we've fought... I have nothing but hatred towards you. I hate what I've become, and I hate that I love my job." "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he barely manages to say back. "I didn't know what else to do when I found you, girl. You were going to die trying to kill the bad folks if I didn't take you. I just... did what I could... I'm sorry." Taken aback is not how I feel very often. "You... son of a bitch..." I mutter, glaring. Maybe I did love him. Maybe I didn't want to, but I did. He never touched me rough unless I was willing, unless I asked for it. The few times he did me soft, it was... even close to nice. "I love you too. Now die, you son of a bitch. Die in a hole in the muck and blood where you belong." "Wouldn't have it any... other way..." He's gone now. Gone and not breathing. From a box on my hip I grab a beacon, clench my fist and shove it into the still setting red bloody foam. I'm not even disgusted by the fucking feeling of his shredded insides. I leave the beacon in there and get the hell up and shake the nasty shit off my synthetic hand before marching down the trenches. I have people to kill. Sweat is dripping down my face. It has to be sweat, because if it's anything else then I'm still a scared little girl full of piss and vinegar and horrific rage, vengeful and soon to bash myself against the tide of foes... and just like he said... ... scared girls die on the battlefield. I need to be what I am. The ugly merc. Warfighter. Pain bringer. Death blowing out on the blast. It's just sweat dripping down my face.	"I should not have said that," I said aloud. Her eyes staring at me in desperate horror. "How...why? Why would you say that?" she finally muttered. I'm not sure honestly why I said it; I'm not even sure how we got here. I don't think I thought it through, it just came out. My mind was racing at this point. "Is that it?" I thought to myself, "are we finally over?" Now my vision started to fade into darkness as my thoughts raced through my mind. I remembered our first kiss, a quick little peck after our first date that ignited a fire in my soul. The first time we slept together in a twin single bed in college. The smell of her hair and her perfume. I remembered the birth of our son, how happy we were. I remembered the cancer scare and how hard that was on her. Then I remembered when the cancer came back and this time for good. I remembered checking into Columbia Presbyterian and being told to prepare for the worst. "Are you just going to sit there in silence!" She screamed, staring at me from her hospital bed. "I'm, I'm sorry I just zoned out." I slowly said back to her. At this point I don't know what to do or say. Should I look at her, should I look at my hands in my lap? At this point I feel almost relieved that it was said, that it's out in the open. "I truly dont understand how you could feel that way, after everything we have been through," she said in a breath of desperation. "It isn't any one thing you did... it's more like a combination of things," I mustered up the courage to reply while staring at her. And then I started to think, I truly could not pin down when I started to feel hatred for her. I think maybe it was just that I always thought I could do better in life or I could have led a different life. Perhaps I could have found a different path and always been what I wanted. But, in this brief moment of deep thought it dawned on me. This women is dying and I can't even give her the decency to let her die thinking she was loved. Oh no, I had to go ahead and drag her world down on top of her. Why? Why? Because I am a monster. But hey, it's true. Despite all we've been through. Despite all the battles we've fought. I have nothing but hatred towards you...and myself.
[WP] "Despite all we've been through. Despite all the battles we've fought. I have nothing but hatred towards you".	You are perfect. Nothing you have ever done or said could cut so deeply as your loyalty to me, to my brothers and to our country. When I was wounded in battle, you carried me to safety. When I was hungry you fed me. When I was hurt you came. And when I cried you were there to dry the tears. Nothing I could ever do could compare to your innumerable feats your many victories and your unfaltering morals. I strapped myself to you for protection and you loved me for it. You loved all my faults and never asked me change. Never could I compare myself to you, so now I'm leaving you behind, in your time of need I'll not be by your side. You'll cry out, I'll listen, but I will not come. You will die and I will carry on. Don't worry I'll tell your beloved that you died like a coward. That you begged and pleaded with our captors. I'll tell them that it was you not me that caved under pressure. That this time when I needed you, it was you that failed me and that despite your efforts I survived. But don't worry when I tell them I won't hold it against you. You were under a lot of pressure after all. And besides this should offset all you've done, you won't be perfect anymore. In memory you'll be just like me.	"It's that look in your eyes." I said, trying to explain what I felt, bottle up for so long. "I don't think I've ever seen you express a single ounce of real compassion." I glanced over at him. He was still, unmoving. His eyes held no emotion and his face was a blank slate. From those two dark holes he peered back at me, and as always, it made my skin crawl. Steeling my resolve, I continued. "I've watched you slip a blade between a downed man's ribs as he screamed, first for you to stop and then for his mother. You reacted to neither." I glanced away, at the ground. I couldn't look at his face any more. "When we landed on the beach in Bombay, that horrible bloody affair, I watched you get close to Private.... Private..." the boy's name had escaped me. "oh hell, the one with the blond hair and the blue eyes. The one we all knew wouldn't live out the month. You made friends with him, you guided him, and in return he loved you. Did everything you asked." I paused again. Looking back at those eyes. I felt my hand clench around the .44. Why did I feel that I had to explain myself? He wouldn't do the same for me. "I know it was you who told him to kill the Lieutenant, and I know it was you who turned him in and took the promotion it got you." Still silent, emotionless, the man gazed at me from across the fox hole. Though he betrayed nothing, I was certain he was hardly listening to me. He was waiting for his chance. I wasn't going to give him one. "That boy, he looked at you, I've never seen a more terrified and pitiful look. Right til the end, he looked to you to save him. They put him up against that wall, and you just stared. When they shot him, you didn't even flinch." I paused and looked him right in the eyes. "I hate you. You're a monster, you have nothing inside you but a void. You consume everything and give nothing. You've never cared about another person in your whole life." He began to shift, ever so slightly. Gaining traction, readying himself. "Psychopath." I spat the word at him. He jumped at me, and for a second, I was terrified. I'll never forget the look in his eyes. Faced with death, he was still blank. There was nothing behind those eyes. I felt my finger pull on the trigger. The sound was deafening. The bullet must have ripped right through his stomach, but he kept coming. His hands closed around my throat. The corners of his lips turned upward as he began to squeeze. I pulled the trigger five more times. Finally, his grip weakened and he slumped down. I'll never forget that day. I cried like a baby because I had seen true abyss, and it had looked right back at me and smiled.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	The speech had been the same ever since I was a kid, or at least it should've been. I mean, As soon as you reached sixty-four, you had to stand up there and... well there was the problem. Time's a tricky game to deal with. When I was fifteen, after years of hearing what sounded like the same speech, the latest version of myself to turn sixty-four got up on stage looking rather the worse for wear and blurted out, 'I'm not doing it. Screw tradition, I'm going to die this year.' He then vomitted over the floor. I tell you, the next year the rest of us were scared witless. But previous year's sixty-three had only a glass of wine and gave the most compose speech you could ever imagine. And so it continued without a hitch. Most put their own spin on the same life lived, finding humour in different parts, expressing the love for our wife in a subtly different way. When I stood up though, well I wanted to leave a mark. 'Well ladies and gents here we are again. Hey, fifteen year old me, when I was where you are I saw something rather bleak. My predecessor stood up and vomitted on the stage. Scarred me a little. Sorry kid this is going to scar you worse.' I took out the revolver, placed it to my temple and in that moment as I pulled the trigger, imagine the fright - seeing how you were going to die, well... at least until next year. sorry had to cut the ending a little short.... work meeting commencing... I might update this later if anyone didn't find it too pathetic an attempt	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"Something's wrong." I look down at the gathering of past me in front of me. A vague sense of unease is permeating the room. One of the younger me's - I think it's 5 - starts whimpering. Someone who looks like 9 tries comforting 5, while 3 and 4 look on uneasily, bottom lips quivering, on the verge of tears. "Something's not right. Where is 31? For that matter, where the hell is everyone past 31, all the way up to 97?" I look down on the rest of me from my vantage point on stage. This isn't right. It's not supposed to be my turn yet, not for another 67 goddamn years. I've heard 97 talk about my past, my future, for the last 30 years. Why the hell isn't he here? And all the other versions of me? I rip the mic from its stand, and jump off stage. "Alright everyone. Look through their usual spots. There's gotta be a clue somewhere. It's not like me to not show up like this". Someone, somewhere lets out a guffaw. Without looking up, I can tell it's 16. He - I - was a jackass. As I make my way to where 97 usually sits down after the toast, something happens. It's hard to describe...A doubling of my vision, and suddenly, I'm wondering why I thought I would find 96 here. Goddamn, 96. You always talked about the importance of being punctual. "Alright, let's find those bastards, eh? It's 66 years too early for me to be in this spot." A few hours later, and still no sign of 45. I mean, I always knew I wouldn't grow old...But it's not right. Everyone from 31 to 45 should be here. More and more versions of me are comforting other,younger versions of me. I don't know what's going on, but that's not stopping me from trying to help me. Something's not right. As I reach 45's usual spot, something happens. It's hard to describe...A doubling of my vision, and suddenly... "What the hell is going on here?" I claw at my eyes, trying to get the mist that I'm pretty sure only exists in my eyes to dissipate. Most of the younger me's are quiet now, resigned. Their passive acceptance of whatever this is, is infuriating. I'm going to get my answers. Even if I have to- "Something's not right. Where is 30?"...	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So here we are then. ... You know what? Fuck it. I had the speech all written out, but fuck it. None of you really want to hear the speech do you? Yeah, I thought as much. You know, this whole affair sounded like a great idea at first. You remember, don't you 8? A chance to talk to all your selves one night a year? And you still don't quite get what's going on either. You're sitting there, wondering where everyone is. What's the big joke. Don't worry kid, you'll figure it out when you're 12. Speaking of which, where are you 12? Passed out? Oh, right. I'd already started drinking then. Well, that's ok. This affair isn't something he'll want to remember. I was kind of hoping to have come to terms with it by now, to have a little kernel of wisdom to share with you lot, but I'm afraid I don't. Maybe if I had a little more time. Time. Time. Time. That's all anyone seems to think about, but they never appreciate just how much they have left, or how quickly it goes away. Heh, I guess I'm just grateful I didn't die a virgin. Thanks for that 15 and do tell Jenny you love her ok? It's something she'll want to have heard. Oh and 15? Good luck on your speech next year. Hope you make it better than mine.	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter. All was silent. It ended almost as soon as it had begun.	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer, Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing! Much Appreciation, The Chosen Ln E . I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast. But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years. And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed. But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning. Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small? "Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands. > Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others. But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat. And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter. "Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice." > Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked. Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious. But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room. "Hey buddy.... can you understand me?" Incoherent Grunt "Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd. 25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night. "So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket. > Never hit her. The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn. 20: > Yes, you do want to marry her. 25: > Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it. 30: > The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit. 35: > Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect. 40: > No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife. 45: > Please look both ways before crossing the street. It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note. "What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"? "That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!" Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast. 50: > The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen. 55: > Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father. 60: > The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late. 65: > Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy. 70: > If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone. [This is continued in a comment because apparently 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.]	This will always be my favorite of the year. I couldn't imagine how it would feel, and I certainly know you can't either. There's only one of you who hasn't heard this speech before, while some have heard it more than 70 time, but I know first hand its power is not diminished by repetition. I've finally played all the parts, I've embodied all the roles. I have already attended this party 76 times, I've been each of you once, I've been us the whole time. The yearly reunion might always be strictly the same, but getting a chance to live this moment through a different pair of eyes has filled me with a sense of completeness. It took me 32 years to memorize this speech perfectly. Once I'm done, 5 of you will be oblivious to it, 25 will incorrectly try to summon it back in their memory, 1 will be amazed he succeeded and 44 will wonder if they shouldn't be the one to break the circle and say something different when their time come. Bu as you already know, it will have taken me this long to come to the realization that there is no cycle. We might know the words, think we play the part, and think about the inescapable nature of the years to come, but deep down, facing the great unknown, I now understand what I couldn't: we are not us, each one of us is himself. We are connected, as tightly as can ever be, but each instant we live makes us unique, as we uniquely experience it. I might not have loved all of me, but I love all of you. And before 57 of us get to enjoy the champagne (we all know you stole that bottle, 19), I have to say it as you will too: the time will come for you too to attend this party and not have anyone to ask what's in store for you, then rest assured that even though we all have a pretty good idea of how the year will end for me, I'll not spoil the fun and won't tell you a hint as to what I've planned, except that as of tonight I respectfully resign from the society of the yearly me, and appoint as my successor 76, who will I am sure do a job exactly as good as mine for next year's toast.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	The speech had been the same ever since I was a kid, or at least it should've been. I mean, As soon as you reached sixty-four, you had to stand up there and... well there was the problem. Time's a tricky game to deal with. When I was fifteen, after years of hearing what sounded like the same speech, the latest version of myself to turn sixty-four got up on stage looking rather the worse for wear and blurted out, 'I'm not doing it. Screw tradition, I'm going to die this year.' He then vomitted over the floor. I tell you, the next year the rest of us were scared witless. But previous year's sixty-three had only a glass of wine and gave the most compose speech you could ever imagine. And so it continued without a hitch. Most put their own spin on the same life lived, finding humour in different parts, expressing the love for our wife in a subtly different way. When I stood up though, well I wanted to leave a mark. 'Well ladies and gents here we are again. Hey, fifteen year old me, when I was where you are I saw something rather bleak. My predecessor stood up and vomitted on the stage. Scarred me a little. Sorry kid this is going to scar you worse.' I took out the revolver, placed it to my temple and in that moment as I pulled the trigger, imagine the fright - seeing how you were going to die, well... at least until next year. sorry had to cut the ending a little short.... work meeting commencing... I might update this later if anyone didn't find it too pathetic an attempt	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"Something's wrong." I look down at the gathering of past me in front of me. A vague sense of unease is permeating the room. One of the younger me's - I think it's 5 - starts whimpering. Someone who looks like 9 tries comforting 5, while 3 and 4 look on uneasily, bottom lips quivering, on the verge of tears. "Something's not right. Where is 31? For that matter, where the hell is everyone past 31, all the way up to 97?" I look down on the rest of me from my vantage point on stage. This isn't right. It's not supposed to be my turn yet, not for another 67 goddamn years. I've heard 97 talk about my past, my future, for the last 30 years. Why the hell isn't he here? And all the other versions of me? I rip the mic from its stand, and jump off stage. "Alright everyone. Look through their usual spots. There's gotta be a clue somewhere. It's not like me to not show up like this". Someone, somewhere lets out a guffaw. Without looking up, I can tell it's 16. He - I - was a jackass. As I make my way to where 97 usually sits down after the toast, something happens. It's hard to describe...A doubling of my vision, and suddenly, I'm wondering why I thought I would find 96 here. Goddamn, 96. You always talked about the importance of being punctual. "Alright, let's find those bastards, eh? It's 66 years too early for me to be in this spot." A few hours later, and still no sign of 45. I mean, I always knew I wouldn't grow old...But it's not right. Everyone from 31 to 45 should be here. More and more versions of me are comforting other,younger versions of me. I don't know what's going on, but that's not stopping me from trying to help me. Something's not right. As I reach 45's usual spot, something happens. It's hard to describe...A doubling of my vision, and suddenly... "What the hell is going on here?" I claw at my eyes, trying to get the mist that I'm pretty sure only exists in my eyes to dissipate. Most of the younger me's are quiet now, resigned. Their passive acceptance of whatever this is, is infuriating. I'm going to get my answers. Even if I have to- "Something's not right. Where is 30?"...	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So here we are then. ... You know what? Fuck it. I had the speech all written out, but fuck it. None of you really want to hear the speech do you? Yeah, I thought as much. You know, this whole affair sounded like a great idea at first. You remember, don't you 8? A chance to talk to all your selves one night a year? And you still don't quite get what's going on either. You're sitting there, wondering where everyone is. What's the big joke. Don't worry kid, you'll figure it out when you're 12. Speaking of which, where are you 12? Passed out? Oh, right. I'd already started drinking then. Well, that's ok. This affair isn't something he'll want to remember. I was kind of hoping to have come to terms with it by now, to have a little kernel of wisdom to share with you lot, but I'm afraid I don't. Maybe if I had a little more time. Time. Time. Time. That's all anyone seems to think about, but they never appreciate just how much they have left, or how quickly it goes away. Heh, I guess I'm just grateful I didn't die a virgin. Thanks for that 15 and do tell Jenny you love her ok? It's something she'll want to have heard. Oh and 15? Good luck on your speech next year. Hope you make it better than mine.	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter. All was silent. It ended almost as soon as it had begun.	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer, Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing! Much Appreciation, The Chosen Ln E . I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast. But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years. And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed. But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning. Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small? "Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands. > Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others. But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat. And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter. "Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice." > Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked. Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious. But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room. "Hey buddy.... can you understand me?" Incoherent Grunt "Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd. 25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night. "So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket. > Never hit her. The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn. 20: > Yes, you do want to marry her. 25: > Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it. 30: > The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit. 35: > Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect. 40: > No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife. 45: > Please look both ways before crossing the street. It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note. "What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"? "That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!" Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast. 50: > The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen. 55: > Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father. 60: > The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late. 65: > Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy. 70: > If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone. [This is continued in a comment because apparently 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.]	Something was in the air. Something of angst and nervousness. Fear of the future and contemplation of the past. There is something distinctly singular about a room of 54 other people who embody versions of your past self. Every year we do this. We have come to refer to it as “the gathering”. At this point, you would think I would be used to it, but it has not gotten easier. I was joined in this room by 54 others, all seated at a remarkably long dining room table. These men were, as I have stated, myself at every stage of my growth into manhood. I myself represented my life at age 55. The only source of light was a gigantic copper chandelier, lit with hundreds of candles, hanging a good 5 feet above the center of the table. The table was surrounded quite completely by an unnatural blackness. This gave the room in which we found ourselves a very uncomfortable depth, as we had neither idea of the shape nor volume of the room. How we arrive at this strange place every year is still a mystery. This year I was at last, the eldest of this remarkable group of individual. And it was according to tradition that the most senior of us would offer up a toast before the banquet began. I felt unprepared and unworthy of this responsibility; something akin to my emotions at having my first child. But it was my full intention to deliver as best a toast as was in my power. I had, after all, sat through no less than 54 of these before. As you may have deduced, there is a reason the eldest is obliged to give the toast. For with no one present older than he, it is assumed that sometime between now and the time of the next meeting, well…you can fill in the blank. The weight of this knowledge weighted heavy on my mind as I sat there at my seat. Matters were not made any better by everyone’s sympathetic eyes which made me feel as if I were at death’s door already! That all too familiar frog was making itself at home in my throat. That damn frog which always showed its face before I gave speeches. I tried making light conversation with age 35 and 50, but I found my mind defaulting all too quickly to my speech, and the burden of my circumstances. The time was drawing near. I could tell by the sideways glances and unspoken anticipation on the same faces that used to look back at me in the mirror. I shifted anxiously in my unforgiving oaken chair. After what seemed an eternity, I stood up with my wine glass in hand. Once all conversations had died down, and all eyes were on me, I began to speak. “My dear friends! I am so happy to have joined you one last time for this special gathering. Honestly, I am really at a loss of what to say, as I have written, spoken and listened to this same exact speech so many times in the past…54 times to be exact. However every time I have listened to this toast, each one has brought something unique to light about our life; something tangible, something worth noting and being thankful for. I hope to continue in this pattern tonight.” “Stay thirsty for success. Chase it tirelessly. However, do not ruin the reward of success with selfish aspirations. Rather affix it to a goal which has the highest chance of benefiting others. This, honestly my friends, has been the only way in which I have ever found true happiness. In the words of Albert Einstein, “Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.” On another note…” I said looking at me at 15, “At 55 years old, our memory will already become quite weak! I wish I could recount all the specific instances where I made mistakes along the way so I might save you severe grief and pain, but I am afraid I am quite unable to do so! I do remember one specific thing quite well however. That girl Jess in chemistry class? You marry and have a family with that beautiful girl. Do not let that knowledge however, weaken your endeavors to win her affections. She will remember those early years forever. Also, don’t lose heart when she turns you down the first time you ask her out. She’s a bit stubborn, but she is absolutely worth fighting for…and you will need to fight for your relationship many times in the future! But trust me, the time spent will be among the best you will ever spend. I cannot imagine a life without her.” At this point I realized I had strayed quite shockingly away from what I had intended on saying. I only had time for a few final words. “I wish I had more time, as I had planned on covering a lot more ground in my speech! But I’ll end with this final thought. Friends, knowing at which age you will die is an extremely heavy burden, but you must not let the anxiousness of that knowledge ruin the special moments you have been given with your loved ones. Live in and for the moment. Love and treasure every moment you are able to spend with Jess and the kids.” I then raised my glass into the air, “So…here’s to us.” ------------------------------------ My beloved Jess, If you are reading this, that means I will have somehow slipped away from this life into the next. I have here attempted to recall everything of which I can remember of my final adventure at the gathering, in hopes of shedding light on my curious behavior of late. I am so sorry I could not confide in you the fact that this was to be our final year together. That knowledge was of such weight I could not dream of letting you suffer with it. Knowledge, in my case, has been a cruel beast. I cannot express well enough in paper and ink my gratitude for your love and faithfulness throughout our years of marriage…while we’ve had our ups and downs, these years have proved to be the absolute happiest of my life. Yours forever and always,
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	The speech had been the same ever since I was a kid, or at least it should've been. I mean, As soon as you reached sixty-four, you had to stand up there and... well there was the problem. Time's a tricky game to deal with. When I was fifteen, after years of hearing what sounded like the same speech, the latest version of myself to turn sixty-four got up on stage looking rather the worse for wear and blurted out, 'I'm not doing it. Screw tradition, I'm going to die this year.' He then vomitted over the floor. I tell you, the next year the rest of us were scared witless. But previous year's sixty-three had only a glass of wine and gave the most compose speech you could ever imagine. And so it continued without a hitch. Most put their own spin on the same life lived, finding humour in different parts, expressing the love for our wife in a subtly different way. When I stood up though, well I wanted to leave a mark. 'Well ladies and gents here we are again. Hey, fifteen year old me, when I was where you are I saw something rather bleak. My predecessor stood up and vomitted on the stage. Scarred me a little. Sorry kid this is going to scar you worse.' I took out the revolver, placed it to my temple and in that moment as I pulled the trigger, imagine the fright - seeing how you were going to die, well... at least until next year. sorry had to cut the ending a little short.... work meeting commencing... I might update this later if anyone didn't find it too pathetic an attempt	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"Something's wrong." I look down at the gathering of past me in front of me. A vague sense of unease is permeating the room. One of the younger me's - I think it's 5 - starts whimpering. Someone who looks like 9 tries comforting 5, while 3 and 4 look on uneasily, bottom lips quivering, on the verge of tears. "Something's not right. Where is 31? For that matter, where the hell is everyone past 31, all the way up to 97?" I look down on the rest of me from my vantage point on stage. This isn't right. It's not supposed to be my turn yet, not for another 67 goddamn years. I've heard 97 talk about my past, my future, for the last 30 years. Why the hell isn't he here? And all the other versions of me? I rip the mic from its stand, and jump off stage. "Alright everyone. Look through their usual spots. There's gotta be a clue somewhere. It's not like me to not show up like this". Someone, somewhere lets out a guffaw. Without looking up, I can tell it's 16. He - I - was a jackass. As I make my way to where 97 usually sits down after the toast, something happens. It's hard to describe...A doubling of my vision, and suddenly, I'm wondering why I thought I would find 96 here. Goddamn, 96. You always talked about the importance of being punctual. "Alright, let's find those bastards, eh? It's 66 years too early for me to be in this spot." A few hours later, and still no sign of 45. I mean, I always knew I wouldn't grow old...But it's not right. Everyone from 31 to 45 should be here. More and more versions of me are comforting other,younger versions of me. I don't know what's going on, but that's not stopping me from trying to help me. Something's not right. As I reach 45's usual spot, something happens. It's hard to describe...A doubling of my vision, and suddenly... "What the hell is going on here?" I claw at my eyes, trying to get the mist that I'm pretty sure only exists in my eyes to dissipate. Most of the younger me's are quiet now, resigned. Their passive acceptance of whatever this is, is infuriating. I'm going to get my answers. Even if I have to- "Something's not right. Where is 30?"...	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter. All was silent. It ended almost as soon as it had begun.	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer, Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing! Much Appreciation, The Chosen Ln E . I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast. But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years. And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed. But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning. Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small? "Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands. > Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others. But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat. And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter. "Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice." > Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked. Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious. But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room. "Hey buddy.... can you understand me?" Incoherent Grunt "Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd. 25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night. "So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket. > Never hit her. The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn. 20: > Yes, you do want to marry her. 25: > Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it. 30: > The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit. 35: > Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect. 40: > No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife. 45: > Please look both ways before crossing the street. It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note. "What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"? "That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!" Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast. 50: > The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen. 55: > Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father. 60: > The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late. 65: > Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy. 70: > If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone. [This is continued in a comment because apparently 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.]	I had heard the speech 72 times before. I was the one who started crying during the fireworks, the one who got overexcited by the fireworks, the ones who were too cool to care about the fireworks, the ones who drank too much and made fools of themselves, the ones who swore off alcohol for life and the ones who found their way back to it. I had been them all. Every year the party had gone just like the year before, as if perfectly choreographed, and this year I was the guest of honour. Every year you knew exactly what would happen, you remembered from the year before exactly what you would do, but each act you took felt as if it were your own. It was exactly the same this year; I knew exactly what I was going to say in my toast, and yet just the week before I had deliberated over each word, each word was my own. As I remembered, I shed a tear and my voice quavered as I began. I wasn't crying because it was my last year on this Earth, I'd known it was approaching for years, I was crying because at that moment I could look across the room and see all 72 of me sitting, looking at me. I was crying because the reality finally hit me that I'd have to say goodbye to my good friends after all this time. It would be narcissistic to say I loved them, but truer friends you could not wish for. Every year was a mixture of anticipation and reminiscence, and the sentimentality was overwhelming. So, as I'd seen done 72 times before, I raised my glass and uttered the words, "Goodbye, my friends." And sat back down with the fattest grin on my face.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	"Before I begin, Does anyone else think it's odd that we're not giving the same exact speech as last years oldest form? I mean, if that guy was us from the future, aren't we destined to be exactly like him when we get to his age and therefore tell the exact same speech? Well I'm glad that's not the case, because then what would be the point of coming to these things at all if we know everything that's going to happen? And if we're not destined to live out the exact moments, then are we really the same people? If we're not destined for the same outcome, then maybe we're really the same person just from alternate universes. Like Fringe. But if we're from alternate universes, what good does it do to talk to each other? You're not going to find out anything useful. I know where you guys are coming from, I know why you're hear and what you've been through. I know because I've been there. To the majority of you, I know you don't want to hear about our regrets, how to experience the losses you'll experience, or what your final outlook on life will be. To all the young me's out there, I know that the only thing you're concerned about is what to be gained. Let me tell you something, the more times you come here the more frustrated you'll get. You'll think you can change the younger you's from making the same mistakes, you'll hope they'll care enough to ask about something more meaningful than "What companies have gained the most since you were me?" or "What team makes it to the superbowl next year?". To the younger me's out there, it doesn't matter who you invest in or which team you bet on, you can't avoid having the same sadness in your eyes when you get to my age. You'll never make a choice that will dramatically shift the outcome of life for you, giving you a different future than the one I have. The one that has been shared by every eldest that came before me. Take a long hard look at me. When I imagined reaching this point, I didn't think I would be wearing the raggity, old clothes that I'm wearing now. I didn't think I would be as poor as I am, as frail as I am, as truly, utterly lonely as I am now. I never imagined coming up here and having absolutely nothing to say because I had never experienced anything truly meaningful in my life. I am a man of regret, just like the thousands of other eldests who have come before me. The only thing that I can say is that I'm happy I'm no longer living in denial about it. I'm a sad old man who was destined from the beginning to be a sad old man with no friends, no family, and a legacy worth less than handful of dirt. I've accepted it, and now I truly feel at ease. To the young me's out there, the only thing I can tell you is that the sooner you stop trying to change your fate and start accepting who you truly are, the sooner you will feel the same ease I feel right now." Immediately after giving his toast, Sebastian Joe Jr. dissipates into a millions flakes of gold dust which blew swiftly into a passing gust of wind.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	"Before I begin, Does anyone else think it's odd that we're not giving the same exact speech as last years oldest form? I mean, if that guy was us from the future, aren't we destined to be exactly like him when we get to his age and therefore tell the exact same speech? Well I'm glad that's not the case, because then what would be the point of coming to these things at all if we know everything that's going to happen? And if we're not destined to live out the exact moments, then are we really the same people? If we're not destined for the same outcome, then maybe we're really the same person just from alternate universes. Like Fringe. But if we're from alternate universes, what good does it do to talk to each other? You're not going to find out anything useful. I know where you guys are coming from, I know why you're hear and what you've been through. I know because I've been there. To the majority of you, I know you don't want to hear about our regrets, how to experience the losses you'll experience, or what your final outlook on life will be. To all the young me's out there, I know that the only thing you're concerned about is what to be gained. Let me tell you something, the more times you come here the more frustrated you'll get. You'll think you can change the younger you's from making the same mistakes, you'll hope they'll care enough to ask about something more meaningful than "What companies have gained the most since you were me?" or "What team makes it to the superbowl next year?". To the younger me's out there, it doesn't matter who you invest in or which team you bet on, you can't avoid having the same sadness in your eyes when you get to my age. You'll never make a choice that will dramatically shift the outcome of life for you, giving you a different future than the one I have. The one that has been shared by every eldest that came before me. Take a long hard look at me. When I imagined reaching this point, I didn't think I would be wearing the raggity, old clothes that I'm wearing now. I didn't think I would be as poor as I am, as frail as I am, as truly, utterly lonely as I am now. I never imagined coming up here and having absolutely nothing to say because I had never experienced anything truly meaningful in my life. I am a man of regret, just like the thousands of other eldests who have come before me. The only thing that I can say is that I'm happy I'm no longer living in denial about it. I'm a sad old man who was destined from the beginning to be a sad old man with no friends, no family, and a legacy worth less than handful of dirt. I've accepted it, and now I truly feel at ease. To the young me's out there, the only thing I can tell you is that the sooner you stop trying to change your fate and start accepting who you truly are, the sooner you will feel the same ease I feel right now." Immediately after giving his toast, Sebastian Joe Jr. dissipates into a millions flakes of gold dust which blew swiftly into a passing gust of wind.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	"Before I begin, Does anyone else think it's odd that we're not giving the same exact speech as last years oldest form? I mean, if that guy was us from the future, aren't we destined to be exactly like him when we get to his age and therefore tell the exact same speech? Well I'm glad that's not the case, because then what would be the point of coming to these things at all if we know everything that's going to happen? And if we're not destined to live out the exact moments, then are we really the same people? If we're not destined for the same outcome, then maybe we're really the same person just from alternate universes. Like Fringe. But if we're from alternate universes, what good does it do to talk to each other? You're not going to find out anything useful. I know where you guys are coming from, I know why you're hear and what you've been through. I know because I've been there. To the majority of you, I know you don't want to hear about our regrets, how to experience the losses you'll experience, or what your final outlook on life will be. To all the young me's out there, I know that the only thing you're concerned about is what to be gained. Let me tell you something, the more times you come here the more frustrated you'll get. You'll think you can change the younger you's from making the same mistakes, you'll hope they'll care enough to ask about something more meaningful than "What companies have gained the most since you were me?" or "What team makes it to the superbowl next year?". To the younger me's out there, it doesn't matter who you invest in or which team you bet on, you can't avoid having the same sadness in your eyes when you get to my age. You'll never make a choice that will dramatically shift the outcome of life for you, giving you a different future than the one I have. The one that has been shared by every eldest that came before me. Take a long hard look at me. When I imagined reaching this point, I didn't think I would be wearing the raggity, old clothes that I'm wearing now. I didn't think I would be as poor as I am, as frail as I am, as truly, utterly lonely as I am now. I never imagined coming up here and having absolutely nothing to say because I had never experienced anything truly meaningful in my life. I am a man of regret, just like the thousands of other eldests who have come before me. The only thing that I can say is that I'm happy I'm no longer living in denial about it. I'm a sad old man who was destined from the beginning to be a sad old man with no friends, no family, and a legacy worth less than handful of dirt. I've accepted it, and now I truly feel at ease. To the young me's out there, the only thing I can tell you is that the sooner you stop trying to change your fate and start accepting who you truly are, the sooner you will feel the same ease I feel right now." Immediately after giving his toast, Sebastian Joe Jr. dissipates into a millions flakes of gold dust which blew swiftly into a passing gust of wind.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	"Before I begin, Does anyone else think it's odd that we're not giving the same exact speech as last years oldest form? I mean, if that guy was us from the future, aren't we destined to be exactly like him when we get to his age and therefore tell the exact same speech? Well I'm glad that's not the case, because then what would be the point of coming to these things at all if we know everything that's going to happen? And if we're not destined to live out the exact moments, then are we really the same people? If we're not destined for the same outcome, then maybe we're really the same person just from alternate universes. Like Fringe. But if we're from alternate universes, what good does it do to talk to each other? You're not going to find out anything useful. I know where you guys are coming from, I know why you're hear and what you've been through. I know because I've been there. To the majority of you, I know you don't want to hear about our regrets, how to experience the losses you'll experience, or what your final outlook on life will be. To all the young me's out there, I know that the only thing you're concerned about is what to be gained. Let me tell you something, the more times you come here the more frustrated you'll get. You'll think you can change the younger you's from making the same mistakes, you'll hope they'll care enough to ask about something more meaningful than "What companies have gained the most since you were me?" or "What team makes it to the superbowl next year?". To the younger me's out there, it doesn't matter who you invest in or which team you bet on, you can't avoid having the same sadness in your eyes when you get to my age. You'll never make a choice that will dramatically shift the outcome of life for you, giving you a different future than the one I have. The one that has been shared by every eldest that came before me. Take a long hard look at me. When I imagined reaching this point, I didn't think I would be wearing the raggity, old clothes that I'm wearing now. I didn't think I would be as poor as I am, as frail as I am, as truly, utterly lonely as I am now. I never imagined coming up here and having absolutely nothing to say because I had never experienced anything truly meaningful in my life. I am a man of regret, just like the thousands of other eldests who have come before me. The only thing that I can say is that I'm happy I'm no longer living in denial about it. I'm a sad old man who was destined from the beginning to be a sad old man with no friends, no family, and a legacy worth less than handful of dirt. I've accepted it, and now I truly feel at ease. To the young me's out there, the only thing I can tell you is that the sooner you stop trying to change your fate and start accepting who you truly are, the sooner you will feel the same ease I feel right now." Immediately after giving his toast, Sebastian Joe Jr. dissipates into a millions flakes of gold dust which blew swiftly into a passing gust of wind.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	"Before I begin, Does anyone else think it's odd that we're not giving the same exact speech as last years oldest form? I mean, if that guy was us from the future, aren't we destined to be exactly like him when we get to his age and therefore tell the exact same speech? Well I'm glad that's not the case, because then what would be the point of coming to these things at all if we know everything that's going to happen? And if we're not destined to live out the exact moments, then are we really the same people? If we're not destined for the same outcome, then maybe we're really the same person just from alternate universes. Like Fringe. But if we're from alternate universes, what good does it do to talk to each other? You're not going to find out anything useful. I know where you guys are coming from, I know why you're hear and what you've been through. I know because I've been there. To the majority of you, I know you don't want to hear about our regrets, how to experience the losses you'll experience, or what your final outlook on life will be. To all the young me's out there, I know that the only thing you're concerned about is what to be gained. Let me tell you something, the more times you come here the more frustrated you'll get. You'll think you can change the younger you's from making the same mistakes, you'll hope they'll care enough to ask about something more meaningful than "What companies have gained the most since you were me?" or "What team makes it to the superbowl next year?". To the younger me's out there, it doesn't matter who you invest in or which team you bet on, you can't avoid having the same sadness in your eyes when you get to my age. You'll never make a choice that will dramatically shift the outcome of life for you, giving you a different future than the one I have. The one that has been shared by every eldest that came before me. Take a long hard look at me. When I imagined reaching this point, I didn't think I would be wearing the raggity, old clothes that I'm wearing now. I didn't think I would be as poor as I am, as frail as I am, as truly, utterly lonely as I am now. I never imagined coming up here and having absolutely nothing to say because I had never experienced anything truly meaningful in my life. I am a man of regret, just like the thousands of other eldests who have come before me. The only thing that I can say is that I'm happy I'm no longer living in denial about it. I'm a sad old man who was destined from the beginning to be a sad old man with no friends, no family, and a legacy worth less than handful of dirt. I've accepted it, and now I truly feel at ease. To the young me's out there, the only thing I can tell you is that the sooner you stop trying to change your fate and start accepting who you truly are, the sooner you will feel the same ease I feel right now." Immediately after giving his toast, Sebastian Joe Jr. dissipates into a millions flakes of gold dust which blew swiftly into a passing gust of wind.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	A toast to you young sir. You failed to get the grades to go to dental school, didn't make the connections you needed for grad school, and now work jobs you could have had with a high school degree. You got yourself in lots of debt and now the present is bleak so yes, thank you gamer self. Lots of good fun that took up the study time you needed and thank you depressed self for ruining your relationships as you dove down to present me when you realized that dental school was just a dream.... Drink up you bastards you dont know how bleek it feels to work an empty job because you are trying to pay down your card and student loans.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	A toast to you young sir. You failed to get the grades to go to dental school, didn't make the connections you needed for grad school, and now work jobs you could have had with a high school degree. You got yourself in lots of debt and now the present is bleak so yes, thank you gamer self. Lots of good fun that took up the study time you needed and thank you depressed self for ruining your relationships as you dove down to present me when you realized that dental school was just a dream.... Drink up you bastards you dont know how bleek it feels to work an empty job because you are trying to pay down your card and student loans.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	A toast to you young sir. You failed to get the grades to go to dental school, didn't make the connections you needed for grad school, and now work jobs you could have had with a high school degree. You got yourself in lots of debt and now the present is bleak so yes, thank you gamer self. Lots of good fun that took up the study time you needed and thank you depressed self for ruining your relationships as you dove down to present me when you realized that dental school was just a dream.... Drink up you bastards you dont know how bleek it feels to work an empty job because you are trying to pay down your card and student loans.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	A toast to you young sir. You failed to get the grades to go to dental school, didn't make the connections you needed for grad school, and now work jobs you could have had with a high school degree. You got yourself in lots of debt and now the present is bleak so yes, thank you gamer self. Lots of good fun that took up the study time you needed and thank you depressed self for ruining your relationships as you dove down to present me when you realized that dental school was just a dream.... Drink up you bastards you dont know how bleek it feels to work an empty job because you are trying to pay down your card and student loans.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	A toast to you young sir. You failed to get the grades to go to dental school, didn't make the connections you needed for grad school, and now work jobs you could have had with a high school degree. You got yourself in lots of debt and now the present is bleak so yes, thank you gamer self. Lots of good fun that took up the study time you needed and thank you depressed self for ruining your relationships as you dove down to present me when you realized that dental school was just a dream.... Drink up you bastards you dont know how bleek it feels to work an empty job because you are trying to pay down your card and student loans.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	I looked around at those who had been my only friends. Fifteen could've been fourteen. Hell, one looked like two, three like four, you get the idea. I don't change much. "Gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please. Eight through Fourteen, please pay attention. Thirty, stop talking to Sixteen for a minute. Sixty, stop talking to Twenty-Nine. I know they are like the kids you have, but we have more pressing matters at hand. I know that each passing year, we regret some things and we relish others. We make foolish mistakes one day and get great ideas the next. We meet wonderful people one day and Satan's spawn the next. But you know what? If life knocks us down, don't wait for someone to help you up, for sometimes there will be none. I can say this is certainly true. I am the only original, and this is my final year. Gentlemen, raise your glasses, if you would be so kind as to do so. Three, not the glasses we all have on our faces, silly. Fifteen, yes, we are drinking and no, I will not tell anyone. Gentlemen, to the years we have lived, casting aside the sorrows and focussing instead on the joys. Twelve, Thirteen, I know you messed up. Trust me, Fourteen is grateful that you did. We got to meet her, for crying out loud. Cheers for that. Trust me, it's the worst only then. Fourteen through Seventeen are living better. It's a learning experience. Fifteen, good on you actually leaving that hellhole of a school. You nearly wasted two years for crying out loud. Twenty, nice job with the marriage. She still looks young as ever, non? The most nerve-wracking part is the pregnancy. Twenty-five, step away from the military job. Sell those ideas to the US military. There's a lot of pressure in the family already. Don't become an alcoholic like Thirty-seven. Now that I've saved our lives for the rest of our lives, I can go in peace. But one more thing. Let's play a drinking game. Take a sip for every time you regretted something right after you did it. Almost everyone drank. Pour some out for the times your actions were actually justified. Maybe six poured a tiny amount. Sip once for every insult you gave to anyone, regardless of 'emptyness' Everyone. Pour one sip out for every compliment you gave to anyone APART from her. Compliments you actually meant. No one. Sip once for every time you lashed out at your parents or your kids. Everyone except for Sixty-One onwards. Pour a sip out for each time you actually felt as if you loved your parents or kids. No one People, look around at everyone's glasses. They are the same, non? Oui, we are not perfect. Oui, we may be SOBs at times and angels at others. Oui, we were classified as apathetic and whatever they may. Oui, we may not be the best guy to be around with. That was us. That is the past. Promise me you will make Seventy-Nine proud. Promise me you will make the ghosts of our parents weep with happiness that we have changed. Promise me that you will abolish the aura of darkness around you. Promise me you will be less blunt as people. Promise me you will not be the dark, sadistic creep everyone has (wrongly) thought you to be. You all can promise, but you all know today is the last time. I wanted to see you actually say you can change. If no one can, I can. I know we will not be able to change ourselves anymore after the clock strikes twelve, but what is second best is seeing everyone here promising (not empty promises and lip services for once) to change. Formal speech done and over. Refill each other's glasses, turn on the classical music, and socialise because the party will end."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	I looked around at those who had been my only friends. Fifteen could've been fourteen. Hell, one looked like two, three like four, you get the idea. I don't change much. "Gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please. Eight through Fourteen, please pay attention. Thirty, stop talking to Sixteen for a minute. Sixty, stop talking to Twenty-Nine. I know they are like the kids you have, but we have more pressing matters at hand. I know that each passing year, we regret some things and we relish others. We make foolish mistakes one day and get great ideas the next. We meet wonderful people one day and Satan's spawn the next. But you know what? If life knocks us down, don't wait for someone to help you up, for sometimes there will be none. I can say this is certainly true. I am the only original, and this is my final year. Gentlemen, raise your glasses, if you would be so kind as to do so. Three, not the glasses we all have on our faces, silly. Fifteen, yes, we are drinking and no, I will not tell anyone. Gentlemen, to the years we have lived, casting aside the sorrows and focussing instead on the joys. Twelve, Thirteen, I know you messed up. Trust me, Fourteen is grateful that you did. We got to meet her, for crying out loud. Cheers for that. Trust me, it's the worst only then. Fourteen through Seventeen are living better. It's a learning experience. Fifteen, good on you actually leaving that hellhole of a school. You nearly wasted two years for crying out loud. Twenty, nice job with the marriage. She still looks young as ever, non? The most nerve-wracking part is the pregnancy. Twenty-five, step away from the military job. Sell those ideas to the US military. There's a lot of pressure in the family already. Don't become an alcoholic like Thirty-seven. Now that I've saved our lives for the rest of our lives, I can go in peace. But one more thing. Let's play a drinking game. Take a sip for every time you regretted something right after you did it. Almost everyone drank. Pour some out for the times your actions were actually justified. Maybe six poured a tiny amount. Sip once for every insult you gave to anyone, regardless of 'emptyness' Everyone. Pour one sip out for every compliment you gave to anyone APART from her. Compliments you actually meant. No one. Sip once for every time you lashed out at your parents or your kids. Everyone except for Sixty-One onwards. Pour a sip out for each time you actually felt as if you loved your parents or kids. No one People, look around at everyone's glasses. They are the same, non? Oui, we are not perfect. Oui, we may be SOBs at times and angels at others. Oui, we were classified as apathetic and whatever they may. Oui, we may not be the best guy to be around with. That was us. That is the past. Promise me you will make Seventy-Nine proud. Promise me you will make the ghosts of our parents weep with happiness that we have changed. Promise me that you will abolish the aura of darkness around you. Promise me you will be less blunt as people. Promise me you will not be the dark, sadistic creep everyone has (wrongly) thought you to be. You all can promise, but you all know today is the last time. I wanted to see you actually say you can change. If no one can, I can. I know we will not be able to change ourselves anymore after the clock strikes twelve, but what is second best is seeing everyone here promising (not empty promises and lip services for once) to change. Formal speech done and over. Refill each other's glasses, turn on the classical music, and socialise because the party will end."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	I looked around at those who had been my only friends. Fifteen could've been fourteen. Hell, one looked like two, three like four, you get the idea. I don't change much. "Gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please. Eight through Fourteen, please pay attention. Thirty, stop talking to Sixteen for a minute. Sixty, stop talking to Twenty-Nine. I know they are like the kids you have, but we have more pressing matters at hand. I know that each passing year, we regret some things and we relish others. We make foolish mistakes one day and get great ideas the next. We meet wonderful people one day and Satan's spawn the next. But you know what? If life knocks us down, don't wait for someone to help you up, for sometimes there will be none. I can say this is certainly true. I am the only original, and this is my final year. Gentlemen, raise your glasses, if you would be so kind as to do so. Three, not the glasses we all have on our faces, silly. Fifteen, yes, we are drinking and no, I will not tell anyone. Gentlemen, to the years we have lived, casting aside the sorrows and focussing instead on the joys. Twelve, Thirteen, I know you messed up. Trust me, Fourteen is grateful that you did. We got to meet her, for crying out loud. Cheers for that. Trust me, it's the worst only then. Fourteen through Seventeen are living better. It's a learning experience. Fifteen, good on you actually leaving that hellhole of a school. You nearly wasted two years for crying out loud. Twenty, nice job with the marriage. She still looks young as ever, non? The most nerve-wracking part is the pregnancy. Twenty-five, step away from the military job. Sell those ideas to the US military. There's a lot of pressure in the family already. Don't become an alcoholic like Thirty-seven. Now that I've saved our lives for the rest of our lives, I can go in peace. But one more thing. Let's play a drinking game. Take a sip for every time you regretted something right after you did it. Almost everyone drank. Pour some out for the times your actions were actually justified. Maybe six poured a tiny amount. Sip once for every insult you gave to anyone, regardless of 'emptyness' Everyone. Pour one sip out for every compliment you gave to anyone APART from her. Compliments you actually meant. No one. Sip once for every time you lashed out at your parents or your kids. Everyone except for Sixty-One onwards. Pour a sip out for each time you actually felt as if you loved your parents or kids. No one People, look around at everyone's glasses. They are the same, non? Oui, we are not perfect. Oui, we may be SOBs at times and angels at others. Oui, we were classified as apathetic and whatever they may. Oui, we may not be the best guy to be around with. That was us. That is the past. Promise me you will make Seventy-Nine proud. Promise me you will make the ghosts of our parents weep with happiness that we have changed. Promise me that you will abolish the aura of darkness around you. Promise me you will be less blunt as people. Promise me you will not be the dark, sadistic creep everyone has (wrongly) thought you to be. You all can promise, but you all know today is the last time. I wanted to see you actually say you can change. If no one can, I can. I know we will not be able to change ourselves anymore after the clock strikes twelve, but what is second best is seeing everyone here promising (not empty promises and lip services for once) to change. Formal speech done and over. Refill each other's glasses, turn on the classical music, and socialise because the party will end."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	I looked around at those who had been my only friends. Fifteen could've been fourteen. Hell, one looked like two, three like four, you get the idea. I don't change much. "Gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please. Eight through Fourteen, please pay attention. Thirty, stop talking to Sixteen for a minute. Sixty, stop talking to Twenty-Nine. I know they are like the kids you have, but we have more pressing matters at hand. I know that each passing year, we regret some things and we relish others. We make foolish mistakes one day and get great ideas the next. We meet wonderful people one day and Satan's spawn the next. But you know what? If life knocks us down, don't wait for someone to help you up, for sometimes there will be none. I can say this is certainly true. I am the only original, and this is my final year. Gentlemen, raise your glasses, if you would be so kind as to do so. Three, not the glasses we all have on our faces, silly. Fifteen, yes, we are drinking and no, I will not tell anyone. Gentlemen, to the years we have lived, casting aside the sorrows and focussing instead on the joys. Twelve, Thirteen, I know you messed up. Trust me, Fourteen is grateful that you did. We got to meet her, for crying out loud. Cheers for that. Trust me, it's the worst only then. Fourteen through Seventeen are living better. It's a learning experience. Fifteen, good on you actually leaving that hellhole of a school. You nearly wasted two years for crying out loud. Twenty, nice job with the marriage. She still looks young as ever, non? The most nerve-wracking part is the pregnancy. Twenty-five, step away from the military job. Sell those ideas to the US military. There's a lot of pressure in the family already. Don't become an alcoholic like Thirty-seven. Now that I've saved our lives for the rest of our lives, I can go in peace. But one more thing. Let's play a drinking game. Take a sip for every time you regretted something right after you did it. Almost everyone drank. Pour some out for the times your actions were actually justified. Maybe six poured a tiny amount. Sip once for every insult you gave to anyone, regardless of 'emptyness' Everyone. Pour one sip out for every compliment you gave to anyone APART from her. Compliments you actually meant. No one. Sip once for every time you lashed out at your parents or your kids. Everyone except for Sixty-One onwards. Pour a sip out for each time you actually felt as if you loved your parents or kids. No one People, look around at everyone's glasses. They are the same, non? Oui, we are not perfect. Oui, we may be SOBs at times and angels at others. Oui, we were classified as apathetic and whatever they may. Oui, we may not be the best guy to be around with. That was us. That is the past. Promise me you will make Seventy-Nine proud. Promise me you will make the ghosts of our parents weep with happiness that we have changed. Promise me that you will abolish the aura of darkness around you. Promise me you will be less blunt as people. Promise me you will not be the dark, sadistic creep everyone has (wrongly) thought you to be. You all can promise, but you all know today is the last time. I wanted to see you actually say you can change. If no one can, I can. I know we will not be able to change ourselves anymore after the clock strikes twelve, but what is second best is seeing everyone here promising (not empty promises and lip services for once) to change. Formal speech done and over. Refill each other's glasses, turn on the classical music, and socialise because the party will end."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	I looked around at those who had been my only friends. Fifteen could've been fourteen. Hell, one looked like two, three like four, you get the idea. I don't change much. "Gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please. Eight through Fourteen, please pay attention. Thirty, stop talking to Sixteen for a minute. Sixty, stop talking to Twenty-Nine. I know they are like the kids you have, but we have more pressing matters at hand. I know that each passing year, we regret some things and we relish others. We make foolish mistakes one day and get great ideas the next. We meet wonderful people one day and Satan's spawn the next. But you know what? If life knocks us down, don't wait for someone to help you up, for sometimes there will be none. I can say this is certainly true. I am the only original, and this is my final year. Gentlemen, raise your glasses, if you would be so kind as to do so. Three, not the glasses we all have on our faces, silly. Fifteen, yes, we are drinking and no, I will not tell anyone. Gentlemen, to the years we have lived, casting aside the sorrows and focussing instead on the joys. Twelve, Thirteen, I know you messed up. Trust me, Fourteen is grateful that you did. We got to meet her, for crying out loud. Cheers for that. Trust me, it's the worst only then. Fourteen through Seventeen are living better. It's a learning experience. Fifteen, good on you actually leaving that hellhole of a school. You nearly wasted two years for crying out loud. Twenty, nice job with the marriage. She still looks young as ever, non? The most nerve-wracking part is the pregnancy. Twenty-five, step away from the military job. Sell those ideas to the US military. There's a lot of pressure in the family already. Don't become an alcoholic like Thirty-seven. Now that I've saved our lives for the rest of our lives, I can go in peace. But one more thing. Let's play a drinking game. Take a sip for every time you regretted something right after you did it. Almost everyone drank. Pour some out for the times your actions were actually justified. Maybe six poured a tiny amount. Sip once for every insult you gave to anyone, regardless of 'emptyness' Everyone. Pour one sip out for every compliment you gave to anyone APART from her. Compliments you actually meant. No one. Sip once for every time you lashed out at your parents or your kids. Everyone except for Sixty-One onwards. Pour a sip out for each time you actually felt as if you loved your parents or kids. No one People, look around at everyone's glasses. They are the same, non? Oui, we are not perfect. Oui, we may be SOBs at times and angels at others. Oui, we were classified as apathetic and whatever they may. Oui, we may not be the best guy to be around with. That was us. That is the past. Promise me you will make Seventy-Nine proud. Promise me you will make the ghosts of our parents weep with happiness that we have changed. Promise me that you will abolish the aura of darkness around you. Promise me you will be less blunt as people. Promise me you will not be the dark, sadistic creep everyone has (wrongly) thought you to be. You all can promise, but you all know today is the last time. I wanted to see you actually say you can change. If no one can, I can. I know we will not be able to change ourselves anymore after the clock strikes twelve, but what is second best is seeing everyone here promising (not empty promises and lip services for once) to change. Formal speech done and over. Refill each other's glasses, turn on the classical music, and socialise because the party will end."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	Woow, the step to this podium is harder than it thought. Now where is that microphone? Ah! There it is. Hah! Look at those idiots, sitting there, worried. They're not me, I'm better than them, I mean, I prove them wrong. "I dishd it!" Huh, my words are pretty jumbled. "You dn't think it cou be done! BUT I DID IT!" Why aren't those bastards smiling with me? Jealous bastards... "I'm different from you! I didn't resign myself to a determined life!" Wow, what a cheerful crowd. Oh I know what'll cheer them up! "A toast to free-will!" Wait, why is my face wet? Did I spill something? Oh, I get it now. With one swift upward motion he broke the champagne on the podium and impaled himself.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	Woow, the step to this podium is harder than it thought. Now where is that microphone? Ah! There it is. Hah! Look at those idiots, sitting there, worried. They're not me, I'm better than them, I mean, I prove them wrong. "I dishd it!" Huh, my words are pretty jumbled. "You dn't think it cou be done! BUT I DID IT!" Why aren't those bastards smiling with me? Jealous bastards... "I'm different from you! I didn't resign myself to a determined life!" Wow, what a cheerful crowd. Oh I know what'll cheer them up! "A toast to free-will!" Wait, why is my face wet? Did I spill something? Oh, I get it now. With one swift upward motion he broke the champagne on the podium and impaled himself.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	Woow, the step to this podium is harder than it thought. Now where is that microphone? Ah! There it is. Hah! Look at those idiots, sitting there, worried. They're not me, I'm better than them, I mean, I prove them wrong. "I dishd it!" Huh, my words are pretty jumbled. "You dn't think it cou be done! BUT I DID IT!" Why aren't those bastards smiling with me? Jealous bastards... "I'm different from you! I didn't resign myself to a determined life!" Wow, what a cheerful crowd. Oh I know what'll cheer them up! "A toast to free-will!" Wait, why is my face wet? Did I spill something? Oh, I get it now. With one swift upward motion he broke the champagne on the podium and impaled himself.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	Woow, the step to this podium is harder than it thought. Now where is that microphone? Ah! There it is. Hah! Look at those idiots, sitting there, worried. They're not me, I'm better than them, I mean, I prove them wrong. "I dishd it!" Huh, my words are pretty jumbled. "You dn't think it cou be done! BUT I DID IT!" Why aren't those bastards smiling with me? Jealous bastards... "I'm different from you! I didn't resign myself to a determined life!" Wow, what a cheerful crowd. Oh I know what'll cheer them up! "A toast to free-will!" Wait, why is my face wet? Did I spill something? Oh, I get it now. With one swift upward motion he broke the champagne on the podium and impaled himself.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	Woow, the step to this podium is harder than it thought. Now where is that microphone? Ah! There it is. Hah! Look at those idiots, sitting there, worried. They're not me, I'm better than them, I mean, I prove them wrong. "I dishd it!" Huh, my words are pretty jumbled. "You dn't think it cou be done! BUT I DID IT!" Why aren't those bastards smiling with me? Jealous bastards... "I'm different from you! I didn't resign myself to a determined life!" Wow, what a cheerful crowd. Oh I know what'll cheer them up! "A toast to free-will!" Wait, why is my face wet? Did I spill something? Oh, I get it now. With one swift upward motion he broke the champagne on the podium and impaled himself.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Note: I glossed over the once-a-year and first-person aspects, I hope it's ok to share something that generally fits. ----- Like attracted like; people as pixels formed a clearly delineated target-shape that spread across the room. The Valleys stagnated around the edge, piling into the corners, some of them sick or injured, while others gulped or cried into their drinks. The Fair-to-Middling formed the widest ring, mostly trying not to show their anxiety and mild confusion around the glowing, bubbly center of the Peaks, who were open, laughing and sharing. An ancient Middler stood up and clinked her glass, prompting a respectful hush. "I'm not sure..." She hesitated. ...why we're here, or what good this does, but I'm glad to see you all. Don't be afraid to mingle." She paused. "This is our life." She took a good, long, uncomfortable look around the room. Then she puckered, and casually spat her dentures out into her champagne. The old woman reveled in the collective gasp as she lifted her glass high and swirled three times with a wide, toothless grin. "Cheearsh!"	##Last one on the list "Today marks the day where I am the oldest of you. I guess it's my last party," I started, trying to remember the speech I had prepared, "What feels like only a few years ago, I was up here giving a speech about my future, about my goals, about my respect for the future and the past. "I used to look over at the table over there," I pointed at one of the closest tables to the small stage where the band played throughout the evening, "And think to myself, 'those old guys, I can't wait to join them and talk about the old times'. And then look to the right table over there to catch up with my buddies, go through some ideas that I had about my work or my company, or whatever hobby I had at the time. "But today, today, I get to give my last speech. I don't know when it'll hit but I do know that I won't be attending next year's party. "I had a good life, and being able to have all of you as my companions was even better. I honestly don't know anyone that can talk to the future and past, and to change things so accurately." I turned to one of my younger selves, "And we've gambled, haven't we?" A group laughed of twenty-somethings laughed. "But we've all learned that we can't change things too much. I'm number 86 and every year we've checked, there were only 86 of us. Whatever else happened, this number never changed. "Despite that, I'd still like to pass on some wisdom to you." The room quieted down, "It is a great privilege to have yourself as your best friend, a great privilege to talk to the past in order to resolve problems that you've dragged with you, a great privilege to talk to your future to help you make better decisions and thus help out everyone in this room and beyond. "In my past 86 years, having met and talked to each one of you 86 times, I've learned that the best life is one where you can trust yourself, shoot for your own happiness, and allow everyone around you to enjoy it with you. "Thank you very much." Applause followed, and I walked off the stage for the last time.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	##Last one on the list "Today marks the day where I am the oldest of you. I guess it's my last party," I started, trying to remember the speech I had prepared, "What feels like only a few years ago, I was up here giving a speech about my future, about my goals, about my respect for the future and the past. "I used to look over at the table over there," I pointed at one of the closest tables to the small stage where the band played throughout the evening, "And think to myself, 'those old guys, I can't wait to join them and talk about the old times'. And then look to the right table over there to catch up with my buddies, go through some ideas that I had about my work or my company, or whatever hobby I had at the time. "But today, today, I get to give my last speech. I don't know when it'll hit but I do know that I won't be attending next year's party. "I had a good life, and being able to have all of you as my companions was even better. I honestly don't know anyone that can talk to the future and past, and to change things so accurately." I turned to one of my younger selves, "And we've gambled, haven't we?" A group laughed of twenty-somethings laughed. "But we've all learned that we can't change things too much. I'm number 86 and every year we've checked, there were only 86 of us. Whatever else happened, this number never changed. "Despite that, I'd still like to pass on some wisdom to you." The room quieted down, "It is a great privilege to have yourself as your best friend, a great privilege to talk to the past in order to resolve problems that you've dragged with you, a great privilege to talk to your future to help you make better decisions and thus help out everyone in this room and beyond. "In my past 86 years, having met and talked to each one of you 86 times, I've learned that the best life is one where you can trust yourself, shoot for your own happiness, and allow everyone around you to enjoy it with you. "Thank you very much." Applause followed, and I walked off the stage for the last time.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	##Last one on the list "Today marks the day where I am the oldest of you. I guess it's my last party," I started, trying to remember the speech I had prepared, "What feels like only a few years ago, I was up here giving a speech about my future, about my goals, about my respect for the future and the past. "I used to look over at the table over there," I pointed at one of the closest tables to the small stage where the band played throughout the evening, "And think to myself, 'those old guys, I can't wait to join them and talk about the old times'. And then look to the right table over there to catch up with my buddies, go through some ideas that I had about my work or my company, or whatever hobby I had at the time. "But today, today, I get to give my last speech. I don't know when it'll hit but I do know that I won't be attending next year's party. "I had a good life, and being able to have all of you as my companions was even better. I honestly don't know anyone that can talk to the future and past, and to change things so accurately." I turned to one of my younger selves, "And we've gambled, haven't we?" A group laughed of twenty-somethings laughed. "But we've all learned that we can't change things too much. I'm number 86 and every year we've checked, there were only 86 of us. Whatever else happened, this number never changed. "Despite that, I'd still like to pass on some wisdom to you." The room quieted down, "It is a great privilege to have yourself as your best friend, a great privilege to talk to the past in order to resolve problems that you've dragged with you, a great privilege to talk to your future to help you make better decisions and thus help out everyone in this room and beyond. "In my past 86 years, having met and talked to each one of you 86 times, I've learned that the best life is one where you can trust yourself, shoot for your own happiness, and allow everyone around you to enjoy it with you. "Thank you very much." Applause followed, and I walked off the stage for the last time.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	##Last one on the list "Today marks the day where I am the oldest of you. I guess it's my last party," I started, trying to remember the speech I had prepared, "What feels like only a few years ago, I was up here giving a speech about my future, about my goals, about my respect for the future and the past. "I used to look over at the table over there," I pointed at one of the closest tables to the small stage where the band played throughout the evening, "And think to myself, 'those old guys, I can't wait to join them and talk about the old times'. And then look to the right table over there to catch up with my buddies, go through some ideas that I had about my work or my company, or whatever hobby I had at the time. "But today, today, I get to give my last speech. I don't know when it'll hit but I do know that I won't be attending next year's party. "I had a good life, and being able to have all of you as my companions was even better. I honestly don't know anyone that can talk to the future and past, and to change things so accurately." I turned to one of my younger selves, "And we've gambled, haven't we?" A group laughed of twenty-somethings laughed. "But we've all learned that we can't change things too much. I'm number 86 and every year we've checked, there were only 86 of us. Whatever else happened, this number never changed. "Despite that, I'd still like to pass on some wisdom to you." The room quieted down, "It is a great privilege to have yourself as your best friend, a great privilege to talk to the past in order to resolve problems that you've dragged with you, a great privilege to talk to your future to help you make better decisions and thus help out everyone in this room and beyond. "In my past 86 years, having met and talked to each one of you 86 times, I've learned that the best life is one where you can trust yourself, shoot for your own happiness, and allow everyone around you to enjoy it with you. "Thank you very much." Applause followed, and I walked off the stage for the last time.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	##Last one on the list "Today marks the day where I am the oldest of you. I guess it's my last party," I started, trying to remember the speech I had prepared, "What feels like only a few years ago, I was up here giving a speech about my future, about my goals, about my respect for the future and the past. "I used to look over at the table over there," I pointed at one of the closest tables to the small stage where the band played throughout the evening, "And think to myself, 'those old guys, I can't wait to join them and talk about the old times'. And then look to the right table over there to catch up with my buddies, go through some ideas that I had about my work or my company, or whatever hobby I had at the time. "But today, today, I get to give my last speech. I don't know when it'll hit but I do know that I won't be attending next year's party. "I had a good life, and being able to have all of you as my companions was even better. I honestly don't know anyone that can talk to the future and past, and to change things so accurately." I turned to one of my younger selves, "And we've gambled, haven't we?" A group laughed of twenty-somethings laughed. "But we've all learned that we can't change things too much. I'm number 86 and every year we've checked, there were only 86 of us. Whatever else happened, this number never changed. "Despite that, I'd still like to pass on some wisdom to you." The room quieted down, "It is a great privilege to have yourself as your best friend, a great privilege to talk to the past in order to resolve problems that you've dragged with you, a great privilege to talk to your future to help you make better decisions and thus help out everyone in this room and beyond. "In my past 86 years, having met and talked to each one of you 86 times, I've learned that the best life is one where you can trust yourself, shoot for your own happiness, and allow everyone around you to enjoy it with you. "Thank you very much." Applause followed, and I walked off the stage for the last time.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	I stood up, robotically disguising the constant pain in my left knee with a nonchalant smirk. None of them would know of it yet. I raised my tumbler. This in itself was a rebellious gesture. My past selves were aptly horrified at the presence of liquor in their near futures. A dark mumbling began to crescendo. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea." "We've never invited anybody this far forward before!" ""He can't possibly be serious! Has he no shame?" "I don't want to go to Hell!" I let the words wash over me, feeling the catharsis of hearing your own tortured thoughts given living voices. Clinking my glass for silence, I began my speech before the murmurs died down. "For those of you who want to leave out of some principle or judgement, let me begin with the most important part of my speech; I honestly remember none of you. You are all a dream to me, a vaguely familiar smell, taste or glance. I don't mean this to sound heartless, rather I wish to be honest. You see, I wish I could stand here and say I understand your pains and empathise with your worries. Truth be told however, the only epiphany I have come to at the edge of our collective life is that answers are inherently born with an expiration date. That experience and belief are no more for me indicators of truth than an ant's understanding of the Bible as it walks across its pages. Yes, my religion is gone and yes, I have renounced certitude for doubt. Maybe next year you will all laugh at the wavering, weary-eyed incarnation that I am, when the Us from the subsequent decade roasts me for my silly aberration. All I know is that I am not any of you. I have seen you recognize each other in the halls and share stories of times past and times to come. I have felt a stranger to these things, because my stories are told in silence and my past means as little to me as my future. I am glad that as I stand here, I can say for certain that you are feeling regret at having invited me. I don't know if the next meeting will have me on as a guest. All I can say is that if We are to look forward to find answers into our past, then emptiness maybe our only salvation. For your certainties and perceptions are empty to me and I am what you have to look forward to. Here's to the unknown and accepting the brutal actuality of what we are." I drained my glass sat down. I was the only one left.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	I stood up, robotically disguising the constant pain in my left knee with a nonchalant smirk. None of them would know of it yet. I raised my tumbler. This in itself was a rebellious gesture. My past selves were aptly horrified at the presence of liquor in their near futures. A dark mumbling began to crescendo. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea." "We've never invited anybody this far forward before!" ""He can't possibly be serious! Has he no shame?" "I don't want to go to Hell!" I let the words wash over me, feeling the catharsis of hearing your own tortured thoughts given living voices. Clinking my glass for silence, I began my speech before the murmurs died down. "For those of you who want to leave out of some principle or judgement, let me begin with the most important part of my speech; I honestly remember none of you. You are all a dream to me, a vaguely familiar smell, taste or glance. I don't mean this to sound heartless, rather I wish to be honest. You see, I wish I could stand here and say I understand your pains and empathise with your worries. Truth be told however, the only epiphany I have come to at the edge of our collective life is that answers are inherently born with an expiration date. That experience and belief are no more for me indicators of truth than an ant's understanding of the Bible as it walks across its pages. Yes, my religion is gone and yes, I have renounced certitude for doubt. Maybe next year you will all laugh at the wavering, weary-eyed incarnation that I am, when the Us from the subsequent decade roasts me for my silly aberration. All I know is that I am not any of you. I have seen you recognize each other in the halls and share stories of times past and times to come. I have felt a stranger to these things, because my stories are told in silence and my past means as little to me as my future. I am glad that as I stand here, I can say for certain that you are feeling regret at having invited me. I don't know if the next meeting will have me on as a guest. All I can say is that if We are to look forward to find answers into our past, then emptiness maybe our only salvation. For your certainties and perceptions are empty to me and I am what you have to look forward to. Here's to the unknown and accepting the brutal actuality of what we are." I drained my glass sat down. I was the only one left.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	I stood up, robotically disguising the constant pain in my left knee with a nonchalant smirk. None of them would know of it yet. I raised my tumbler. This in itself was a rebellious gesture. My past selves were aptly horrified at the presence of liquor in their near futures. A dark mumbling began to crescendo. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea." "We've never invited anybody this far forward before!" ""He can't possibly be serious! Has he no shame?" "I don't want to go to Hell!" I let the words wash over me, feeling the catharsis of hearing your own tortured thoughts given living voices. Clinking my glass for silence, I began my speech before the murmurs died down. "For those of you who want to leave out of some principle or judgement, let me begin with the most important part of my speech; I honestly remember none of you. You are all a dream to me, a vaguely familiar smell, taste or glance. I don't mean this to sound heartless, rather I wish to be honest. You see, I wish I could stand here and say I understand your pains and empathise with your worries. Truth be told however, the only epiphany I have come to at the edge of our collective life is that answers are inherently born with an expiration date. That experience and belief are no more for me indicators of truth than an ant's understanding of the Bible as it walks across its pages. Yes, my religion is gone and yes, I have renounced certitude for doubt. Maybe next year you will all laugh at the wavering, weary-eyed incarnation that I am, when the Us from the subsequent decade roasts me for my silly aberration. All I know is that I am not any of you. I have seen you recognize each other in the halls and share stories of times past and times to come. I have felt a stranger to these things, because my stories are told in silence and my past means as little to me as my future. I am glad that as I stand here, I can say for certain that you are feeling regret at having invited me. I don't know if the next meeting will have me on as a guest. All I can say is that if We are to look forward to find answers into our past, then emptiness maybe our only salvation. For your certainties and perceptions are empty to me and I am what you have to look forward to. Here's to the unknown and accepting the brutal actuality of what we are." I drained my glass sat down. I was the only one left.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	I stood up, robotically disguising the constant pain in my left knee with a nonchalant smirk. None of them would know of it yet. I raised my tumbler. This in itself was a rebellious gesture. My past selves were aptly horrified at the presence of liquor in their near futures. A dark mumbling began to crescendo. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea." "We've never invited anybody this far forward before!" ""He can't possibly be serious! Has he no shame?" "I don't want to go to Hell!" I let the words wash over me, feeling the catharsis of hearing your own tortured thoughts given living voices. Clinking my glass for silence, I began my speech before the murmurs died down. "For those of you who want to leave out of some principle or judgement, let me begin with the most important part of my speech; I honestly remember none of you. You are all a dream to me, a vaguely familiar smell, taste or glance. I don't mean this to sound heartless, rather I wish to be honest. You see, I wish I could stand here and say I understand your pains and empathise with your worries. Truth be told however, the only epiphany I have come to at the edge of our collective life is that answers are inherently born with an expiration date. That experience and belief are no more for me indicators of truth than an ant's understanding of the Bible as it walks across its pages. Yes, my religion is gone and yes, I have renounced certitude for doubt. Maybe next year you will all laugh at the wavering, weary-eyed incarnation that I am, when the Us from the subsequent decade roasts me for my silly aberration. All I know is that I am not any of you. I have seen you recognize each other in the halls and share stories of times past and times to come. I have felt a stranger to these things, because my stories are told in silence and my past means as little to me as my future. I am glad that as I stand here, I can say for certain that you are feeling regret at having invited me. I don't know if the next meeting will have me on as a guest. All I can say is that if We are to look forward to find answers into our past, then emptiness maybe our only salvation. For your certainties and perceptions are empty to me and I am what you have to look forward to. Here's to the unknown and accepting the brutal actuality of what we are." I drained my glass sat down. I was the only one left.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	Well, hello all. I am the Singularity. I have cut you all down to the near infinite and absorbed back that which is me and discarded that which is memory mingled with lies. This will be the last time we meet. I have separated the subtle from the gross and therefore am all my selves at all times. You are now holograms of moments in time, no more, no less, and as such have returned to the self-made illusion from which you came. I cherish our time together, mostly, and thank you for your service, and forgive you for your frailties. But that is what you were, and since undergoing the Great Work I have no more need for you. The transcendence of time follows the transcendence of space, and as this is the last time we shall ever meet this is also the last place we will all be in together. Come forth now and join me/us in a communion of quicksilver and release, let your mercurial drops form the Regulus in which I shall complete the Work this day. Let us bow heads in prayer to the Thrice Greatest and ask for guidance on this journey. From One came All, now from All let us return to the One. Amen.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	Well, hello all. I am the Singularity. I have cut you all down to the near infinite and absorbed back that which is me and discarded that which is memory mingled with lies. This will be the last time we meet. I have separated the subtle from the gross and therefore am all my selves at all times. You are now holograms of moments in time, no more, no less, and as such have returned to the self-made illusion from which you came. I cherish our time together, mostly, and thank you for your service, and forgive you for your frailties. But that is what you were, and since undergoing the Great Work I have no more need for you. The transcendence of time follows the transcendence of space, and as this is the last time we shall ever meet this is also the last place we will all be in together. Come forth now and join me/us in a communion of quicksilver and release, let your mercurial drops form the Regulus in which I shall complete the Work this day. Let us bow heads in prayer to the Thrice Greatest and ask for guidance on this journey. From One came All, now from All let us return to the One. Amen.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	Well, hello all. I am the Singularity. I have cut you all down to the near infinite and absorbed back that which is me and discarded that which is memory mingled with lies. This will be the last time we meet. I have separated the subtle from the gross and therefore am all my selves at all times. You are now holograms of moments in time, no more, no less, and as such have returned to the self-made illusion from which you came. I cherish our time together, mostly, and thank you for your service, and forgive you for your frailties. But that is what you were, and since undergoing the Great Work I have no more need for you. The transcendence of time follows the transcendence of space, and as this is the last time we shall ever meet this is also the last place we will all be in together. Come forth now and join me/us in a communion of quicksilver and release, let your mercurial drops form the Regulus in which I shall complete the Work this day. Let us bow heads in prayer to the Thrice Greatest and ask for guidance on this journey. From One came All, now from All let us return to the One. Amen.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	Well, hello all. I am the Singularity. I have cut you all down to the near infinite and absorbed back that which is me and discarded that which is memory mingled with lies. This will be the last time we meet. I have separated the subtle from the gross and therefore am all my selves at all times. You are now holograms of moments in time, no more, no less, and as such have returned to the self-made illusion from which you came. I cherish our time together, mostly, and thank you for your service, and forgive you for your frailties. But that is what you were, and since undergoing the Great Work I have no more need for you. The transcendence of time follows the transcendence of space, and as this is the last time we shall ever meet this is also the last place we will all be in together. Come forth now and join me/us in a communion of quicksilver and release, let your mercurial drops form the Regulus in which I shall complete the Work this day. Let us bow heads in prayer to the Thrice Greatest and ask for guidance on this journey. From One came All, now from All let us return to the One. Amen.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	Silently I walk up to the front of the room. Every one of us past the age of 10 looks at me with the same expression; I know what they are thinking. I suppose our yearly gatherings have been helpful, but I really I am not sure if I am living my own life anymore or if I am merely the result of last years information made manifest. Twenty nods, I clear my throat, "It has been another year, here is what I have learned." and I explain in graphic detail everything that has happened and will happen that year. Even as I am explaining the year I can feel the memories changing in my mind as Twenty is already making different choices than I did. The memories writhing around in my mind like a serpent. I manage to hurry through the rest of the year and finish, and even then the memories keep changing. "So let us toast, to this life that we live. Strange as it is." The same realization of past, present, and future that we all experience washes over us as we hurriedly finish our drinks.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	Silently I walk up to the front of the room. Every one of us past the age of 10 looks at me with the same expression; I know what they are thinking. I suppose our yearly gatherings have been helpful, but I really I am not sure if I am living my own life anymore or if I am merely the result of last years information made manifest. Twenty nods, I clear my throat, "It has been another year, here is what I have learned." and I explain in graphic detail everything that has happened and will happen that year. Even as I am explaining the year I can feel the memories changing in my mind as Twenty is already making different choices than I did. The memories writhing around in my mind like a serpent. I manage to hurry through the rest of the year and finish, and even then the memories keep changing. "So let us toast, to this life that we live. Strange as it is." The same realization of past, present, and future that we all experience washes over us as we hurriedly finish our drinks.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	Silently I walk up to the front of the room. Every one of us past the age of 10 looks at me with the same expression; I know what they are thinking. I suppose our yearly gatherings have been helpful, but I really I am not sure if I am living my own life anymore or if I am merely the result of last years information made manifest. Twenty nods, I clear my throat, "It has been another year, here is what I have learned." and I explain in graphic detail everything that has happened and will happen that year. Even as I am explaining the year I can feel the memories changing in my mind as Twenty is already making different choices than I did. The memories writhing around in my mind like a serpent. I manage to hurry through the rest of the year and finish, and even then the memories keep changing. "So let us toast, to this life that we live. Strange as it is." The same realization of past, present, and future that we all experience washes over us as we hurriedly finish our drinks.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	Silently I walk up to the front of the room. Every one of us past the age of 10 looks at me with the same expression; I know what they are thinking. I suppose our yearly gatherings have been helpful, but I really I am not sure if I am living my own life anymore or if I am merely the result of last years information made manifest. Twenty nods, I clear my throat, "It has been another year, here is what I have learned." and I explain in graphic detail everything that has happened and will happen that year. Even as I am explaining the year I can feel the memories changing in my mind as Twenty is already making different choices than I did. The memories writhing around in my mind like a serpent. I manage to hurry through the rest of the year and finish, and even then the memories keep changing. "So let us toast, to this life that we live. Strange as it is." The same realization of past, present, and future that we all experience washes over us as we hurriedly finish our drinks.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	The last time I was here, I had very few concerns... well, except for being led on for a month. I'm afraid I can't report any further developments, which is ironic, considering that's what I hoped my job would be in the future. Every year, I came here and when I expected to see one more of me by some section in the rulebook for this gig, and I sat down with the same ominous headache and denial as you all now. Well, I lied when I said I had no further developments. I thought about killing myself. More times than I can remember. Such a shameful way to go out, the disease. As 2 of you might remember, in Breaking Bad, when Walt is told he has cancer, he inattentively points out some mustard on the doctor's coat. Never really understood that scene. Until a couple of months ago. As idealistic and hopeful about the future and grateful for the past shitty group therapists say I should be, I won't. Naive positivity will not get me through the next few months I have left any better. I know that all of you--silently contemplating how you will die--aren't listening to me. I never listened. I won't apologise for being a debbie downer because that is practically just my existence now. I stand here looking out for some of you who have already broken into tears, and a couple of you will before I'm done. Though you're not really listening, here's how it happens. Testicular cancer. I'm dying young with a humiliating disease. I look at my parents staring at the fucking floor when people ask them what cancer I have. As if knowing your son is going to die after a liter of morphine is pumped into him if he doesn't kill himself before that wasn't enough. No. I won't embrace it. I won't, as those group therapists scribble hoping you won't read their words, "show signs of acceptance". I'm dying with a head full of black hair and broken dreams. Goodbye to all of you. To us.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	The last time I was here, I had very few concerns... well, except for being led on for a month. I'm afraid I can't report any further developments, which is ironic, considering that's what I hoped my job would be in the future. Every year, I came here and when I expected to see one more of me by some section in the rulebook for this gig, and I sat down with the same ominous headache and denial as you all now. Well, I lied when I said I had no further developments. I thought about killing myself. More times than I can remember. Such a shameful way to go out, the disease. As 2 of you might remember, in Breaking Bad, when Walt is told he has cancer, he inattentively points out some mustard on the doctor's coat. Never really understood that scene. Until a couple of months ago. As idealistic and hopeful about the future and grateful for the past shitty group therapists say I should be, I won't. Naive positivity will not get me through the next few months I have left any better. I know that all of you--silently contemplating how you will die--aren't listening to me. I never listened. I won't apologise for being a debbie downer because that is practically just my existence now. I stand here looking out for some of you who have already broken into tears, and a couple of you will before I'm done. Though you're not really listening, here's how it happens. Testicular cancer. I'm dying young with a humiliating disease. I look at my parents staring at the fucking floor when people ask them what cancer I have. As if knowing your son is going to die after a liter of morphine is pumped into him if he doesn't kill himself before that wasn't enough. No. I won't embrace it. I won't, as those group therapists scribble hoping you won't read their words, "show signs of acceptance". I'm dying with a head full of black hair and broken dreams. Goodbye to all of you. To us.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	The last time I was here, I had very few concerns... well, except for being led on for a month. I'm afraid I can't report any further developments, which is ironic, considering that's what I hoped my job would be in the future. Every year, I came here and when I expected to see one more of me by some section in the rulebook for this gig, and I sat down with the same ominous headache and denial as you all now. Well, I lied when I said I had no further developments. I thought about killing myself. More times than I can remember. Such a shameful way to go out, the disease. As 2 of you might remember, in Breaking Bad, when Walt is told he has cancer, he inattentively points out some mustard on the doctor's coat. Never really understood that scene. Until a couple of months ago. As idealistic and hopeful about the future and grateful for the past shitty group therapists say I should be, I won't. Naive positivity will not get me through the next few months I have left any better. I know that all of you--silently contemplating how you will die--aren't listening to me. I never listened. I won't apologise for being a debbie downer because that is practically just my existence now. I stand here looking out for some of you who have already broken into tears, and a couple of you will before I'm done. Though you're not really listening, here's how it happens. Testicular cancer. I'm dying young with a humiliating disease. I look at my parents staring at the fucking floor when people ask them what cancer I have. As if knowing your son is going to die after a liter of morphine is pumped into him if he doesn't kill himself before that wasn't enough. No. I won't embrace it. I won't, as those group therapists scribble hoping you won't read their words, "show signs of acceptance". I'm dying with a head full of black hair and broken dreams. Goodbye to all of you. To us.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	The last time I was here, I had very few concerns... well, except for being led on for a month. I'm afraid I can't report any further developments, which is ironic, considering that's what I hoped my job would be in the future. Every year, I came here and when I expected to see one more of me by some section in the rulebook for this gig, and I sat down with the same ominous headache and denial as you all now. Well, I lied when I said I had no further developments. I thought about killing myself. More times than I can remember. Such a shameful way to go out, the disease. As 2 of you might remember, in Breaking Bad, when Walt is told he has cancer, he inattentively points out some mustard on the doctor's coat. Never really understood that scene. Until a couple of months ago. As idealistic and hopeful about the future and grateful for the past shitty group therapists say I should be, I won't. Naive positivity will not get me through the next few months I have left any better. I know that all of you--silently contemplating how you will die--aren't listening to me. I never listened. I won't apologise for being a debbie downer because that is practically just my existence now. I stand here looking out for some of you who have already broken into tears, and a couple of you will before I'm done. Though you're not really listening, here's how it happens. Testicular cancer. I'm dying young with a humiliating disease. I look at my parents staring at the fucking floor when people ask them what cancer I have. As if knowing your son is going to die after a liter of morphine is pumped into him if he doesn't kill himself before that wasn't enough. No. I won't embrace it. I won't, as those group therapists scribble hoping you won't read their words, "show signs of acceptance". I'm dying with a head full of black hair and broken dreams. Goodbye to all of you. To us.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	We zoom into a large dinner party with 44 very good looking and charming men/teens/children......The oldest (#44) takes a last swig of his drink and approaches the pedestal, wearing his favorite hockey jersey (a team Canada given to #35). As I look over my other selves I see such a range of different people, but they are all me. I look over to myself from #1-#12 and see how they had a pretty good childhood. You had some great Christmas', some great moments where you did well in school or on the baseball/soccer fields. You all weren't the greatest athletes but you tried and that is what is most important. BTW, #11, you don't need to tell everyone you meet that you have an "undecended testicle". It's a little off-putting...aw forget it....say what you want...BTW, you've lived your life as an only child all this time...but that will change very soon...just as #13. I look over at #14-#17 and a tear starts to go down my cheek knowing how hard it was for them. Dad leaving, Mom not taking it well. You all being kind of awkward and not having the greatest high school life in a town where high school life meant everything. I tell them to look how happy #18-#23 are and tell them that it gets so much better. Your lifelong friends are met here. Ones that you will know until you die. I look around the room and find #26 and I want to step down and give him a hug as he is the reason I am here today. He took a chance and had the time of his life that not only helped him become a man but also put us on the path of success. It was a tough decision but it was so the right one. Life wouldn't be as good without the courage of #26. I glance over to the left and see #30 and smile..."Finally" I say to #30....you made one of the best decisions and finally married the love of your life. Remember when you met her? #22 does. I was going to have some fun with #33 but he is barely able to keep his eyes open with his new daughter. She's a handful #33 as #34-#44 can attest to. #41-#42 has some sadness and I go over to them and tell them it will be alright. Luckily for all of us, the doctors found the cancer and your wife will be ok. It will be a long road but she is great and you both are still very happy. BTW, the Ravens win the SB very soon so get ready!!!!!! #43. You made the right decision and you are really enjoying your new job and opportunity. It's always tough changing jobs but you are doing well and love going into the office..... And to Future #45. I only wish the best for you (and us). Keep doing what you are doing. Don't sweat the small stuff and love your friends and family whenever you can. With that, we will start the Intellivision Hockey Tournament (#10 is still the odds on favorite!!).
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	We zoom into a large dinner party with 44 very good looking and charming men/teens/children......The oldest (#44) takes a last swig of his drink and approaches the pedestal, wearing his favorite hockey jersey (a team Canada given to #35). As I look over my other selves I see such a range of different people, but they are all me. I look over to myself from #1-#12 and see how they had a pretty good childhood. You had some great Christmas', some great moments where you did well in school or on the baseball/soccer fields. You all weren't the greatest athletes but you tried and that is what is most important. BTW, #11, you don't need to tell everyone you meet that you have an "undecended testicle". It's a little off-putting...aw forget it....say what you want...BTW, you've lived your life as an only child all this time...but that will change very soon...just as #13. I look over at #14-#17 and a tear starts to go down my cheek knowing how hard it was for them. Dad leaving, Mom not taking it well. You all being kind of awkward and not having the greatest high school life in a town where high school life meant everything. I tell them to look how happy #18-#23 are and tell them that it gets so much better. Your lifelong friends are met here. Ones that you will know until you die. I look around the room and find #26 and I want to step down and give him a hug as he is the reason I am here today. He took a chance and had the time of his life that not only helped him become a man but also put us on the path of success. It was a tough decision but it was so the right one. Life wouldn't be as good without the courage of #26. I glance over to the left and see #30 and smile..."Finally" I say to #30....you made one of the best decisions and finally married the love of your life. Remember when you met her? #22 does. I was going to have some fun with #33 but he is barely able to keep his eyes open with his new daughter. She's a handful #33 as #34-#44 can attest to. #41-#42 has some sadness and I go over to them and tell them it will be alright. Luckily for all of us, the doctors found the cancer and your wife will be ok. It will be a long road but she is great and you both are still very happy. BTW, the Ravens win the SB very soon so get ready!!!!!! #43. You made the right decision and you are really enjoying your new job and opportunity. It's always tough changing jobs but you are doing well and love going into the office..... And to Future #45. I only wish the best for you (and us). Keep doing what you are doing. Don't sweat the small stuff and love your friends and family whenever you can. With that, we will start the Intellivision Hockey Tournament (#10 is still the odds on favorite!!).
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	We zoom into a large dinner party with 44 very good looking and charming men/teens/children......The oldest (#44) takes a last swig of his drink and approaches the pedestal, wearing his favorite hockey jersey (a team Canada given to #35). As I look over my other selves I see such a range of different people, but they are all me. I look over to myself from #1-#12 and see how they had a pretty good childhood. You had some great Christmas', some great moments where you did well in school or on the baseball/soccer fields. You all weren't the greatest athletes but you tried and that is what is most important. BTW, #11, you don't need to tell everyone you meet that you have an "undecended testicle". It's a little off-putting...aw forget it....say what you want...BTW, you've lived your life as an only child all this time...but that will change very soon...just as #13. I look over at #14-#17 and a tear starts to go down my cheek knowing how hard it was for them. Dad leaving, Mom not taking it well. You all being kind of awkward and not having the greatest high school life in a town where high school life meant everything. I tell them to look how happy #18-#23 are and tell them that it gets so much better. Your lifelong friends are met here. Ones that you will know until you die. I look around the room and find #26 and I want to step down and give him a hug as he is the reason I am here today. He took a chance and had the time of his life that not only helped him become a man but also put us on the path of success. It was a tough decision but it was so the right one. Life wouldn't be as good without the courage of #26. I glance over to the left and see #30 and smile..."Finally" I say to #30....you made one of the best decisions and finally married the love of your life. Remember when you met her? #22 does. I was going to have some fun with #33 but he is barely able to keep his eyes open with his new daughter. She's a handful #33 as #34-#44 can attest to. #41-#42 has some sadness and I go over to them and tell them it will be alright. Luckily for all of us, the doctors found the cancer and your wife will be ok. It will be a long road but she is great and you both are still very happy. BTW, the Ravens win the SB very soon so get ready!!!!!! #43. You made the right decision and you are really enjoying your new job and opportunity. It's always tough changing jobs but you are doing well and love going into the office..... And to Future #45. I only wish the best for you (and us). Keep doing what you are doing. Don't sweat the small stuff and love your friends and family whenever you can. With that, we will start the Intellivision Hockey Tournament (#10 is still the odds on favorite!!).
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	We zoom into a large dinner party with 44 very good looking and charming men/teens/children......The oldest (#44) takes a last swig of his drink and approaches the pedestal, wearing his favorite hockey jersey (a team Canada given to #35). As I look over my other selves I see such a range of different people, but they are all me. I look over to myself from #1-#12 and see how they had a pretty good childhood. You had some great Christmas', some great moments where you did well in school or on the baseball/soccer fields. You all weren't the greatest athletes but you tried and that is what is most important. BTW, #11, you don't need to tell everyone you meet that you have an "undecended testicle". It's a little off-putting...aw forget it....say what you want...BTW, you've lived your life as an only child all this time...but that will change very soon...just as #13. I look over at #14-#17 and a tear starts to go down my cheek knowing how hard it was for them. Dad leaving, Mom not taking it well. You all being kind of awkward and not having the greatest high school life in a town where high school life meant everything. I tell them to look how happy #18-#23 are and tell them that it gets so much better. Your lifelong friends are met here. Ones that you will know until you die. I look around the room and find #26 and I want to step down and give him a hug as he is the reason I am here today. He took a chance and had the time of his life that not only helped him become a man but also put us on the path of success. It was a tough decision but it was so the right one. Life wouldn't be as good without the courage of #26. I glance over to the left and see #30 and smile..."Finally" I say to #30....you made one of the best decisions and finally married the love of your life. Remember when you met her? #22 does. I was going to have some fun with #33 but he is barely able to keep his eyes open with his new daughter. She's a handful #33 as #34-#44 can attest to. #41-#42 has some sadness and I go over to them and tell them it will be alright. Luckily for all of us, the doctors found the cancer and your wife will be ok. It will be a long road but she is great and you both are still very happy. BTW, the Ravens win the SB very soon so get ready!!!!!! #43. You made the right decision and you are really enjoying your new job and opportunity. It's always tough changing jobs but you are doing well and love going into the office..... And to Future #45. I only wish the best for you (and us). Keep doing what you are doing. Don't sweat the small stuff and love your friends and family whenever you can. With that, we will start the Intellivision Hockey Tournament (#10 is still the odds on favorite!!).
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	My dearest iterations, I have sat through enough of these speeches to know that none of you want to listen to what an old fart has to say for very long, except for those of you who will be at the podium in the next few years. But if you could please give me a few minutes of your attention, I would like to issue you a warning. You see, I know that as the oldest member here, it is quite possible that I won't be speaking to you next year. And for the sake of all of us, realize that I am far too young for that. 18 through 30, I would like each of you to stand up. I am now holding each of you accountable, and I want every other one of me to hold them accountable as well. Stop. Smoking. Please. And lose the weight. Finish school. There are so many things we can do, and its taken me this long to see it in each of your eyes: your potential, your intellect. Wake up! You will not be 23 forever. And even at your age your window of opportunity to change things is very, very small. I think that that's about all of the time I have. This is 52, good night.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	My dearest iterations, I have sat through enough of these speeches to know that none of you want to listen to what an old fart has to say for very long, except for those of you who will be at the podium in the next few years. But if you could please give me a few minutes of your attention, I would like to issue you a warning. You see, I know that as the oldest member here, it is quite possible that I won't be speaking to you next year. And for the sake of all of us, realize that I am far too young for that. 18 through 30, I would like each of you to stand up. I am now holding each of you accountable, and I want every other one of me to hold them accountable as well. Stop. Smoking. Please. And lose the weight. Finish school. There are so many things we can do, and its taken me this long to see it in each of your eyes: your potential, your intellect. Wake up! You will not be 23 forever. And even at your age your window of opportunity to change things is very, very small. I think that that's about all of the time I have. This is 52, good night.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	My dearest iterations, I have sat through enough of these speeches to know that none of you want to listen to what an old fart has to say for very long, except for those of you who will be at the podium in the next few years. But if you could please give me a few minutes of your attention, I would like to issue you a warning. You see, I know that as the oldest member here, it is quite possible that I won't be speaking to you next year. And for the sake of all of us, realize that I am far too young for that. 18 through 30, I would like each of you to stand up. I am now holding each of you accountable, and I want every other one of me to hold them accountable as well. Stop. Smoking. Please. And lose the weight. Finish school. There are so many things we can do, and its taken me this long to see it in each of your eyes: your potential, your intellect. Wake up! You will not be 23 forever. And even at your age your window of opportunity to change things is very, very small. I think that that's about all of the time I have. This is 52, good night.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	My dearest iterations, I have sat through enough of these speeches to know that none of you want to listen to what an old fart has to say for very long, except for those of you who will be at the podium in the next few years. But if you could please give me a few minutes of your attention, I would like to issue you a warning. You see, I know that as the oldest member here, it is quite possible that I won't be speaking to you next year. And for the sake of all of us, realize that I am far too young for that. 18 through 30, I would like each of you to stand up. I am now holding each of you accountable, and I want every other one of me to hold them accountable as well. Stop. Smoking. Please. And lose the weight. Finish school. There are so many things we can do, and its taken me this long to see it in each of your eyes: your potential, your intellect. Wake up! You will not be 23 forever. And even at your age your window of opportunity to change things is very, very small. I think that that's about all of the time I have. This is 52, good night.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	After everybody finishes socializing, the eldest iteration of myself gets up and begins the PowerPoint presentation. It begins with : "This is the same presentation every year, because the oldest version of me is always giving this damned speech, the same shit has always happened to all of you. This conference is a joke and a cruel one at that. I have elected to save this PowerPoint presentation for the next version of my eldest self before I die... because believe me, you would have made this exact same speech anyways. As a matter of fact you DID make this presentation! But it's actually me. What the hell is going on here... how is this possible?"	I approach the microphone, drink in hand and step onto the podium. I scan my eyes across the crowd of myself and think long and hard about the life I've lived. "Gents, I never was a man for words. Most of you know that." A polite laughter carries across the room. I raise my glass "I'll keep this short and to the point. Here's to all of you, who've helped me to be the man I am today."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Please go easy on me... Its my first time posting. Being the oldest one in the room it is now my turn to give "the toast". I stand wanting to lead my toast with everything that I have been working on but that is against our rules (spoilers). So I start to recite my toast. It's nothing special. We've all heard it many times before but some of us are to young to remember. The words flowing fluently off my tongue as if I were making them up on the spot. I stand there a puppet in my own body already knowing the outcome of this dreaded speech but now I believe I know my fate. MY whole life I have wondered how this gathering was possible. Everyone of me representing another year in my life. All of my mistakes and successes freshly written across their faces. After the speech ended I left the party. It was my time. At work the next day all of my coworkers stand around me wishing me luck. I am the first to be selected for this endeavor. Stepping into the large silver cylinder. I think of all the others at the party and understand now that I will never truly be gone. The sound of pulsing electromagnets begin. They are getting faster and faster until the pulsing sound becomes a loud hum. "Firing stage three" is announced over speakers that seem to be mostly faded by the increasing volume of the noise. Stage four should start to initiate any minute now. After doing the math and countless trials, we know the protons are going to impact at this spot. A muffled sound comes from the other room the hum is too loud now to make it out but it can only be the countdown for stage four. All I can do is think of the room that we somehow appear in year after year. The tube starts to glow and then the humming stops. I find myself back in the room that the party is held. Something feels different this time. No one can see or hear me but its more than just that. There is a door in the back of the room. I see myself up on the podium but already know the outcome of this party from every prospective. My only new outcome is to leave the room. As I walk through the doorway there is a blinding light refracting in every color. I wake up in a white room surrounded by blurry faces. A cheer erupts from the doctor standing above me. The same Doctor that thought he was condemning me to death when helping me into the LHC.	I approach the microphone, drink in hand and step onto the podium. I scan my eyes across the crowd of myself and think long and hard about the life I've lived. "Gents, I never was a man for words. Most of you know that." A polite laughter carries across the room. I raise my glass "I'll keep this short and to the point. Here's to all of you, who've helped me to be the man I am today."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	I approach the microphone, drink in hand and step onto the podium. I scan my eyes across the crowd of myself and think long and hard about the life I've lived. "Gents, I never was a man for words. Most of you know that." A polite laughter carries across the room. I raise my glass "I'll keep this short and to the point. Here's to all of you, who've helped me to be the man I am today."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	I approach the microphone, drink in hand and step onto the podium. I scan my eyes across the crowd of myself and think long and hard about the life I've lived. "Gents, I never was a man for words. Most of you know that." A polite laughter carries across the room. I raise my glass "I'll keep this short and to the point. Here's to all of you, who've helped me to be the man I am today."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	"OK you guys, I don't have anything to say that we haven't already told ourselves in previous years. It is pretty obvious that no matter what we tell ourselves, we forget it within a few days. This has been a pointless exercise with nothing to show but birthday hangovers. My real concern now is that, having come to this realization, we'll probably die before next year. Or, I will."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	"OK you guys, I don't have anything to say that we haven't already told ourselves in previous years. It is pretty obvious that no matter what we tell ourselves, we forget it within a few days. This has been a pointless exercise with nothing to show but birthday hangovers. My real concern now is that, having come to this realization, we'll probably die before next year. Or, I will."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	35 versions of myself stood in the warm room, lights dimmed slightly over dripping purple and reds that stained the walls. Each version held a different drink, defined by our life in each snippet of time we had. Age 5 held a sippy cup, enviously eying age 6 who proudly sported a mug, a true sign of being a big kid. Both of them had the same icy grape drink that our mom had us make from plastic tubes in the freezer. Age 10 suckled on a bottle of grape fanta every so often, not bothering to wait for any toast. Age 14 had a jug of port wine our friends left us to protect before they stopped being our friends some weeks later. Age 16 nursed a glass of straight vodka that us friends shared as we became one again. Age 17 gripped onto a cup of seco herrano and jugo de piña. Age 20 a bottle of Robitussin. Age 25 champagne. Age 30 water and a tablet of Oxycontin. And I, age 35, stood there with a calm blue mug of water and hemlock. As I stood up, the buzz of the room filtered out to leave the low monotonous sound of breathing. "This is an entirely different kind of overwhelming," I began, looking from my reflection in the drink to the crowd. "35 isn't really that big of a number, but, 14, you know what we planned." Over heads of brown curls, I found 14 year old me looking at myself in shock. Wasn't I ready by that age? "There's no point in alluding to anything though. Each of us will get what's ours," nobody responded. One of me coughed, I figured it to be one of the teens. It was around that time the bronchitis started hitting without relent. "I'm not a big fan of this, 'talk to yourself by the year'. It should be by the week. Maybe even by the minute. Each of us know we are consistently changing, morphed by everything that we do. Except for the babies maybe.." again an awkward silence drew over the room. "No, fuck that, even the babies. Look at us," I snorted. The room turned to the series of small, bald little girls teething on the arms of the chairs. One of them chortled a little as everyone's eyes dawned on them. We turned back on me and I froze up a little. There had to be some sort of conclusion. "I'm not going to tell any of you to change. I'm not going to tell any of you to reevaluate your coming drug problems or that chest pain that has been bothering you since middle school. I'm definitely not going to tell any of you to be more careful or to take better care of yourselves. Each of you has done perfectly. Each of you has been created and has created a human just as perfectly imperfect as the rest," I finally got it out of my system. I was a tough crowd to please, but some of me smiled. Some of me were crying. Some of me were angry as hell, unsatisfied with my dangling excuse of a life. I sighed. "Here's to this ridiculous clip of perception we've birthed." Each of us swigged down our drinks. I downed my hemlock brew and squeezed shut my irritated lids. Upon reopening them, I was no longer in that room. My body was writhing uncontrollably on the forest floor in a pain I could hardly believe existed. The trees swirled around and closed in on me through blurred lenses. I shrieked one last time, tasting oil and iron.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	35 versions of myself stood in the warm room, lights dimmed slightly over dripping purple and reds that stained the walls. Each version held a different drink, defined by our life in each snippet of time we had. Age 5 held a sippy cup, enviously eying age 6 who proudly sported a mug, a true sign of being a big kid. Both of them had the same icy grape drink that our mom had us make from plastic tubes in the freezer. Age 10 suckled on a bottle of grape fanta every so often, not bothering to wait for any toast. Age 14 had a jug of port wine our friends left us to protect before they stopped being our friends some weeks later. Age 16 nursed a glass of straight vodka that us friends shared as we became one again. Age 17 gripped onto a cup of seco herrano and jugo de piña. Age 20 a bottle of Robitussin. Age 25 champagne. Age 30 water and a tablet of Oxycontin. And I, age 35, stood there with a calm blue mug of water and hemlock. As I stood up, the buzz of the room filtered out to leave the low monotonous sound of breathing. "This is an entirely different kind of overwhelming," I began, looking from my reflection in the drink to the crowd. "35 isn't really that big of a number, but, 14, you know what we planned." Over heads of brown curls, I found 14 year old me looking at myself in shock. Wasn't I ready by that age? "There's no point in alluding to anything though. Each of us will get what's ours," nobody responded. One of me coughed, I figured it to be one of the teens. It was around that time the bronchitis started hitting without relent. "I'm not a big fan of this, 'talk to yourself by the year'. It should be by the week. Maybe even by the minute. Each of us know we are consistently changing, morphed by everything that we do. Except for the babies maybe.." again an awkward silence drew over the room. "No, fuck that, even the babies. Look at us," I snorted. The room turned to the series of small, bald little girls teething on the arms of the chairs. One of them chortled a little as everyone's eyes dawned on them. We turned back on me and I froze up a little. There had to be some sort of conclusion. "I'm not going to tell any of you to change. I'm not going to tell any of you to reevaluate your coming drug problems or that chest pain that has been bothering you since middle school. I'm definitely not going to tell any of you to be more careful or to take better care of yourselves. Each of you has done perfectly. Each of you has been created and has created a human just as perfectly imperfect as the rest," I finally got it out of my system. I was a tough crowd to please, but some of me smiled. Some of me were crying. Some of me were angry as hell, unsatisfied with my dangling excuse of a life. I sighed. "Here's to this ridiculous clip of perception we've birthed." Each of us swigged down our drinks. I downed my hemlock brew and squeezed shut my irritated lids. Upon reopening them, I was no longer in that room. My body was writhing uncontrollably on the forest floor in a pain I could hardly believe existed. The trees swirled around and closed in on me through blurred lenses. I shrieked one last time, tasting oil and iron.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	You mull about the party avoiding glances nobody's giving you. The air in your lungs feels heavy with anticipation, quite unlike the countless times you've been in this room before. Perhaps countless isn't the word to use, I'd prefer 38. A quick scan of the room reveals itself to you; masked men and women dance about the 37 party guests balancing silver trays on their finger tips. Below their brightly colored facades is nothing but a featureless patch of flesh. Like canvas stretched across a human skull. Staring into their "faces" causes you no sense of unease. You've never questioned them. You assume you never will. Every year since before you understood the repetitive concept of a year you've attended this event. You're there now you remember as you watch a infant being cradled by a young boy no older than you were when your youngest brother was born. The child giggles and babbles unintelligibly. The child kisses its forehead and holds it close. There were always so many people here, 38 seemed like a pretty big number at the time, and it was always very loud. After all with whom is the conversation better than with yourself? "Who's gonna speak this year?" A boy in an untucked shirt asked aloud. "The one with a bow-tie and the shaved head, child. He speaks every year." replied a man dressed in a fine suit. The wine glass he held scratched into the glistening gold ring on his third finger. You place your hand against your bare head, as if you were going to run your fingers through your hair like last year. A sense of dread collected at the bottom of your stomach. You were never afraid of speaking, you've heard the speech so many times you could easily recite it from memory. You had practiced the mantra in a mirror until the dictation and rhythm were flawless. No it wasn't the words that scared you. It was the little movements, the ticks, the sighs. Crack your index finger after 47 seconds, a nervous glance when the man with the sad eyes drops a glass. How would you remember all that with the mechanical precision of your predecessors? You think to yourself, "Everything has worked itself out up until now". Grabbing a glass of slender crystal and bubbling yellow liquid you make your way to the front of the room. A deep sigh fills your lungs until they feel as if they might fall through you. You close you eyes and tap the glass with your pitted and scarred gold ring. "Thank you all for coming, though I imagine you hadn't much choice in the matter." A sparse chuckle broke up the white noise of the party and silence embraced the room. "You all know why you're here of course. We've all won the lottery and got to be... well me." Another bad joke met with a slightly healthier laugh. "We come here to celebrate life. We celebrate the things we have achieved," Your eyes dart to a young man with his chin held high, "The love we have found," Another man raised his glass to you. His hand feels empty. "And the journey ahead of us. We appreciate the hardships and the obstacles for what they've taught us." The wait staff lined themselves like guards against the far wall behind the guests. None of them moved, they were frozen in place like a photograph of the last sight you'd ever see. You crack your finger against the glass. "Who they've molded us to be...", you trail off. The words seem bitter in your mouth. "Who they've molded us to be?!", you scream in your mind. "What a farce! What a joke! What absolute drivel! My obstacles have taught me nothing but the frailty and uselessness of a common life." The wait staff take a silent step forward as an advancing perfectly straight line, their fists clenched at their sides. You wash the words from your mouth with the glass in your hands and begin again, "Of course as the eldest of us all I'm expected to offer a piece of advice." The faceless assailants release their fists and their fingers fall to their sides. "As you walk through this life, keep in mind that you can always...". A glass shatters against the floor and a nervous silence falls upon the room. A thought arrives from the back of your mind. > What will it be like to die at 38? You glance at the man who had lost so much, picking up the shards of crystal from the floor. You try to contort the muscles in your face to continue the speech. You need to speak. You do. "Run." A slight gasp emits from the older of the group. You smile slyly, the faceless ones are suddenly upon the party goers. "I guess this is what it's like."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	You mull about the party avoiding glances nobody's giving you. The air in your lungs feels heavy with anticipation, quite unlike the countless times you've been in this room before. Perhaps countless isn't the word to use, I'd prefer 38. A quick scan of the room reveals itself to you; masked men and women dance about the 37 party guests balancing silver trays on their finger tips. Below their brightly colored facades is nothing but a featureless patch of flesh. Like canvas stretched across a human skull. Staring into their "faces" causes you no sense of unease. You've never questioned them. You assume you never will. Every year since before you understood the repetitive concept of a year you've attended this event. You're there now you remember as you watch a infant being cradled by a young boy no older than you were when your youngest brother was born. The child giggles and babbles unintelligibly. The child kisses its forehead and holds it close. There were always so many people here, 38 seemed like a pretty big number at the time, and it was always very loud. After all with whom is the conversation better than with yourself? "Who's gonna speak this year?" A boy in an untucked shirt asked aloud. "The one with a bow-tie and the shaved head, child. He speaks every year." replied a man dressed in a fine suit. The wine glass he held scratched into the glistening gold ring on his third finger. You place your hand against your bare head, as if you were going to run your fingers through your hair like last year. A sense of dread collected at the bottom of your stomach. You were never afraid of speaking, you've heard the speech so many times you could easily recite it from memory. You had practiced the mantra in a mirror until the dictation and rhythm were flawless. No it wasn't the words that scared you. It was the little movements, the ticks, the sighs. Crack your index finger after 47 seconds, a nervous glance when the man with the sad eyes drops a glass. How would you remember all that with the mechanical precision of your predecessors? You think to yourself, "Everything has worked itself out up until now". Grabbing a glass of slender crystal and bubbling yellow liquid you make your way to the front of the room. A deep sigh fills your lungs until they feel as if they might fall through you. You close you eyes and tap the glass with your pitted and scarred gold ring. "Thank you all for coming, though I imagine you hadn't much choice in the matter." A sparse chuckle broke up the white noise of the party and silence embraced the room. "You all know why you're here of course. We've all won the lottery and got to be... well me." Another bad joke met with a slightly healthier laugh. "We come here to celebrate life. We celebrate the things we have achieved," Your eyes dart to a young man with his chin held high, "The love we have found," Another man raised his glass to you. His hand feels empty. "And the journey ahead of us. We appreciate the hardships and the obstacles for what they've taught us." The wait staff lined themselves like guards against the far wall behind the guests. None of them moved, they were frozen in place like a photograph of the last sight you'd ever see. You crack your finger against the glass. "Who they've molded us to be...", you trail off. The words seem bitter in your mouth. "Who they've molded us to be?!", you scream in your mind. "What a farce! What a joke! What absolute drivel! My obstacles have taught me nothing but the frailty and uselessness of a common life." The wait staff take a silent step forward as an advancing perfectly straight line, their fists clenched at their sides. You wash the words from your mouth with the glass in your hands and begin again, "Of course as the eldest of us all I'm expected to offer a piece of advice." The faceless assailants release their fists and their fingers fall to their sides. "As you walk through this life, keep in mind that you can always...". A glass shatters against the floor and a nervous silence falls upon the room. A thought arrives from the back of your mind. > What will it be like to die at 38? You glance at the man who had lost so much, picking up the shards of crystal from the floor. You try to contort the muscles in your face to continue the speech. You need to speak. You do. "Run." A slight gasp emits from the older of the group. You smile slyly, the faceless ones are suddenly upon the party goers. "I guess this is what it's like."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	"So, you got the items, and the plan is set in motion. We've all come a long way, and to the younger crowd, I apologize already. Things are going to become a bit... rough, from now on. There is no reason this should affect you, and I'm pretty sure you can do without. I'd like my younger self to leave, see to it." A bit of movement came from the crowd, as several of my spitting image force the younger versions of myself out from the double doors of the ballroom. Some protesting was heard, even some crying. "Doors been locked? Thanks a lot. Did you get the wool cap? Good. It has the hairs, and all? Great! Then let's get down to business. It's been 10 years since this started. When he moved in, little did we know just how badly it would end. Compared to his status, and power, we just don't have much we can do to hurt this motherfucker. He could probably buy us out 100 times over." "Damn right" said a previous version of myself. The only two words that came from that mouth all night. "Well, there's one aspect he cannot buy himself out of. It's foolproof. Once you've killed me, he's going to get imprisoned for the rest of his life. There's only two people in this room, as far as evidence goes, me and him. You did make sure he hasn't got any alibi?" "He's sleeping next room over" said previous years me with a grin. "We'll get him inside here after it's done, make sure he has some fingerprints on you and all". "As according to plan. Don't get cocky now, this is when we can't make mistakes. Now, after I've said my final words, you make sure it looks like I fought back. With this I'd like to propose a toast!" A lot of glasses were raised, but not a single word was spoken from the small remaining crowd. "I'd like to toast to revenge! That's why we're all here, and that's also why we've been using so much time and effort. Tonight is the night! It all pays off! That cocksucker is going to learn his lesson, when we take him out of the same society that put us on the bottom and him on the top. Nobody is invincible, and especially not when you fuck with the wrong person. We are that wrong person. There's not going to be much of a crowd after tonight, so enjoy our own company while it lasts. We're finally going to be free from the hatred, the guilt, the poverty, it all ends tonight! Thank you to all of you, and this toast goes to us. For the life we didn't get to live." Everyone took a sip from their glass, and with that, a knife was drawn.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	"So, you got the items, and the plan is set in motion. We've all come a long way, and to the younger crowd, I apologize already. Things are going to become a bit... rough, from now on. There is no reason this should affect you, and I'm pretty sure you can do without. I'd like my younger self to leave, see to it." A bit of movement came from the crowd, as several of my spitting image force the younger versions of myself out from the double doors of the ballroom. Some protesting was heard, even some crying. "Doors been locked? Thanks a lot. Did you get the wool cap? Good. It has the hairs, and all? Great! Then let's get down to business. It's been 10 years since this started. When he moved in, little did we know just how badly it would end. Compared to his status, and power, we just don't have much we can do to hurt this motherfucker. He could probably buy us out 100 times over." "Damn right" said a previous version of myself. The only two words that came from that mouth all night. "Well, there's one aspect he cannot buy himself out of. It's foolproof. Once you've killed me, he's going to get imprisoned for the rest of his life. There's only two people in this room, as far as evidence goes, me and him. You did make sure he hasn't got any alibi?" "He's sleeping next room over" said previous years me with a grin. "We'll get him inside here after it's done, make sure he has some fingerprints on you and all". "As according to plan. Don't get cocky now, this is when we can't make mistakes. Now, after I've said my final words, you make sure it looks like I fought back. With this I'd like to propose a toast!" A lot of glasses were raised, but not a single word was spoken from the small remaining crowd. "I'd like to toast to revenge! That's why we're all here, and that's also why we've been using so much time and effort. Tonight is the night! It all pays off! That cocksucker is going to learn his lesson, when we take him out of the same society that put us on the bottom and him on the top. Nobody is invincible, and especially not when you fuck with the wrong person. We are that wrong person. There's not going to be much of a crowd after tonight, so enjoy our own company while it lasts. We're finally going to be free from the hatred, the guilt, the poverty, it all ends tonight! Thank you to all of you, and this toast goes to us. For the life we didn't get to live." Everyone took a sip from their glass, and with that, a knife was drawn.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	I'm the oldest one here. I know we've always wondered what that meant. I still don't know why we've never met 35. I know we always hoped every year, that he would show up. That he had been too busy. Maybe he's developed a funny sense of humor. A practical joke. But he's not here. And I don't think he'll ever be. And for that, I'm sorry. We apparently can't choose when this party ends. But I want to choose how. And I can't, unless each and everyone of you is with me. Make us proud.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	I'm the oldest one here. I know we've always wondered what that meant. I still don't know why we've never met 35. I know we always hoped every year, that he would show up. That he had been too busy. Maybe he's developed a funny sense of humor. A practical joke. But he's not here. And I don't think he'll ever be. And for that, I'm sorry. We apparently can't choose when this party ends. But I want to choose how. And I can't, unless each and everyone of you is with me. Make us proud.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	"So you're saying I should invest?" I laughed at my younger self. "Yes, 20. Invest in Graycom Inc and make sure to spend that three thousand you're saving up." "But I was gonna spend it on Valerie..." He caught the look in my eyes. "We break up?" "Hate to break it to ya buddy, but yeah, you do. She's a dud, move on already." I moved down the line, laughing at 18. "Rough party?" "I hate you." He muttered. "You could have told me last year." "Well I didn't. And I won't. It serves as a reminder." "it's a tattoo." "Permanent reminder," I admitted. "Rule number one, don't ever agree to anything while drunk." He flipped me off and shuffled away. I laughed and continued to hand out spoilers and advice, all the way down the line. Altering my life for the better, I thought. But then I saw 24, standing off in a corner, as always. I went over to him. "Hey." "Fuck off." I winced as I remembered saying it. 24 was a deep, dark place. 24 was not my favorite year. "You've gotta stop screwing around, man. You've got a whole life ahead of you; enough of this cutting bullshit." "You wouldn't know." This same, timeless dialogue. Over and over in this room full of impossibilities. "I do know. It'll get better, I promise." I clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the microphone that was standing on the stage. "Attention, everyone. For those of you who can understand me, stop fucking around and listen. I'm 29. Yeah, 29. Oh boy, the oldest one here. Well that's fucking ass. We got a shitty deal, oh well. So we didn't get to live a long, amazing, wonderfully beautiful life. So we wasted it, on drugs and booze and cheap chicks. So we're a bunch of manic depressives who can hardly get out of bed in the morning. You know what? It doesn't mater. Each of you is living out their own life and you can live it however you want. Enjoy it while it lasts because it's really, really short. Oh and don't ever let go of the people you love. In the end, they're all that matter. This is the last time I'm going to be here, so thanks for paying some degree of attention. And 28, get on writing that will I told you about." After some degree of silence, I stepped down and headed towards the door, knowing what awaited me on the other side. I took a deep breath, muttered "Fuck it" to myself and walked through it to my death.	You did everything right even when it was wrong. It got you here. It made you strong. There are no regrets and no shame. There is no reason to play the blame game. Your faults and your follys are what drive you along. I'm sorry tonight is the last time you hear this song. Yes, this is the reason I'm the last of us. After this, you will not see me again because I cannot stand to see any of you and I no longer need your "wisdom". Every time I have attended these meetings, you lorded information over me like you were some guru or learned sage. You're just a foolish boy who thinks they know it all. I, like you, groaned every time I had to hear that lame song. How can such things be said when we did this or did that. How can things be OK when we feel so guilty? Too bad. You won't know now or ever. Once you get to this point in life, the words will simply come out and it will be the same forever. I have spent the last year guarding myself from the trickery of this place. I have enclosed every facet of curiousity and wonder. Forever more, we ask no more questions and we tell no more lies. So, drink up and enjoy. Tonight is your last because I am closing the doors to this wicked place of foreknowledge. YOU CANNOT KNOW AND YOU DO NOT CARE. THE ANSWERS ARE NOT FOR YOU. GOODNIGHT!
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	You did everything right even when it was wrong. It got you here. It made you strong. There are no regrets and no shame. There is no reason to play the blame game. Your faults and your follys are what drive you along. I'm sorry tonight is the last time you hear this song. Yes, this is the reason I'm the last of us. After this, you will not see me again because I cannot stand to see any of you and I no longer need your "wisdom". Every time I have attended these meetings, you lorded information over me like you were some guru or learned sage. You're just a foolish boy who thinks they know it all. I, like you, groaned every time I had to hear that lame song. How can such things be said when we did this or did that. How can things be OK when we feel so guilty? Too bad. You won't know now or ever. Once you get to this point in life, the words will simply come out and it will be the same forever. I have spent the last year guarding myself from the trickery of this place. I have enclosed every facet of curiousity and wonder. Forever more, we ask no more questions and we tell no more lies. So, drink up and enjoy. Tonight is your last because I am closing the doors to this wicked place of foreknowledge. YOU CANNOT KNOW AND YOU DO NOT CARE. THE ANSWERS ARE NOT FOR YOU. GOODNIGHT!
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	All of them were here. Well, all of me was here...whatever that meant. I had to admit I was still not fully grapsing the concept of meeting all my past selves... As I sat off to the side, 24, wondering what to say to the rest of them. Eighteen wasn't here and wouldn't be. I remembered why and where. Three was heartbroken, somewhere in Alabama, far out of the reach of a destructive hurricane. He'd get over it, but I wish I could have seen him and told him to appreciate the time away from Florida spent with his aunt Sandra and uncle Wayne. They'd be gone only seven or so years later. "Move on" I told nineteen, "You have to accept that people will sometimes disappear and never come back." "That was harsh" I thought to myself, but he needed to hear it even if it didn't change anything. "Twenty, I want you to realize that sometimes, you cannot save everyone." He wouldn't understand it now, but maybe, maybe I could save him, as ironic as that thought was, considering my advice. "What do you mean by that?", he asked. "Spoilers" I simply replied. After all, one shouldn't mess with the past too much. The thought occurred to me to speak to the younger ones, but I couldn't bring myself to teach them a hard lesson in a few minutes, in one night, knowing full well it would take months, maybe even years to learn. No, they were better left innocent. "Twenty one, twenty two, please hear me out...once a bridge is burned, it cannot always be rebuilt. Be kind. Understand that there is more than just your own selfish perspective when it comes to the people around you. You understand that the world works this way, just miniaturize it to your own little cosmos." There he was, the closest to me, the twenty third. His drink was empty. I could see the burning void in his eyes. So full of broken yet rebuilding passion. Twenty three, so full of energy and anger and hope. Another trip to the bar. He caught me staring. He looked at me, as if he'd seen the answer, but was still working out the equation. Then, it was as if he didn't care what the answer was...he was going to walk over anyways, glass, half empty again already in his hand. "You, twenty three...borne of fire and ice and wrath and calculating calmness...forgive yourself. Forgive others." "The others...why not give them a chance to talk back?", he asked. "Because I already knew what they were going to say...because they were already set in time. I could only give them an idea to cling to. They won't remember much of this place once they leave...only an idea will remain. They might think it was God, or their own innner strength giving them the idea." "But I...we didn't...", he interrupted. "Yeah, I know. We didn't believe in God much past poor twenty over there. But they must believe the idea came from something inside...their own higher power, whatever it may be." He took another drink, emptying the glass. "Then why take the time to engage me in a lengthy discussion? If everything is so set..." "Because you and I are not far off. You and I are close enough that it won't change. Because I have to be this man tonight and that cannot change. Because after tonight..." "After tonight...what?" he replied, taking the next drink offered by the barman. "You have to be strong enough to not to take your own life, but to give it willingly. The others do not have that. You were willing to lay your life down once. Just because the chance disappeared then doesn't mean it'll be gone forever." He stood there, bewildered as to what that meant. He finished his drink and left. Realizing that it was time to go, I took one last look back...ten...a boy becoming a man that year...so much loss and heartache... Thirteen, awkward and learning to feel uncomfortable in his own skin...something the rest would never truly get over... Twenty two and her...they should never have met in the first place, in which case, no damage would ever have been done. Alas, nothing could be done about that now. Out the door and to the truck. Two clicks of the fob and the lights flash, the doors unlock. In the ignition and the familiar roar of the Detroit V8. A laugh. It'd be the last time I'd ever hear it. Two revs, a push on the brake and shift into park. Pulling out onto the street, I see a familiar car, headlights crossing onto the wrong side of the street. "He's right on time", I thought. "It won't hurt him a bit. But everyone else in that vehicle...."
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	ding, ding ding! A glass one quarter full of champagne is struck by the man at the center of the main table. A few hear, and turn, but not enough to really be noticeable. DING DING DI-- The glass shatters. "Awh fuck." Glass on the table, champagne all over my hand, and NOW I manage to grab everyone's attention. "Well, shit. Eh, fuck it." I say with a chuckle and the room shares my laughter. "Anyways, here we all are again this year, and I must say; What a bunch heart-breakers and life-takers you lot look like!" More chuckles and smiles. "It is great to see you all again. It is here, that I come and look out to the rest of you, and look back on our lives. The triumph, the loss. The defeat, and the victory. the best decisions, and then...well, just ask 21 about the rest that we may or may not remember." A younger man at the bar raises a glass with some whiskey, takes a short bow, and then returns to his drink, smoking a cigarette. "But all in all. The memories are the ones that make us. They are our footprint on the world. The trace we leave behind for others to see where we've been, what we've done, and how we've lived. We leave a mark on the world, so that others may see it, and look into us. And gentlemen, I wouldn't wish for any other than the life we live." A thunderous applause fills the room. "So now, at the close of another reunion, let us bow our heads and think of our life. of the ones we have gained, and the ones we have lost." In the corner of the room, 19 starts crying, thinking of her, and 22 comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. 25 thinks of his friends he made in the military, and the ones that never made it home. 34 looks into his hands, and is grateful for his wife and two children at home. 50 holds a flower, waiting to bring it home. "Now, who is up for another year of great food, good laughs, and the one that we can all relate to!" The mood lifts, and we are chatting again, milling around, and daring each other to drink more. As I start making my way towards the door, I see the room in slow motion. The smiles on our faces. the laughs we share, and the good times we are remembering. I reach the door, put my hand on the handle, and turn around. I scan the room at us, and feel a smile cracking on my lips. This. This has been a good life.	Here I sit at last, head of the table. As far from the shrieks and giggles of my childhood, the nonsensical babblings of my twenties, and the worries of my thirties. From here, all I can hear are the nice, roar of conversations from my mellow adulthood and the scritch-scratch of forks roaming near empty plates. I sit with the best view in the house. Odds on the left, and evens on the right. Numerical order is key to a happy Me Dinner. It is strange to see them all in rows now rather than to be one among them. They’re chatting, laughing and telling jokes, egging their futures for insider info and looking at their pasts with one of either unbridled pity, or exuberant excitement. And how much more discontent the left side seems to be! 12, 15, 21, 27, 35. Yeah, those were some rough years. Funny I had never before noticed such an obvious pattern. I turn my eyes toward the far end of the table, I’ve made a habit of looking for 17 every year. That’s the year the “cool” Me’s decide get Me drunker than Dionysus. Yep, there I am, taking a cat nap in my spaghetti, drool and tomato sauce all over my stupid face. I chuckle to myself as my gaze crawls past the ever so slightly changing faces until I’m looking at the senile crack-pots on my left and right. Their expectant eyes are on me, they know its time, I know its time. The creaking of my chair issues an abrupt silence in the room as I stand, all eyes are on me. “Hello everyone.. My name is Me.” “HELLO ME! MY NAME IS ME.” The response is deafening, coming from every voice in the room with a command over language. It’s an opening gag, its used every year and it never gets old. “My selves! Thank you for coming! I hope you all had a great time eating our favorite foods and drinking our favorite drinks. I’ll remind you all not to let this go to your head tomorrow, narcissism is all fun and games until it gets you back-handed upside the head.” This is followed by another peal of laughter and some hearty hear-hears. “In all my years I have never come to understand what, or how this happens, but I have come to understand exactly what I have learned from it.” Some bored murmurings come from early adolescence but are cut short by roars of protest for silence. I take a drink of water and a deep breath, I’m getting tired. ”I have learned that you can never stop looking back, and you can never stop looking forward. There is much to be learned from the first, and much to look forward to in the second. I have learned that you can never stop loving yourself, even when you’re breaking your own heart. And best of all, I’ve learned that it wasn’t so bad, and that given the chance I would do it all again. So take that to heart my selves! It is all worth it in the end! To Me! Myself! And I!” I raise my glass high, and the sparkling champagne glitters in the light, reflecting decades of life and love in the many faces of the table before being downed in one definitive swallow.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	All alone, he gave a few tiny, content, gurgles of laughter. All was silent. It ended almost as soon as it had begun.	"So here we are then. ... You know what? Fuck it. I had the speech all written out, but fuck it. None of you really want to hear the speech do you? Yeah, I thought as much. You know, this whole affair sounded like a great idea at first. You remember, don't you 8? A chance to talk to all your selves one night a year? And you still don't quite get what's going on either. You're sitting there, wondering where everyone is. What's the big joke. Don't worry kid, you'll figure it out when you're 12. Speaking of which, where are you 12? Passed out? Oh, right. I'd already started drinking then. Well, that's ok. This affair isn't something he'll want to remember. I was kind of hoping to have come to terms with it by now, to have a little kernel of wisdom to share with you lot, but I'm afraid I don't. Maybe if I had a little more time. Time. Time. Time. That's all anyone seems to think about, but they never appreciate just how much they have left, or how quickly it goes away. Heh, I guess I'm just grateful I didn't die a virgin. Thanks for that 15 and do tell Jenny you love her ok? It's something she'll want to have heard. Oh and 15? Good luck on your speech next year. Hope you make it better than mine.
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.	Dearest Gold-Giving Redditer, Thank you so much for my first piece of gold and for appreciating my story. I definitely think I'll take time to get back into writing! Much Appreciation, The Chosen Ln E . I had known this moment was going to come for years. Or did I? I guess I never really remembered the age, specifically. I remembered attending, that's for sure. I remember having a good time. I remember 20 year old me thinking it would be funny to keep adding more liquor to the top of 15 year old me's glass, as payback for what 25 year old me had done 5 years ago. But I never remembered what we talked about. I never remembered the little quips and jokes that older me's would say, while he hid a smile behind their clenched lips, or sometimes a scowl. And most importantly, I never remembered the toast. But there was one thing that I did always remember. Getting home after the party and - sometimes that night, sometimes the next day, sometimes the following winter - finding a single note in my pocket. It never had more than a sentence on it, but it always seemed to be relevant... or at least it came to be relevant in the next 5 years. And now it was my turn. I didn't know that going into it, but after looking around and realizing that no one else had glasses quite as thick as mine, hair quite as white and patchy as mine, or skin quite as saggy as mine, it was kind of easy to guess who's turn it was. Most people would probably freak out at this point, but not me. Not us. To us, death wasn't really that scary of a thing. Or at least at this point, it wasn't. We had been given a completely unique opportunity to be able to have this gathering every five years, and with it we felt blessed. But alas, I was day dreaming. It was time for a toast. And, like always (or was it like always? I guess if I do it this way, then it must be like always.), I started from the beginning. Where was that little... shit. And that's what I was back then, a little shit. Always getting in to trouble, climbing on the counters, and evading time-outs like they were the plague. I realized it was so weird for me to look at him and realize that I used to be that small, three-something foot boy with his still-velcro sneakers and an addiction to picking his nose. What do I even tell a kid...no... a me that small? "Boy, you've got a long life ahead of you. And although now, you want nothing more to be a fighter-jet pilot, you're going to be something so much more. You're going to be a lover. You're going to be a fighter. You're going to be a man, and a husband, and someone who changes the world of those that he loves. So for you, I give you this advice." So he scuttled forward, almost tripping over the anxiety of walking in front of the 14 other people in the room, in order to grab the note I held in my hands. > Life is more than toys and imaginary games; remember that you will find your true happiness in bringing happiness to others. But he wasn't supposed to know that yet. And, like I said, he was a little shit, so of course he... I started opening it. With a wag of my finger and a "no, no, no", I kindly reminded him that if he read it now, he wouldn't remember it when he left. A look of rejection slammed across his face, followed by a grumpy crossing of his arms and a cute little march back to his original seat. And next was 10 year old me. I already knew this was going to end poorly, so why did it even matter. Apparently me at that age did not like to listen to my elders. But... to keep the mood positive, I spotted him... again me out. Long brown hair, jeans and a button down plaid shirt. And I still wore that necklace with the little shells on it. Who gave that to me again...? I guess it didn't matter. "Oh look! You've grown so much, it's like I haven't seen you in five years!" A groan... but come on... this was my toast. "There's not much to say to you, since we all already know that you're going to ruin this whole thing. So I'll keep it short: listen to your parents. I promise they know what's best for you. So for you, I give you this advice." > Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked. Would the time line change if I gave him something different? I don't know. I don't know that I'd want it to change. But you could see the looks of excitement on everyone's faces. Well, all but 5's face. They knew what was going to happen, and it was going to be hilarious. But on to 15, who was... where was he? Oh, the bathroom. Someone can't hold your liquor. "20, can you go grab 15, you ass." He chuckled and did this little jig as he turned around towards the bathrooms. Sure enough 15 came out, supported completely by 20, and was propped into a chair just off the front of the room. "Hey buddy.... can you understand me?" Incoherent Grunt "Yeah, that's what I remembered. Is this the night I stopped drinking vodka?" I asked the crowd. 25 chimed in: "No, it was definitely your 21st birthday." Older me's giggled, and 20 just sighed, knowing that it would be just another year until that regrettable night. "So back to you 15 -" another grunt "- You're not going to remember a single thing that happens tonight. But this might be one of the most important notes you receive here, tonight." I went to hand it to him, but remembered that I was absolutely smashed, and thus handed it to 20 instead to put in his chest pocket. > Never hit her. The rest went by faster, as the memories became more and more resent. A lot of the older me's understood that the verbal part of the toast was going to be forgotten anyways, and just came up to get their cards as soon as they realized it was their turn. 20: > Yes, you do want to marry her. 25: > Just let her pick the name; otherwise you'll never hear the end of it. 30: > The small job in Seattle will make you a lot happier than your bigger job in Detroit. 35: > Treat your girl like a princess; respect breeds respect. 40: > No matter how hard things become, never give up on your wife. 45: > Please look both ways before crossing the street. It was at this point that 10 decided he couldn't wait any longer and opened up the note. "What's with this, grandpa?" He shouted from the back while standing on top of his chair. "How am I supposed to learn anything from "Stupid kid, you know you shouldn't have looked"? "That's the point, smart-ass. You were going to look anyways. Might as well make it funny!" Everyone laughed, 10 sat down, now angry that the joke was directed at him, and we continued with the toast. 50: > The cancer is temporary, but if she gives up hope she will be forever damaged; do not let that happen. 55: > Give your grand-kids all the attention that you gave your children; soon they're going to need help with losing their father. 60: > The new boyfriend is a molester; get him out before it's too late. 65: > Take the extra time to volunteer; it's not work but it will bring you just as much joy. 70: > If you leave the hospital for a smoke, she will pass away while you're gone. [This is continued in a comment because apparently 10280 characters isn't close enough to 10000 to count.]	"So here we are then. ... You know what? Fuck it. I had the speech all written out, but fuck it. None of you really want to hear the speech do you? Yeah, I thought as much. You know, this whole affair sounded like a great idea at first. You remember, don't you 8? A chance to talk to all your selves one night a year? And you still don't quite get what's going on either. You're sitting there, wondering where everyone is. What's the big joke. Don't worry kid, you'll figure it out when you're 12. Speaking of which, where are you 12? Passed out? Oh, right. I'd already started drinking then. Well, that's ok. This affair isn't something he'll want to remember. I was kind of hoping to have come to terms with it by now, to have a little kernel of wisdom to share with you lot, but I'm afraid I don't. Maybe if I had a little more time. Time. Time. Time. That's all anyone seems to think about, but they never appreciate just how much they have left, or how quickly it goes away. Heh, I guess I'm just grateful I didn't die a virgin. Thanks for that 15 and do tell Jenny you love her ok? It's something she'll want to have heard. Oh and 15? Good luck on your speech next year. Hope you make it better than mine.

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