Slipping Between Threads

20251228

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 4” event.

CW: Off-screen suicide.

As a child, Harold’s ‘split existence’ didn’t bother him. He didn’t even understand what adults meant when they talked to him about it. He just smiled and nodded and that seemed to work. Them asking about everything changing once the sun set, then making a big deal about what he described, bemused him but wasn’t more perplexing than many things grownups did.
So he didn’t think about it.
During daylight next door had a puppy, after dark they still had their old dog. That’s how the world worked.
Sometimes he’d do his homework before dark and it would be undone after sunset, or even be for a different lesson altogether than the one he’d had that day. That’s how the world worked.
Sometimes after sunset the weather would not only be suddenly different, it would have clearly been different all day; mud turned to dry grass or vice versa. That’s how the world worked.
It was after his grandma died that he started to understand. Not because the experience was traumatic - he was too young and hadn’t known her very well. But there were several months where during the day granny was dead and everyone was sad about it, yet during the night granny was alive and his parents insisted on him joining the video calls to her in hospital.
Keeping everything straight became very confusing. And, while his parents quickly figured out why he kept getting it wrong and were understanding, him thinking that granny was alive when she was dead (or dead when she was alive) was deeply painful for them.
After that, everything about ‘you were born in a between-time, so you slip between strands of time’ finally made sense, and he started trying to sort out in his head what parts of his life belonged to which strand.
Spotting the differences became a game. He began writing them down in a diary during the day, and left a note at night telling his ‘other self’ what the code was. A few days later he found a diary one night… and the code for it was waiting on the kitchen table in the morning.
This was very exciting, because his parents - both sets of his parents - only had the code for the diary in the ‘other place’. Harold and his other self had a secret!
He was diligent about noting down everything that seemed relevant for his other self, and reviewing the notes his other self left him in kind. It helped him keep everything straight. Day time was day time, and night time was night time, and he had his head around it.
While there were many snafus along the way his split nature didn’t cause him particular problems until it came time to pick unis. Both his selves had to be living in the same place, or else once the sun set (or rose) they’d be shunted to the other thread and end up in what was here someone else’s home.
After much negotiation via letters the Harolds decided to simply keep living with their parents and go to the local university. A decision Harold was sad about but which the other Harold seemed fine with.
Good for him.
Then there was the fact that Harold wasn’t sure what degree he wanted, whereas the other Harold was set on computing. So everyone - all four of his parents, and both sets of school staff - said Harold should get a computing degree as well.
It would complicate things for everyone if he insisted on a different degree. Why, imagine having to juggle a degree in only half a day! (Less, given that for most of the academic year night-time was longer than day.) All the extra measures he would require, and the hassle involved… no, no, it would be selfish for him to inflict that on everyone just because he wasn’t sure about doing computing. He’d learn to love it. Like the other Harold did.
So Harold filled out the forms - a formality, since the other Harold had already gotten a provisional place. And resigned himself to studying computing.
After that their diaries were more about studying than spotting differences. But the odd one slipped through.
The other Harold loved meatball subs, whereas Harold thought they were spongy and always went for tacos.
The other Harold got a bike, which meant Harold needed to learn how to ride it to get home from uni.
The other Harold got into theatre, so during the day Harold had to deal with texts from the other Harold’s night-time friends, forgetting the other Harold wasn’t here right now.
Then, just before Christmas break, the other Harold started dating Jemima, who thought Harold was a dork. Imagining dealing with holidays, plus studying for exams, plus juggling having a relationship part of the time and keeping it all straight… Harold decided that this was just too complicated.
It would be much better if there was one Harold. And the other Harold seemed far better at being Harold than him.
So.
_~*~
The memorial had two coffins, one empty. Everyone mourned over both. A tragedy, it was agreed in hushed, mournful tones which held only a hint of guilt, of wondering if they could have prevented this.
Jemima wept brokenly in the corner, while the Harolds’ mother gently assured her this wasn’t her fault.
Harolds’ father gave a shaky speech about how proud he had been of his son, both pieces of him, and how dearly missed Harold would be. “Across this world and another.”
And everyone wondered, though they didn’t say a word, whether Harold had known what he was doing, or if he hadn’t realised what ‘the two halves can never truly be separated’ meant, and that he would drag his whole self with him.

Prompt was: “Those born on the winter solstice live two lives: one in light, one in dark. Most never notice—the lives blur together. You just discovered yours are diverging.”