Sam Logan

Ages come and go, ceaselessly without fail,
History and prophecy the lives of mankind's tales.
And lo another story starts to flow
As across the land the wind doth blow...

The wind carried an interesting mix of scents – fresh mown grass, the salty spray of the ocean, and the fading wisps of incense from the funeral. There were smiles as well as tears during the service, but all of Sam’s friends said that the ceremony was exactly as he would have wanted it. He lived a “full and complete life”, they all said, full “of love, of laughter, of memories”. He had raised three fine boys; he was a loving and devoted husband, he was a friend to anyone in need. He was the man people looked up to and taught their children to be like when they grew up. And yet, Sam Logan had hardly lived at all. He died taking a single step along his life.



Sam Logan was unlike any other human being ever to exist on this earth. There was one man, a librarian known as H. d’T., who came close to Sam’s condition, but Sam’s uniqueness in this universe is concrete. For some strange reason - be it Fate, a curse, some divine lesson, or an unfortunate genetic coincidence – Sam did not live life like you or I. He had no concept of “yesterday”… but it’s not what you’re undoubtedly thinking. There was no amnesia, no memory issues. His memory was just fine; it just only told the future. You see, Sam lived his life backwards; while everyone else was content to let gravity pull the sands of time down through our hourglass lives, Sam was forever climbing up the flow. When he lay down to sleep at night, it wasn’t tomorrow that woke him – it was yesterday. Yesterday was brand new to him and only him, while tomorrow was just a memory of his day before. And if you’re as confused as I was when I first heard his story, well, don’t worry; you’ll see in a moment what I really mean.

The last of the dirt fell on his coffin, and soon the setting sun bid its final adieu to Sam’s life. The darkness of night soon had its chance to welcome Sam’s lifeless body into the final embrace of Mother Earth… and then it happens.

March 16, 2054
An alarm rings and a hand reaches out to quiet its attempts to wake him. Sam laid in bed for a while, confused by where he was. Who was he? Where was he? Who is this woman laying next to him? What is my name? WHO AM I? He tried to get up, but found his old body just didn’t want to respond anymore. The woman next to him, Constance, stirred from her sleep and rolled over. They had been married for 46 years now, and after 46 years of marriage, you don’t have to be awake to know something’s wrong with your Love.

“What’s wrong Sam?” She asked softly. Her eyes are as clear a blue as the day when they first met.

Sam said nothing. He didn’t know what to say, what to think. He didn’t even know who this woman was next to him. With a feeble yell, he hoisted himself out of bed and stumbled down the stairs, only to find himself staring at an unknown hall in an unknown home. He lurched disoriented out the door into the morning light. Sensations bombarded him – sounds smells, sights, feelings, emotions. It’s too much to make sense of all at once, and all he could do was collapse onto his front porch. Constance held him as he lay in her arms, shaking like a newborn baby, trying to make sense of this complicated world around him. She rocked him slowly with all the love a human can give, but he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see anything. For hours they lay there. Occasionally Sam’s fit of sobs would die down and be replaced by bursts of anger. He’d scream and yell with the panic and fear of a newborn child, and Constance would do her best to comfort him. Evening finally fell, and Sam slowly drifted off to sleep. What a way to live the last day of your life. What a way to live the first day of your life.

March 15, 2054
An alarm rings and the same hand reaches out to shut it off. Sam laid in bed again, confused by his past. He has a day’s worth of memory this morning; he can remember the confusion, panic, and terror of his first day on this world. He fought the urge to run screaming from his bed like he had yesterday, and instead tried to focus his spinning mind on what he knew. “Okay. What’s going on? Who am I? Who is this woman next to me? Let me try to talk to her. How do I talk?” Slowly Sam opened his mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was thinking about this too much. Constance rolled over onto her side, and opened her clear blue eyes with a smile.

“Good morning Sam,” she whispered softly. And then, before he knew what was happening, Sam responded. “Who am I?” He didn’t mean to say these words, they just came unconsciously from within.

“What do you mean, who are you?” She said with a smile, “You’re the most loving husband, devoted father, grandfather, and human I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t remember any of it. I don’t believe you. I don’t know you, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know anything”. There was panic in his voice.

Slowly Constance’s smile faded. “Are you being serious honey? This isn’t funny.” She sat up in bed and looked Sam in the eyes.

The remaining day was a blur of sobs, tears, and wails. Constance took Sam to the hospital fearing all kinds of mental diseases and dementia. There were lots of men in white coats. There were many tests. There were many drugs. And all the while Sam was just trying to find out what the hell was going on. He was starting to peace it together. Apparently his name was Sam Logan, and he was 73 years old. He had a wife Constance, some kids, some grandkids, had a job, was retired, was involved in his community. And yet he couldn’t remember it all. The men in white coats talked a lot about “advanced stages of dementia, hallucinations, multiple personality disorders, amnesia” and a whole lot of other things that Sam had no idea as to what it was all about. The odd thing is, Constance didn’t seem to remember his outburst and confusion and time spent on the porch yesterday. No one seemed to know anything about yesterday. As the evening came to a close, Sam was being admitted to the hospital for observation during the night, and to “make sure he doesn’t do any harm to himself”. The men in white coats tied him to his bed, and the screams of anguish and confusion filled the hospital halls long into the night.

March 14, 2054
The alarm rang again. With a start Sam jumped up out of bed. His own bed. Why wasn’t he at the hospital? His sudden action had woken Constance, and she rolled over sleepily.

“Constance.” It was as if he was trying out her name for the first time.
“Yes dear?”
“What did we do yesterday?” There was almost no fear in his voice.
“We went and visited Jason, remember? Is everything alright?” Now concern started to creep into her voice.
“Everything is fine. I just… I just feel a little ill is all.” He had no idea who Jason was. One of his kids maybe? Grandkids? Who knew.

Constance made Sam breakfast, and he ate slowly. Everything was a new experience to him – his only memories had been of the last (or was it next?) two days – not a whole lot of events to base life on. These, what are they? Eggs? Eggs. They’re delicious. Sam decided he liked eggs. After breakfast Sam took a walk outside his house. Constance insisted on joining him, especially since he wasn’t feeling well, but Sam needed to be alone. His thoughts bombarded him as he walked along. Okay. So apparently something very strange is going on. No one around me seems to have the same memories I have. Nothing I did yesterday had any effect on today. How come? And why did Constance say that we went somewhere yesterday and we clearly didn’t? I haven’t known her that long but she doesn’t seem like the lying type.

The rest of the day was lived in a somber haze. Sam sat and talked to Constance. He didn’t say a whole lot, but he listened, and tried to keep it all straight. She knew something was wrong with him, but she just chalked it up to him being a little ill. If he was still acting strange tomorrow, they might just have to go visit the doctor. He ate – and decided he likes pot roast a lot too. Evening gave way to night and his mind was spinning with everything he had learned today. It still didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him, but maybe tomorrow would be better.

March 13, 2054
“Wake up honey,” Constance was already dressed and walking around the room. “We’re going to go see Jason today. Remember?” She smiled with her pure blue eyes sparkling, and Sam sat up quickly.

“Um, okay.” Sam was taking the attitude that if he could just follow along and go with the flow, things might work out better.

It turns out Jason was their oldest son. He had two children of his own, and the sight of this family brought Sam almost to tears. The children came running out to meet Sam and Constance as soon as they opened the door. Jason stood with his arm around his wife and smiled slowly. There was pride in his eyes; he was proud of his kids, proud of his wife, proud to be his Dad’s son. There was so much love contained in one small area, and Sam couldn’t believe he had not a single memory of any of this.

They spent the day there, playing with the kids, talking about the weather. Even though Sam couldn’t remember a day of raising his boy or seeing his grandchildren be born, he couldn’t help but think that he had done alright. His son was a good man; he obviously loved his wife and his kids. Hopefully this whole memory thing would sort itself out and things would be back to normal.

As Sam lay down to sleep things started to make sense. Yesterday, I asked Constance what we had done the day before, and she said what we had done today. I have to remember to check the date tomorrow. I have an idea what’s happening...

2050 - 2054
And so Sam slowly began to realize what was going on. For some strange reason he was moving through time backwards; every tomorrow brought simply the day before. Bit by bit Sam pieced together who he was, and learned all of the things from the past that he hadn’t yet lived. It was odd to start everyday already knowing the future, and he often had to work hard to keep track of what he said or how he acted, but the truth of the matter was it didn’t really matter that much. The beauty of living backwards is that nothing he ever did in his waking moments had any effect on the past, so even if he spoke his mind one day, it was forgotten on the next.

Sam was in fact a great upstanding human being. Everyone kept telling him that. Everywhere he went he couldn’t escape the countless praises on his past accomplishments. Which was all well and good, but the truth of the matter is, is that in Sam’s mind all those past accomplishments could well have been some other person’s deeds. With no memory or recollection of the past, Sam had trouble finding a way to justify his supposed actions. He didn’t understand the motivations behind the apparent selflessness and devotion to family and friends. Granted, he loved the rewards, admiration, and respect he gained, but he was hard pressed to think that he’d be as selfless as everyone told him he was. And besides, he had a little secret.

It’s a funny thing when you can act out without any sort of consequences at all. It started out small; he’d say something less than flattering to Constance, put her into a mood, and not have to worry about it at all the next day. He could eat at the finest restaurants without paying, and never be any worse the wear. It wasn’t even about the money, it became the experience. He could curse and make babies cry, make his own family shun him, and then on the next day, everything would be fine. This was Sam’s secret – that little by little he began to enjoy acting out against society’s norms, just because he could. And bit by bit a part of his soul began to die as it became less and less about bending rules, and more and more about seeing the joy of cruelty.

It was starting to affect him. He missed the day Jason’s son was born. He hardly ever talked to his sons or wife anymore. People were starting to notice a change in him as well – of course it never really mattered since going to sleep seemed to reset everything for the prior day, but people looked at Sam with disappointment and disgust. “I guess you can’t always believe everything you hear,” they’d mutter.

2010 – 2050
The years became a blur. Sam discovered all of the mind and state altering substances that can make you feel incredibly good at the cost of great physical harm to the body. That is, great physical harm if you travel through time normally. To fund his daily fixes Sam discovered how truly easy crime is. Cash is really easy to find if you’re willing to forgo the consequences. The sins of the flesh soon consumed Sam as well; any type of pleasure can be found if you’re willing to pay the price. Constance would leave him almost daily, but each morning she’d be there again, blue eyes shining with pure love. Retirement came and went, but Sam never went into work. He was fired more times than he could remember. Sons came home from college, went to high school, played sports, learned to drive, learned to tie their shoes, were born. And Sam never really took part in any of it. All that mattered was that he get his daily fix and figured a new way to paint the world dark with cruelty.

His wedding day was a disaster. Constance left him at the altar after he decided to adlib a few lines. He never proposed on the day he was supposed to; he sold the ring for drug money. He dropped out of college, he failed his job interviews. His parents disowned him. Many times. With the life that Sam had lived, there was no way his funereal would have an ounce of the happiness or respect like the one that had opened his life; no one would come at all.

September 17th, 2010
Today was the day he was supposed to meet Constance for the first time. He’d heard a thousand times of how they’d first met:

It was a cold and wet September night. There was an opening of a new art gallery downtown, and the featured artist was a product of one of Sam’s philanthropic projects – bringing art to the inner city youth. The gallery was crowded, and Sam of course arrived fashionably late. He entered and began his mingling with the assorted artists from the program and other benefactors, but before he had broken into his first social circle, his eye was caught by the most beautiful display of artistry he had ever seen.

It wasn’t oil on canvas; it was flesh on bone. She held a plate of hours'dourves and her uniform was well pressed. Sam hated eating at these things, but he went over anyways. He smiled at her, took some toasted meat pastry, and made his way over to his student’s piece. He pretended to study the art, but it was eclipsed by the light behind him that he knew was the only sun he wanted to stare at, even if it meant being blind forever.

“It makes me feel alive.” Constance said as she nodded at the piece. And the way she said alive let Sam know that she understood it. He turned to her and looked her straight in the eyes. “I know the feeling. Pure beauty.” Their eyes never released their embrace.

Everyone had left long ago, but still Sam and Constance stood talking. Eventually the lights shut off, and Sam walked her home, sharing an umbrella the whole way. He walked her to her door, said good night, held her hand for a second too long, and waited until she disappeared into her home. Sam had the biggest smile on his face from that day forward, and he ran home on feet fueled by love.

It was cold and wet this September night. Sam grudgingly got dressed for the gallery opening. He was already high. He stumbled into the gallery loud and obnoxious, yelling greetings and criticisms to anyone who would listen. He saw Constance in the corner holding her platter, and walked over to talk to her.

“Hey. Gimme some of those.”

“Uh, sure thing sir.” She kept a tight smile as Sam gruffly grabbed some hours'dourves with his bare hands.

“So how about you and me cut to the chase and get out of here?” Sam could care less about tact; he knew his past already.

“Sir, I have a job to do.” She moved away from him and tried to make her way to another group, but Sam reached out his hand and grabbed her shoulder.

“Look Constance, I know the way this works, you’re coming home with me.” There was force in Sam’s voice now, and violence.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?” A well dressed gentleman, Robbie, came between Sam and Constance, and Sam recognized him as another of the philanthropists who supported the program. Sam wheeled away angrily and stormed off into a corner cursing under his breath, leaving Constance’s savior to try to console her as best he could.

“I am so sorry about that miss; I don’t know what gets into Sam sometimes. He’s quite different today for some reason; he’s usually a great guy. Usually so full of laughs, usually so alive. That’s what matters in this world, being alive.” Constance could tell by the way Robbie said alive that he understood. Their eyes never released their embrace, and Sam saw the two of them walk out together at the end of the night, arm in arm.

September 18th, 2010
Sam woke up the next morning with pain in every part of his body. His head felt ten sizes too big, and his stomach was rapidly freeing itself of anything it could find inside. His body shook, his eyes wouldn’t focus. This is very strange. There was a message on his phone. Something about causing a scene at last night’s gallery opening. He looked at the calendar sitting over his desk. The 18th. Something is seriously wrong here. Its actually tomorrow. In a panic Sam leapt from his bed, tried to stop the world from spinning, fell, and crawled to the bathroom door. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening…

September - December, 2010
People don’t really change overnight. You’re lucky if you can change at all. Sam was having a particularly rough time of it. Living over fifty years a certain way with no consequences whatsoever really makes you inhuman. The next months saw him pay the price for his lifestyle of selfish cruelty. He lost his friends, lost his job, lost his soul. And all of these were for real this time. He’d call Constance every so often, even though she hadn’t given him her number he still knew it by heart. He’d stop by to visit and see her in Robbie’s embrace, laughing. Everyday grew darker and darker. Everyday Sam died a little more.

2011
It was a random day. Sam lay huddled against the cold on a park bench. He’d finally lost it all. He sobbed into his hands at his losses. His beautiful wife Constance. Gone. His noble children. Gone. His grandkids with love in their laughter and joy in their hearts. Gone. All the lives touched by his hard work in the business world and community. Gone. He looks up at a man dressed all in grey – grey slacks, jacket, shirt, and hat – who is sitting next to him on the bench. It’s Fate.

“You know, the world’s not right right now.” Fate talks like a normal person would. Not exactly what Sam was expecting. “You’ve cut one too many threads out from the tapestry of life.”

“Who cares.” Sam wasn’t too interested in talking, even if it was with a minor deity. “I’ve lost it all. I can’t get back. There’s no way. It’s too late.”

“Let me let you in on a little secret.” Fate looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching. “There is only one single destiny every human has and must follow. It’s true. But that destiny is simply the destination. The road to there is unknown to everyone, even me. But you, son, you’re not even heading in the right direction. You remember the last day of your life? You remember your funeral? You need to get back there lad. I don’t care how you do it, but you need to get back there. And quickly; I know the good you can do, the good you’ve done, Sam. Get back on that road.”

And with that, Fate was gone. Sam looked around to see if anyone else had seen his conversation, but there’s no one around. Did he dream this whole thing? Was this just another hallucination brought on by the drugs he had taken? Who knows…

Sam walked aimlessly through the streets trying to clear his head. He walked and walked, and slowly the setting sun tried to put its close on another day. But something was wrong. He could feel it. He looked behind him and saw two men who looked up to no good. Living as long as he had and in the way that he had, Sam had a nose for guys who looked like they were up to no good.

The two toughs brushed past Sam and approached a couple walking up ahead. Sam ducked behind a parked car as one of the two men proceeded to pull a gun on the couple. The woman screamed, the man raised his hands in calm surrender. The two men were anxious. This was taking too long. They screamed for money and valuables. The man holding the gun swung with malicious force on the gentleman, laying him out cold in the street. Again the woman screamed, and it was here where Sam realized he knew that scream all too well.

He came running out from behind the car. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what he’d do; all he knew was that he needed to save Constance. He leapt at the first man, tackled him to the ground, and rolled off just in time to be deafened by a blast from the pistol. Not the smartest types, these two up to no goods. With one holding a smoking gun and the other lying still after bearing the full force of the blast that was meant for Sam, Sam’s luck instantly doubled. In anger the last of the assailants turned his gun on Robbie lying on the ground, fired two shots, and then began falling from the force of Sam jumping on his back. Somewhere in the distance Fate turned his head and adjusted his hat, and the assailant fell on the curb letting Sam hear the bones of his neck crack below him.

All the while Constance was screaming. She lay on the ground sobbing, and slowly Sam fell to his knees and joined her. They held each other for what seemed like hours, until she spoke.

“I’m just glad to be alive”. Sam could tell by the way she said alive that she understood. Her pure blue eyes are glazed in tears, but their embrace with his eyes never broke from that day forward.

Fate put his hands in his pockets, started to walk, and whistled a tune that was caught by the rising wind.


...And so the wind doth blow across the land,
Taking with it the grains of Time's sand.
Another tale closes its pages
Until opened again by history's sages