Monday didn’t like Tuesday.
She wasn’t all that keen on Thursday either for that matter. Friday was heinous, and Saturday and Sunday could just fuck off.
That’s why she’d built the machine.
Because Wednesday was just about the only day worth experiencing. She knew a lot of people didn’t like Wednesdays, what with it being the furthest point from the weekend, and she didn’t much care for that opinion. Wednesdays had a certain smell about them, a certain way of carrying themselves, and an ambience that suggested just a hint of ennui that she actually enjoyed. Hump Day was to be celebrated.
Monday hadn’t thought much about Mondays.
Mondays were just there to be wandered through.
Maybe if she’d thought about it a bit more, the world might not have ended.
As it was, she plugged the machine in and pressed a few buttons. They were old-fashioned buttons that clicked and clunked, switches that flipped, and faders that resisted when you slid them. Servos whined as they span up to speed, and gears crunched pleasingly from within.
Monday sat down and hugged her coffee mug in her hands. Not long now, she thought, as she blew the steam from the cup. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, and it wasn’t the want of a Hobnob.
The countdown began, and reached zero in the requisite number of steps.
Three seconds later, and it would never have happened.
But happen it did.
Sparks spat from the machine, and a ball of light burst forth, circumnavigating the planet in less time that it took her vision to return.
And as she blinked, she realised her mistake.
The machine was built to create a perpetual Wednesday.
But it was only Tuesday.
Now it was going to be a perpetual Tuesday. Endless people tsking that it was only Tuesday, and roll on the weekend. Endless jokes asking whether it was wine o’clock yet. Endless Tacos.
There were no more Wednesdays.
The machine had no undo function. She couldn’t just press Ctrl+Z.
How could she have mixed up her days?
It was because she had come into the lab on Sunday wasn’t it? Because she wanted to have the machine ready on time? It had thrown her whole week out.
She couldn’t have foreseen the repercussions, even then. It was impossible to know what a perpetual Tuesday would do to the world. There was no way to predict the trees would become walking death machines.
The coffee mug clinked loudly as she put it down on the desk.
There really was only one thing for it now.