Tag Archives: time travel

Temporal Lovers (Part 4)

img-alternative-textWithout sight to guide me, I relaxed into a world of strangely calming pain. I had known my chemical concoction would hurt and had prepared for it, but had not factored for its abrupt dissipation. The pain vanished almost as soon as I was rendered blind. I could’ve been just a fool in a suit in a laboratory in a house, or I could’ve been something entirely different. Senseless, I awaited life’s next stage.

When, at last, a chill took upon me and my view cleared to a dripping window, my world had changed. Gone was my home, my country, my earth and in its place, the stars. The universe materialised in a trillion specks of light. They did not stand still.

The sensation of movement was never there, but move I did. The stars gained speed to incalculable velocities, my everything a blinding single light. At its centre, my love.

To Be Continued…

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Temporal Lovers (Part 3)

img-alternative-textThe chemical soup entered my mouth with stinging acidity, then flowed down my throat like the bitterest pill. A churning crock-pot, my stomach took the brunt of the attack. Soon, the pain in my body was eclipsed by the burning behind my eyes. The room spun. The world spun. Just I thought myself time’s greatest fool, a man who in seeking knowledge had ignored facts and paid the price, everything changed.

It started with my laboratory; the pictures danced. Be them portrait, photograph or idle sketch, the collated images of a life devoted to science moved of their own volition, the smallest first and largest last. The final picture to vibrate into life was that of Victoria herself. Gone was the grey gloom, returned the softness of youth. In the blinking of an eye, our sovereign became a child.

I watched in disbelief as the glass viewing portal steamed, and I, unable to raise my arms to wipe it, was lost to a universal fog.

To Be Continued…

Temporal Lovers (Part 2)

img-alternative-textFormerly the trappings of an aquanaut, my containment suit was a most uncomfortable means of surfing time. As already mentioned, the weighted, steel boots I had secured to the tiled floor allowed for no lateral movement. Good, because if they had, there’d have been no telling where I may or may not have materialised, or, rather, what may or may not have materialised within me.

My whole theorem was that time should move around me rather than me through time. If I had interfered with said time, the consequences to myself would have been dire. Or so I reckoned, anyway. Better to be safe than sorry in matters of life and death.

The mahogany lever attached to my left leg was now in the fully vertical position, which allowed my suit to fill with the chemicals required to facilitate my extraction from reality. They bubbled, fizzed and rapidly expanded from the inert lake around my knees to a volcanic brew that raced through the suit. When the liquid reached my mouth, I panicked. Who wouldn’t have? However, by then, it was much too late to go back.

To Be Continued…

Temporal Lovers (Part 1)

img-alternative-textTime looped, whilst I remained immobile. Bolted to my laboratory floor, the temporal suit, my greatest invention, allowed its occupant to experience the universe as only a god should.

I had strapped myself in with the harness made from a horse’s reins; the leather worn but strong, then dared and double-dared my brain, who rebelled at the time, into adjusting that last lever. I had, of course, placed a self-explanatory note on the mantelpiece addressed to my dear Gwendolyn. Resting against the carriage clock we had purchased with our joint savings on first moving into our home, it symbolised our love. My wife, however, had not the same propensity for knowledge as I, instead, preferring happiness over the pursuit of answers. I could not be happy without knowing the answers, and so a stalemate was reached. She would never have truly understood.

My fingers grasped the mahogany lever carved from the leg of a favourite bureau; it felt real in a world that was not. A final glance to England’s monarch, Victoria staring out from her portrait like a doom-laden soothsayer, and I was ready. I pulled the lever.

To Be Continued…

A Dream So Real

Author’s Note: I’ve just spent five hours editing. It may have affected me.

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I floated in amniotic fluids, life bursting all around. Creatures of all kinds and all descriptions, some of which beggared belief, swam and dipped before me. Above, a sun ten times that of which I knew blazed down as I fought to stay afloat. Tropical, one might have said, Caribbean, at least, I batted at beasts no larger than my fist hoping to stave off this madness. I would’ve called them fish, but fish, they were not.

I spluttered as the sweet liquid entered my mouth and spat it out twice as quick. Undulating waves of turquoise clarity heaved my weightless form up and down, side to side, over and over, around and around as I searched for a shore in the churning maelstrom. But there was no shore in this place out of history. Alone, I surged against time’s tides desperate to return.

“Damn you!” I raged with a venom spawned from hate. “Damn you, science!” I shouted as the liquid entered my throat. “This is not, London! This is not the Thames!”

“Oh, I don’t know?” said a half-lizard, half-squid that floated on by. “Still better than Berlin.”

When it winked, I panicked. When it doffed its cap, I screamed.

50 Word Stories: Displaced

Acute angles and monochrome, my head spun with the reality of the situation: I was not where I should have been.

Where emerald forests and blue lagoons should have ranged before me, all stood in a noir decline.

The chronometer read 2015. The future heard my displaced screams.

TIME

Austere: yes; monochrome: indeed, yet the rocks of that mountainside made an impassioned plea upon my soul. Defiant, they rose up out of the misting valleys in sheer unadulterated joy. The spartan trees clung for dear life to those barren slopes in a seeming effort to be rid of gravity. Coiling roots and whipping tendrils secured themselves in every available nook and cranny on that towering massif. The sight formed an image in my memory that I should never forget.

If ever I could have chosen a berth to be stranded in time in, I thought those most spiritual of peeks should have featured high on my list. If ever there was a place to lose oneself, then in the company of prehistory should not be such a bad place to fear. Yes, I could have done far worse in my endless search for self.

Then, I remembered that I had, and I was, and suddenly wasn’t quite so certain anymore. Time travel had a knack of affecting one in such ways and I was no exception to its laws. I took in a deep, fresh breath of cool air, but it stalled in my lungs, as I glanced to the brass chronometer that should have rested upon my arm. The device, my masterpiece of creative genius lay shattered on the rocks at my feet. I would have long time to brood upon it.

The End, or Beginning?