To have your challenge entry recorded, please write your piece as a reply to this thread .
As a central theme of Consistency is the existence of time — ensuring that you are writing on a timely and daily basis — the theme of this month’s prompts will also be about time.
Today's prompt: [Time Travel]
Definition: travel through time into the past or the future.
╰┈➤ Write a piece that involves time travelling.
Word Count: Minimum 200 words, no maximum
Every year of my life is a novel in a series. I write the events as I go, but today, a new book arrived at my doorstep.
"42," it reads.
I write another book before I open it.
It starts in a similar format as the other books do. "This is a log of my forty-second year alive."
The pages sparkle as he scans through the pages of his future life, until the shining light makes it unbearable to read. The last I feel of my world is the polished texture of my wooden desk.
A minute passes before I recognize the next sensation, soft with a hint of my favorite laundry detegent. I'm in bed.
"Morning." My neck suffers a slight whiplash in turning too quickly. "Happy birthday!"
I look to find a woman with the sharpest emerald eyes, smiling at me. I begin to think that diamonds are overrated.
Her roots don what seems to be her natrural hair color, but the tips thrash around the bed wildly like a beautiful but dangerous sandstorm.
Am I seeing someone?
She plants a kiss to my forehead, "Happy anniversary, too."
It's a split second before I realize I've jumped myself off the bed, and the woman who must be my wife scrambles to help me up.
"Jeez, you gotta calm down!" She laughs, a sweet melodious tone, "I'm beginning to think that Amelia's feline reflexes are feeding your catwoman delusions."
"They are not!" I find myself smiling as well, "I've just gotten faster and stronger in my forty-two years of age."
"I'll choose to pretend I believe that," She says, chuckling as she hands me a book. It's the same one I had read just fifteen minutes ago. "Here. Don't you want to start your day with a new entry for the next book?"
I take the pen and the blank bound stack of papers and begin to write. My words come out in the exact same way I read them.
"This is a log of my forty-second year alive."
And then the pen disappears, and then my lap becomes a desk. And then my wife is gone.
I wonder if I'm dreaming.
I pinch to the arm doesn't wake me, and neither does one to the eyebrow. The book is nowhere in sight; all that is left in my hand being a ringing phone.
"Hello?" I wait for a reply that takes a second too long.
"Hey." A woman says, "I think I know you, I've seen you twenty years from now."
[WC: 423]
Traveling back in time... she'd never thought it'd happen to her of all people.
Honestly, she didn't want to be back here. Not that her life in the Present was all that great, but she had no reason to be in the past, nothing she wanted to do with the past, nothing at all. Plus it's awkward being around all these people that she doesn't feel connected to at all.
Really, it's strange. After all, this was her hometown, where she grew up at. She distinctly remembered being around some of their neighbours a lot, too. But now that she's here she recognises no one. Guess really a lot of time had passed since then after all.
She went to walk around for a bit. She rounded the corner and walked in a straight line toward the tiny river with the tiny bridge hidden to the left, the larger one not yet built to the right. The water seemed clean and plenty, just as she remembered it. It did seem smaller, and more ordinary without her childlike imagination, though.
After sitting around for a bit, she heaved her bag up and directed herself toward another path, the one that led to the horsestables. She wasn't much of an animal lover, certainly not for horses anyway, she hadn't even rode horses more than 2-3 times - with guidance - throughout her entire life so far. Yet for some reason the memory of the stable was vivid, like there were some memories attached to it. When she was a child. Which she forgot.
She found her way there and admired the scenery and horses for a while, but she got bored quickly so she departed soon.
Her next stop was the location of many events, like easter bunny petting and such, that had been closed off when she was around 6. Walking past some tall and gorgeous trees, she found it near the imposing two-storey white house, near the highway. It was still open, but no event was currently held. She was slightly disappointed but not surprised.
Best for the last, she started walking to their old house, but - what was she really doing? She barely had any memories left of the place, and didn't particularly want to see it either, mostly because of the amount of times they went to take a look after it was bought by someone else.
Turning a corner, she kept walking, without a destination this time. She wondered when she would go back to her time, if ever.
Suddenly, some children and their parents flew past her on some tiny and not so tiny bicycles, talking to each other in a high-pitched voice constantly and ringing their bells. Ugh, children.
Though, their laughter and tone sounded somewhat familiar.
A warp appeared, and she was back home.
Home sweet home.
“Okay, but listen to me. When you go to school today, do not, I repeat, do not wander down into the east wing of the basement. Do you hear me?”
I stared at him, stunned. Someone who looked like me, only significantly more dishevelled.
“Wait, what are you doing in my room?”
He let out a sigh. “Don’t ask too many questions, okay? Just…don’t go there. You don’t want to go there. Trust me.”
“Well, now I have to know—” Before I could finish speaking, several people dressed in black, looking like a SWAT team, appeared at my window and pulled him through, and he yelled, struggling, but soon disappeared. One of them looked at me and gave me a salute, but I could only stare.
Of course, I avoided school like the plague. I didn’t even go, for fear of accidentally wandering into the east wing of the basement. I told my mother I had a fever, and stayed in my room, trying to take my mind off things by playing video games. But still, curiosity gnawed at me. Just what was lying within the east wing of the basement?
At some point in the evening there was this tapping noise, and I tried to ignore it, staring at my screen, but it persisted, growing louder and louder. Finally I got up, and walked to the window, throwing it open.
“What is it?”
Outside was that masked man from earlier this morning, and with one pull he grabbed me and hoisted me out of my room. “I think you’ll find it very important that you come with me right now. It’s useless to struggle. Come, let’s go.”
All the way there, I protested. “Hey, hey, what’s going on? Where are we going? Why are we—”
And then we arrived at the school. We stopped, and he took me in, and we began heading down the stairs, all the way to the east wing of the basement. There was my double from this morning, all tied up, and a running machine, and an older man in a lab coat standing beside it.
“We’re running out of test subjects for our time machine,” he said. “You’ll be perfect for this.”
“Um, excuse me? What do you know about me?” I tried to drag my feet as they began pushing me towards it.
“Why, because you’re me, of course. I know everything about you,” the man replied, and with my heart sinking, I realized he was right.
:wave: uwu A sharp pain struck Tae in the head as he stirred awake from his dreamless slumber, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of a forest towering high above him. A groan fell from his lips as he sat up, massaging his temples in an attempt to ease the ache as he took a look around himself, finding the familiar temple sitting behind him exactly where he remembered it was.
He hummed quietly to himself, getting up from the ground to take a closer look at the structure. Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary. Save for some more overgrown vines and weeds littering the place, it looked the exact same as the last time he saw it. Which was to be expected.
“Right then, off to find Gal” he announced to himself, starting away from the temple and further into the woods with his backpack. He walked through the thick forest for what felt like days to his aching legs, but really wasn’t all that long, just long enough to make the sight of a small cabin a sigh of relief.
That was until it dawned on him… There wasn’t a cabin last time he had been here. He frowned, hesitantly making his way over, treading carefully in fear of the worst.
It was a small cabin, fitting snugly in between two tall trees. A small chimney sat on the roof, blowing a small trail of smoke outside. Clearly, someone was here… Or had been here recently.
“Hello?” Tae called out, clutching his backpack tight.
“April 20th, 1240” a voice behind him replied. Tae spun around to meet with a tall dark woman looming behind him, her gold-tinted eyes staring him down. She held an animal in one hand while the other held an axe.
Tae’s lips curled into a smile at the sight of her. “I’m not late then”
The woman simply rolled her eyes, walking right past him towards the cabin. “You never are” she set her axe down by the entrance then stepped inside, leaving the door open for him to follow.
Tae stepped into the cabin after her, closing the door behind himself and taking a look around the place. It was cosy in every sense of the word, a small space, barely big enough for the two of them with a faint fire sitting in the fireplace. “Nice place you got here, Gal, made it yourself?”
“What happened to ‘how are you’?” Gal shot Tae a glare as she slammed her freshly caught food down on the small table.
“But we just saw each other like an hour ago–” Tae argued.
“An hour for you– but fifty years for me” her words lingered in the small space between them, carrying a weight that forced Tae to look away in embarrassment.
He sighed, letting his backpack slide off his shoulders before setting it down on the floor. “You’re right, sorry. The effects of the jump still linger…” he offered her a tired smile. “How are you?” WC: 502
WC: 457 Notes: Rushed as hell. Wasn't feeling the prompt today so I just threw this together.
Another glass empty, I rest my head against the back of the stained, green couch. What day is it? What time is it? How long have I been sitting here? My body is aching too much for me to even pick my head up and look around at my living room. I feel like a soul possessing a body. Nothing feels real, and I still don’t know exactly who I am. I haven’t ever since my breakup with my Remi. Look at me! I’m a person lying around in my unkempt home because I’ve nothing better to do; no friends to see, no parents with interests in catching up, and tragically, no Remi to give me soft kisses and tell me I look lovely in my evening wear.
I manage to sweep my brown, rugged hair out of my hazel eyes. My ears are ringing so loud I feel as if I’ll go mad. The room is spinning. None of this makes sense. And on my wall, I swear the clock is going backwards. There are people coming and going, and is that…me? A second me?
Time slows. My clock returns to normal. What the hell is going on right now? My house looks clean now, just like in the times when Remi came over and we cleaned it togeth– No. I have to move on, I keep telling myself that, but… Why is it so hard?
The other me lets a woman with a slim figure walk through the front door. Who’s that? Is this some sort of alternate timeline?
But when I set my eyes on her, there’s no doubt. It’s her. It’s really her. My love, my dear… She smiles and smooths out her black dress, her black hair bouncing off of her shoulders as it always did. It’s all a hallucination, it’s not real. I repeat it over and over in my head, but this all feels so familiar. Like it’s all happened before.
And when the two begin to have a wonderful evening together, that’s when it really makes my head spin. When she kisses me on the cheek like she once did each night, when the two begin to dance around the house together… I remember the evening clearly now. Yet now I’m watching this from a third person perspective, now realizing that… Someday, Remi will love another like she once loved her. Maybe I’ll be invited to her wedding and I’ll see what we could’ve been if I hadn’t said that dreaded phrase that night. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for her, but…
I still love her.
I rest my head back again in pain, my headache killing me. When I open my eyes again, the two are gone.
“Okay, okay, my turn!! Would you rather ...” Willow thinks about it for a minute before settling on a good question. “... be able to change events five minutes into the past ... or *see* five minutes into the future?” Erika sits up. “I've heard this one before.” The two are beside each other, Willow wrapped up in a blanket and Erika trying to worm her way in because the room was COLD. SO cold. God. Agony. “Not from me!” “.. fair.” Erika hums to herself, mulling over how convenient either of those of options may or may not be. She squints a bit. “Alright. So what are the limits?” Willow tilts their head. “Limits?” “Like. Can you only change one decision per five minutes? Can you decide to change the decision to exist in that present moment and effectively time travel way farther back?” “Hey, that's not fair!!” They sounded annoyed, and would probably be convincing in that regard if it weren't for the smile starting to take form that gave everything away. “No, that doesn't count. And no, you can't change more than one choice per five minutes.” “Do I get a second try if it doesn't go according to plan?” “No.” Erika laughs at the deadpan look they receive for even asking, and then more as it doesn't falter whatsoever. “Okay! Uh ... hm.” She pauses to think through the implications of this *other* hypothetical option, and it's a noticeably long pause. “You're sure taking your time on this.” Their grin would be annoying if it were on anybody else. Not Willow, though. Willow is different. Was different. “What, on this made-up scenario that will never come to pass? Willow, this just might be the most important decision I ever make.” “Ah, yes. To be a time traveler or a .. a. Future .. beholder ...?” “Love it.” “Perfect.” Willow could have said anything in that moment and it would have been perfect.
... Visible realization dawns, and Erika asks, “So if I choose to see five minutes into the future ... I can't actually change anything that happens.” “You still could!” they countered, “If you can see what's going to happen, you can change it!” “My efforts to alter the future will only solidify it.” Erika ponders it for another second, then nods with a sense of newfound clarity. “A ‘future beholder’ is only so due to a self fulfilling prophecy that they have trapped themselves in.” “You know what? I don't like this game anymore.” Erika smiles, albeit a bit uncomfortably. She's been unable to sit still, the nip in the air causing her to shiver. She's going to find who the cause of this insufferable temperature is and she is going to OBLITERATE them. Not really. But she sure wishes she could. “Here.” Willow starts to extend the blanket without another word about it. But because Erika is stubborn, and because they have a hard time asking anyone for or accepting help, they try to refuse at first. “No, you don't have t-” Willow is having none of it. “Take The Blanket.” “Fine, fine ...!” It didn't require that much movement to pull the blanket around herself in a way where they were sharing it. Finally, salvation from the cold. Sanctuary. Erika realizes at this moment just how far apart they are from each other: not at all. She then ignores that -- as well as the fact that she doesn't particularly *mind* -- for the sake of her own sanity. “I, uh.” Cough. “I'd pick the future one.” “Really?” Willow asks, surprised. “I was so sure you'd go for the first one!” “Eh, it couldn't really do much anyway. Besides,” she adds on, unable to hide her excitement at the idea even with her normal calmer attitude, “premonition work is something that I could *actually* do if I worked on it.” She always found the art of divination to be interesting; maybe one day she'd master it herself.
“No idea how you believe in that stuff ...” A yawn escapes. How late is it, exactly? How long have they been up doing this ...? “Come on, you give up the chance to *time travel* for something you could learn later anyway? If it's even real ...” “Of course it's real. I'll be able to show you one day, too.” “Yeah, right!” Somehow, that's still encouraging. It doesn't feel as much like a “oh, you could never do it” as much as it is a “make a believer out of me” kind of intention. She felt confident about it, too, almost confident enough that she could do absolutely anything she put her mind to if she so wanted. Up until now, Willow was the only person who had ever given them that much reassurance in anything. ... Did memory ... count as a form of time travel, in a sense? The notion interests her, and it has long after that conversation and long after she began practicing some of the many arts of divination. Scrying, oneiromancy, consulting the tarot were all well and good, providing her with often much needed insight into her present and upcoming situations. But they couldn't let her go back, and they couldn't fix anything that went so horribly wrong before. Maybe ... maybe if she had the option, she *would* choose to go back in time instead. Erika isn't sure. She ponders it anyway, awake again late into the night, years later. The room is dark, fitting for the later hours. Cold. It's all so cold. The days have gone by without her having any way to check them. Erika doesn't know how long it's been since she's last had any idea. How old was she now? How old would Willow have been? How much older will she start to feel the longer she fails to process her own grief? How are they to know? A knock on the door -- one at SUCH an ungodly hour, might I add -- snaps her out of her thoughts. “Erika ...?” She sighs and sits up from the bed. “Why are you even awake right now?” “Wh ... why are you?” “Just come in.”
She finds later that even with the company, she's never felt so alone.
WordCount: 429
Diana was 37 years old when she discovered that a capirotada tasted just like home. Sitting on a wobbly three-legged chair ("that's how it came" her neighbor told her when she gave it to her, but she doubts it), eating straight from the pot with a tiny spoon, in the small yellow kitchen in her small but expensive apartment with a great view of the night in the big city, Diana cried as between spoonfuls she remembered home.
Her home wasn't even a big deal, a house a little bigger than that apartment, a noisy, stinky dog who licked her against her will, but who helped her on her escapades if she gave him enough snacks; a kettle that squeaked so loudly that even her neighbor complained every time her parents made coffee, and two older brothers who made her laugh until she peed, and cry herself to sleep.
The capirotada wasn't even that good, she thought. Her dad taught her how to make it so that when she was alone she wouldn't end up eating pieces of bread that tasted burnt (for the record, that only happened the first time she tried to cook it), and what a treat it was! Diana always believed that there was a special ingredient that her dad never wanted to share with her, that's how he was, doing experiments in the kitchen that would later make her mom scold them both (even though she had done nothing, or well, almost nothing) and put them to wash the whole kitchen (we may be a little messy sometimes).
Diana almost choked with laughter through the tears that escaped from her. What was she going to tell her brothers? Guys, my parents had an accident, as I was their last call, they officers called me, your younger sister, and now I have to share with you the news that, ta da!, we don't have living parents anymore. Can you be an orphan at 37 years old? Because that's how it felt. So many years, a stable career, an apartment in a good place, no children but with 25 countries stamped in her passport and the best family in the world. That's the way it is, that's the way it was, that's the way it should have been for many years to come. Diana had slid to the floor at some point, in her arms the still warm pot. Her present was gone, and now all she had was a watered-down capirotada to feel them with her again, even if it was only in the past.
Tick tock…tick tock
The sands of time run speedily forward.
Tick tock…tick tock
Losing you has made me want to run backwards.
Tick tock, the clock chimes
Another hour, my grief reaches its prime.
Everywhere I look, everywhere I go,
From the mirror in the bedroom, to even the pizza dough,
Your memories haunt me, consume me,
My heart rendered to pieces, my tears flowing for all to see.
These tears of mine are naught but wasted time,
Instead, I focus on bringing you back,
With my knowledge, my power, my dime,
I will reach into the past, upholding our pact.
I will go back in time, to where your loss no longer haunts me,
I will go back in time, to where your arms still surround me.
I will take you with me to my present, or future it would have been,
Far away from the death that seeks to infringe,
On our love, on our connection,
Tearing us apart, its biggest transgression.
Safe in my arms, your teary face greets me,
Questions spilling forth, accusations thrown.
You refuse to believe my words,
Your anger leaves me feeling torn.
Did I do the right thing, or was I selfish?
Did my grief turn me mad, unable to see how you would resent me?
Bringing you with me, was I just being thievish?
Tearing you from my own past self,
My own memories show my own self now resents me. [WC: 240]
Second chances are a blessing. The lack of them is a curse. This was something Benjamin understood to its core. If you were provided the ability to try again and achieve a different outcome, you were blessed, but for some — for him — that was never an option. There wasn’t much he could’ve done, and while he knows that, it doesn’t solve the guilt. Guilt that had consumed him for years. He’d survived; she hadn’t. It was never meant to be this way and when offered one more chance to just see her again, he’d leapt.
Time travel seemed like some strange science fiction solution to his problems, but as he stood before a sparkling glass chamber, it suddenly felt possible. A keypad was situated directly to the chamber’s right. The numbers flashed in his peripherals until Benjamin turned to type a date in. September 24, 2007. Each keystroke made his hands shake more until the confirmation beep sounded in his ears. A robotic voice announced a string of instructions for Benjamin to follow and he blindly enacted each and every one before stepping into the chamber. The door slid shut on its own and the voice picked up again, starting a countdown.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
This would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Seeing her again, when she was happy and okay. He wasn’t even sure he deserved this opportunity, anyways, but it was too late to back out now.
Seven. Six. Five.
He could almost envision her in his mind, running around and shouting that he’d never catch her. Of course, he rarely would; he’d almost always let her win even if she didn’t know that.
Four. Three. Two. One.
Benjamin’s vision blurred and the world tilted before going dark. He awoke on a grassy field and struggled to sit up. It had worked. It had actually worked. Pushing himself to his feet, he spun around searching for his reason for coming back until he heard it. Laughter. He’d recognize that laugh anywhere.
“Nuh uh, can’t catched me, Benny!” The words hit him like a freight train, and he stumbled into a hiding place so he could view the scene without being noticed. A little girl, no older than six sprinted across the field, covered in grass stains and mud. Following her, was him, well, a twelve year old version of him. He was smiling, echoing the girl’s laughter as he gave chase until he dragged her to the ground and shouted his success. She stuck her tongue out at him and giggled, trying to escape the bear hug she was now trapped in. “Benny! No fairs! Lemme go.”
“Nope, say I won. Say it, Lucy!”
“No! You no won! You cheat!” She jutted her bottom lip out and stared up at him. “Meanie.” Benjamin watched as the younger version of him released his little sister and ruffled her hair. She socked him in the arm in response only to elicit laughter from him. “Jerk.”
“You love me.”
“Nuh uh. You suck.”
“I’m telling Mom.” Little Benny looked at Lucy before taking off across the grassy field and towards where Benjamin knew their mother had been. “Mom! Lucy doesn’t love me!” The words faded into the distance as Little Benny disappeared and Lucy soon after. Swallowing back tears, Benjamin collapsed to his knees. His vision was blurring again, and soon he’d be returning to his own time again.
“I love you, Lucy. So, so much.” And then the world went black.
Another Saturday with not much to do. I rely on preparing for PE class for entertainment, but Mom says I can’t practice my dribbling skills in the house, so I’m out playing in the woods near my house. The trees are tall as Jack’s magic beanstalk, or at least they look like they are. The sun looks grey today to match the sky.
I dribble my basketball for a minute before trying out walking with it. Easy peasy. Now I try running, ball bouncing in sync with my left foot’s stepping. The trees are cluttered but easy to dodge—which is good for practising evasive manoeuvres, I guess. Unfortunately, I trip over a twig and land on the crunchy autumn leaves, ball rolling away from me.
I pick myself back up and chase after my orange sphere, which is escaping down slanted terrain. My foot catches a tree root and I fall ungracefully on my butt, the impact then sending me tumbling down the hill.
Am I the most unlucky person or what? Mom is going to be mad when she sees the new tears in my jeans, and all the dirt.
My body jerks to a halt at the bottom of the hill. I groan.
But I do suppose I am kind of lucky, since I didn’t bump into any trees.
When normally finding an orange ball in a forest is easy, autumn makes it hard with all its warm coloured leaves. After around a minute of looking around I find it being hugged by some tree roots. “Gotcha,” I whisper, picking it up.
Something else catches my eye, though, while I’m down on the ground. A purple, circular object…I set my ball down a second to pick it up. It’s a remote control-looking thing with one red button. A folded-up lined sheet of paper is taped to it.
Curiosity gets the better of me; I open up the paper and begin to read:
Whoever finds this,
This is a device that can control time itself. It has ruined my life and I don’t want it anymore. My advice to you is to destroy it—if you don’t, it may ruin your life too. Trust me, whatever you want to go back in time to fix isn’t worth it. It will create a butterfly effect and everything will change.
Personally, I couldn’t bring myself to stomp on it or throw it in a lake or get rid of it by any other means. I’m sort of hoping a man (or woman) of science will find it, because despite how much I despise it, it might one day do some good. Like if some earth-threatening event were to come about, someone could rewind and fix it before it hit them.
Of course, it probably won’t wind up in the right hands, but I leave it just in case.
If you’ve stumbled upon this and don’t plan on stopping an earth-threatening event, then please either leave the device for someone else, or use it at your own discretion…I can’t stop you.
Now onto how it works. The red button will allow you to travel through time, as you’ve probably already guessed. To control what time you travel to, think of the number of time you’re travelling to.
Again, I warn against using the device.
J.G.
A time travelling device! There’s no way…unless I truly am lucky. Whoever wrote it said I have two options: to leave it for someone else to find, or to use it. I’ve always wanted to travel in time, so I’m favourable towards using the device.
…But what would I use it for?
* * *
All Sunday I’m plagued by the thought of my upcoming birthday. How I want to know what my presents will be! Would I finally be getting a Nintendo Switch so I could fit in with the cool kids? Or just novelty socks, a fountain pen, and a Lego set like Andy? I want so badly to know, if only to be disappointed sooner. Maybe then I’ll be a better actor when the day comes. (“Oh, wow! I really love these school supplies; they’re just what I needed. Thanks!”)
I know there are only twenty days until my birthday. I can wait that little bit and then find out. Really. Dad says it’s better if it’s a surprise.
Except…it’s already evening and I’m still thinking about it.
I cave in and make a plan. I’m going to search the house for my presents. If my parents caught me I’d whip up a good excuse; I’m good at thinking on the spot.
Closet. Laundry room. Mom and Dad’s bedroom. The basement!
Where the heck did they hide them?
I collapse on my bed with a sigh. I give up.
Unless there still is a way to know sooner…?
I open my desk drawer and take out the device. The note said all I have to do is “think of the number of time I’m travelling to”, which is very vague but I assume I’ll just have to think of the number of days I’m skipping.
Well, here goes nothing. I’m sure I won’t miss much by skipping twenty days.
I chant in my mind, twenty, twenty, twenty. And while I’m thinking of the number twenty, I press the little red button.
Suddenly, I’m in a different room. I’ve never seen it before. It’s got mauve walls and grey carpet. I’m in the middle of it, on a brown leather couch. In front of me is a coffee table, and beside it, two brown leather loveseats. Something licking my ankle grabs my attention—a cute poofy dog!
“Hi, bud,” I greet him affectionately, scratching his ears.
My blood runs cold in my veins and I freeze. Why…why do I sound so different? Why’s my voice so deep? I’m only eleven, I shouldn’t have a man’s voice. Unless I finally hit puberty?
That’s what I want to believe, but I acknowledge that and don’t care. It’s the most plausible explanation, even if my voice has changed very dramatically very fast.
The dog nudges me with his head, panting, begging happily for pats. Oh, maybe I got a dog for my birthday! I smile and pet him. With my giant hands.
What the heck? I scream internally.
There’s just no way my hands grew that large in size.
A whimper escapes my throat. I stand up from the couch and search this place I don’t recognise for a mirror, there must be…
My legs are so long! Holy cow, I must be six feet tall. The weather up here is different. So if I’ve grown this much, then there’s only one logical explanation.
I didn’t travel twenty days.
Then…just how far in the future have I travelled?
A man with dark hair enters the room. He must know me. Now’s my chance for answers.
“Hi, uh, how old am I?”
The man laughs. “Turning thirty-two, babe, you know that. Feeling old, huh? Well, don’t worry, ‘cause you don’t look it. And even when you do, I’ll love you the same.”
TURNING THIRTY-TWO? THIRTY. TWO. Oh gods. It’s been twenty years.
I’ve missed out on twenty years of life. No, no, this can’t be real. That device isn’t actually real! Time machines don’t exist. I didn’t travel in time. I’m dreaming. Ow, that pinch hurt. Why didn’t it wake me up?
The man sits beside me on the couch and wipes away the tears running down my face. “Babe?” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”
Wait, babe? It has been twenty years…Wow. Oh my gods. How am I supposed to deal with this now? I’m still eleven, at least at heart!
I jump up off the couch. “Sorry, um…who are you? And where are we?”
He furrows his eyebrows warily. “Your loving husband. We’re at home. And hopefully drinking wine ‘cause work today was stressful.”
Ohh, oh no. It’s true this is the ideal life. This is what I want for myself. But not yet. In the future. But I’m in the future….I need to go back to the past, somehow. I mean, how am I supposed to survive as someone in my early thirties when all I can make are Poptarts?
I guess I could have my husband cook for me, but still. I need to go back! I can’t have missed out on twenty years of life.
The device is on the couch. I can use it in reverse, can’t I? Yes! Yes, I could go back in time. Perfect. I grab the device, squeeze my eyes shut, and as I press the button, I think, more specifically this time.
Back to twenty years ago!
When I reopen my eyes, I see…my bedroom! Hah! I’m in my bedroom in my parents’ house. And I’m—I look down at my hands to confirm—eleven yet again. I speak, just to test my voice. It sounds like me. Eleven-year-old me. I grin.
Never again will I be impatient, I swear. I can wait twenty days, and I can wait twenty more. I want to experience every day of my life, no matter how boring it may sometimes be. Never do I want to skip out on any time I have in this precious life.
I thank my lucky stars for being able to come back, and I vow that first thing in the morning, I’ll destroy the mini time machine.
Hopefully no earth-threatening events are coming soon.
When Christopher was younger looking through old journals of long dead strangers was something that he found endlessly fascinating. Journals are something you think of that are so personal that you would never think of somebody reading them except if you're worrying about someone in your present day. So many unread stories, sadly they usually stay unknown to anybody but the original writer. Christopher wanted to change that a little bit though, reading all of the old journals that he could find. Yes they weren't really a common commodity, with and people just not keeping them, and not everybody being able to write back then, but there were still quite a few he has stumbled upon through his years. He had just encountered another through his grandfather while he was cleaning out his attic for him. Dusting it off and studying the cover for a bit he noticed that he didn't recognize the name and the pages were very yellowed, more than how yellow they should be if his grandfather wrote in it. He dashed back down to his grandfather and asked who it was. Apparently it was a few more generations back, if he is to be believed then it was around the time of the Salem witch trials. Christopher hid his how-ever many greats grandmother's journal away and finished up cleaning. When he was finally finished he bolted to get to the journal to see what his great great something grandmother went through. That time period seemed to be very interesting, so hopefully he'll get some better insight. He carefully grabbed the journal, cozied up on a nice big comfy chair, and then opened it. As soon as he did that he felt himself get whisked away, he closed his eyes and covered his head to protect himself the best he could. Finally feeling his feet on solid ground he cautiously opened his eyes and stood up straight, he seemed to be in a time that was not his own. Townsfolk strolled past murmuring about the strange boy that was in the streets of their normal for the time town. He seemed to catch one eye's in particular though. She had offered him a place at her home for the night, she said that was all that he would need. He hesitated, but there wasn't much he could do in this time, so he had to follow the woman's lead. When they both got to the home she looked at him with a cheshire cat's grin, it was unsetting and implied that she knew something he didn't. She eventually spoke to him and seemed to know a lot about his family so far, a bunch of information about his cousins, grandfathers, and grandmothers. Christopher was unnerved about how much she knew, she said that it was just some plain old magic. That would have usually like a copout instead of a real explanation, but considering where or more accurately when he was right now it was probably more true than he would normally believe. Looking at her smug grin he knew that there was something magical about her, both literally and figuratively. He really hoped that she will use that sorcery of hers to return him back to his time though. {543}
WC: 368
One very common theme that goes on in my dreams involves me as a kid going to high school. It always feels weird waking up from these dreams, since there was always some variation from reality going on in these dreams. Whether it was as simple as certain classmates being around when they'd long transferred out of my school at that point or as complex as imagining a school life in my junior and senior years after I'd moved out. It's pretty clear high school was a very emotionally significant part of my life, and I consider my freshman and sophomore years of school to be my "golden age", so to speak.
Sometimes these dreams involve me dwelling on mistakes that make me ask myself if I'd go back and fix them if I had a time machine. Whether it's getting over that crush I obsessed on for most of middle and high school or making friends with a couple faces I'd have loved to hang out with but never gathered the courage to befriend. Maybe if I'd done my homework and projects like I should have, I'd have probably mustered enough confidence in my grades to stick around, but I was flunking anyway, so that was one of the reasons why I transferred out, as mentioned earlier.
I know it's impossible to fix every mistake I made back in the day, but even if I could, it'd be impractical to go back in time to fix them because I've grown significantly as a person through outliving these mistakes. Sure, it's been hard on my emotional state, but getting over my personal gripes with myself is a powerful learning experience that'll potentially make my self-confidence soar.
I think it's safe to say that the decisions I've made in the past have shaped who I am in the present and how I'll behave in the future. If I had a time machine, I'd probably just sit in the sidelines and nostalgically watch the me from the past enjoying his school life as he'd always wanted to and in the same way I'd have handled things myself back in the day, Wouldn't want to mess up the timeline, you know?
to start again, with past scars
Word Count: 1.1k
Summary:
Takuto woke up to excruciating pain the day he was supposed to go to Shujin Academy.
However, he didn’t expect to see a scar on the back of his neck.
It was the third day of February when it happened.
Takuto’s eyes shot open, inhaling a sharp breath of air. Stabbed. He felt as if there was something sharp jabbed down the nape of his neck. Intense, unbearable almost, but at the same time, so numb, like he had felt this way before.
“…R—Reset.”
Takuto gasped, his body shaking in an effort to get up from bed. He couldn't discern the first thing he had said. His mind was too focused on the sudden pain disturbing his sleep.
He attempted to maintain gentle, quiet movements. Doing his best to keep the mattress from shifting too much. His hand dug into his pillow, grasping it tightly as the closest thing he could use as leverage. His legs bended and moved. He tried slipping them off the bed before he could be entangled by the weighted blanket on his bed.
Yet no matter how much he tried, the pain returned to cause him distress tenfold. Tonight it was intense, way more intense, than he was used to.
A whimper escaped his tightening chest. Another bolt of pain shot down the nape of his neck. His back arched, and his legs could only make sluggish reactions. The edge of the bed became farther and farther, and the world began to spin into blurs of color.
Takuto winced at the touch of his shirt’s collar on his neck—It was enough to feel like another blade dug into his nape. But this time it twisted and dug deeper, reminding him of its presence.
“Why… Why did…”
His voice came out in that deep sleepy way, like he was still in a dream morphing into a vivid nightmare. It didn’t soothe him, nor invited any answers. What followed were only more questions, doused in insufferable confusion.
Takuto harshly fell from the other edge of his bed, and onto the floor of his bedroom. His nails dug into the wood whilst his knees pushed him towards a nearby mirror. He could barely make out anything with the dim lights in his room, as well as the faint sunlight from his window. It made him scramble to turn on the nearest light, even the lampshade on his desk would suffice.
However, when he crawled his way to the light, his body roared. As if the light was as scary and painful as his scar, overwhelming him with it engulfed the room.
He approached the mirror again, and immediately caught the darker hue at the nape of his neck. Takuto raised his hand to touch it, as gently as he could as if it were the most delicate of flowers. But this time, it sent a sting, making him shudder. He released a shaky breath.
For a moment, the tension on his body ceased. Takuto breathed slowly, watching his chest rise and fall in the mirror. He pieced the fragmented memories emerging and forming in his mind. He tried to discern when exactly he felt such excruciating pain before, despite being shaken and tired.
After the shards of glass, like misplaced stars, dusted off his skin, his body floated for a moment. He blinked. Everything was bright around him. All of them bearing cold hues, diminishing the remaining warmth in his body.
‘Where was I? What happened that led me here?’
The questions he asked burned into the silence.
A shadow blocked the light from above. Taluto felt a gloved hand tightly grasp his wrist.
“Come on.” He whispered. “I said I’m done.”
He looked up, but the shadow revealed no features. Except for a mask. It was white, the same shade as the snow falling around them, saved for the black designs around where the eyes should be. It was also shaped as if it were the face of a bird, the black designs bearing a resemblance to eyeliner, and sharp lashes.
“Please… let go of my hand.”
He didn’t know why he uttered those words. It was almost as if they were lyrics to a song, written in a dead language no one but him could speak. It gave no sign as to where he could find more answers to his lingering questions. And he didn’t even know why he had those memories, or where they came from.
Takuto blinked again, shaking himself from his trance. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, disheveled and worn out. The pain had subsided seconds ago, and left him in such a poor state.
It terrified him a little to know there would be more words that would trigger open scars he didn’t know he had.
Takuto found himself mapping the scar like it was the beginning of a constellation on his body. He didn’t know if there would be more to come, or to reveal themselves to him.
However, as his room was coated in an orange and yellow light, he got up from his bedroom floor. He glanced at the white coat hanging in front of his closet door, and sighed.
‘Right’, he realized, ‘I have to go to Shujin Academy to talk about their offer.’
Something told him to hasten his pace, to rush to make himself look decent despite his heart being bruised. And he followed the voice in his head, but only to stop in front of the mirror once more.
Takuto stared at his reflection. He decided on wearing black slides with beige colored khakis, which he partially rolled up to his ankles. His brown belt held his pants tightly to his waist along with his teal blue collared shirt neatly tucked into his pants. He picked a checkered blue and black tie to complement his shirt. And to top it all off, he wore a white coat with his ID resting within the top pocket, attached to his neck with a thin red lanyard.
Despite looking as presentable as he could, it left him with his scar still visible. Takuto turned and scanned his room for anything he could use or wear to cover it up. However, the options around him caused his hands to shake. He couldn’t bear anything in contact with the scar.
He shook his head and faced his reflection once more, raising his hands to move his hair to cover the scar the best he could. He struggled a little, but managed to hide it well enough.
As Takuto left his apartment to head to Shujin Academy, a small spark of hope blossomed in him.
Word count: 324 📄
This one was a struggle. I hate this, but at least I wrote something 😔
Her hands were trembling as she walked across the school to the exam hall. This test was the most important thing she would ever do in her life: if she failed here, she would never be able to study physics further. She could not afford to fail, but her fear was making it hard to think straight.
Someone threw a pebble at her feet. She looked over to where it came from and saw someone who looked remarkably similar to her hiding in the shrubbery. Her counterpart gestured for her to approach.
“Are you…?” She felt like she was living the Spiderman meme.
“Yes. I’m you from the future.” Future-her smiled. “I’m here to make sure you pass this test.”
A huge wave of relief and excitement washed over her. If her future self was here, that meant that she accomplished her dream.
She had worked out the secret to time travel.
“We did it, didn’t we?” she laughed, then started babbling excitedly. “This means there’s a fixed timeline, doesn’t it? You have to tell me how I did this!”
“All in good time, yes, but first I need to pass this test,” she sighed. “Never thought I’d come back to this hellhole. Where’s the exam room?”
“Remember where we kissed that one guy as a dare?”
“Unfortunately.” “Turn right there, then go inside the building on the right. The seat is C7.” She grinned. “Thanks so much for this. Do you think anyone will notice?” “I shouldn’t think so,” her future self said, standing up from where they were crouched. “Just make sure you’re not seen, alright? Go hide in the stall at the end of the bathroom until the exam is over. I’ll return to the future from there so people don’t notice the switch.”
“Perfect.” She waved goodbye to her counterpart. “We already know you pass considering you’re here and all, but good luck nonetheless.”
She smiled back. “Thanks! Stay safe!”
“No…”
Martha pressed her tears and herself on Katie's chest, blood drenching on her shirt and hair. Her hands clutched on Katie's shirt, shaking her gently.
As if that would wake her up.
“I'm sorry ma'am,” the nurse said. “We did everything we could.”
After more labored breaths and sobbing, Martha looked up, a determined line set on her once shaking lips.
Not everything yet.
She stormed out of the hospital, ignoring the voices calling out behind her.
She had a plan, and she would stick with it. She may not know how to stick in life without Katie, but she does know how to stick to plans.
…..
Months after, Martha would barely leave her lab, even if her assistant begged her to.
I’m so close, she thought every time she would pick up her pencil once more. I’m this close…
Well. It took a few (hundred) more failures to finally make what she wanted—no, needed.
A Time machine.
Stepping into the platform, she traced the metal on the sides.
“Jessica,” she said to her assistant softly, but her lab echoed it louder. “please put on hold all of my appointments and act as my representative in the meetings.”
Her assistant nodded firmly, even though tear tracks were still drying on her cheek. “Yes, Mrs. Balantac.”
Taking a deep breath, she curled her fingers on the cool metal of the lever, and pulled.
Nothing.
Oh no, she thought. This better not be another failure….
She pulled again.
Nothing again.
She let out a frustrated sigh as her assistant spoke up. “Should I still put hold your appointments..?”
Martha grumbled. “It just takes,”
She pulled on the lever and firmly pressed it down.
Light glowing from the platform, both of them gasped.
Martha barely heard herself as she whispered, “a bit of time.”
It was showtime.
…..
10 years ago…
Martha opened her eyes.
12:48 pm.
She barely heard her mom who was now here, thinking, Is…is this that day..?
“…just a soul mark. Naginarte raman ka.” (You’re being dramatic.)
Martha blinked, and hugged her mom.
“Ah?”
She squeezed tighter as her hair was stroked, like she was a child again. Safe from grief, loss.
Just…safe.
Her mother hummed. “What’s this for?”
Martha pulled back, quirking an eyebrow up. “’Di ba ako pwede maghug sa nanay ko kasi gusto ko?” (Am I not allowed to hug my mother because I want to?)
She gave a small nod, or more like a tilt to the side. “Though…you never do this much.”
Martha glanced at the clock, then smiled at her. “I'll try.” She rubbed her mother’s shoulder. “But for now, I have to go to work…”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Martha waved goodbye and went out the door.
…..
Shit, I’m late…but maybe I can—
When the sting of ice cubes and the scent of “coffee” (it’s literally coffee-flavored milk) spilled over her, a wave of relief accompanied it.
“Hey!”
Martha placed her gaze on the woman she would love for years.
Katie's hair without the streak of gray weaving through it felt…unfamiliar. But the mole on her neck, the eyebags hanging below her eyes, and the familiar music of her voice was home to Martha.
Unknowingly, she smiled.
“Why did you have to bump into me…” She looked at her watch and groaned. “Oh come on, now I’m gonna be late…”
Martha blinked, and remembered she had to formulate a response. Something simple, something unprovoking, something—“Not my fault.”
Katie whipped around to her. “What do you mean not your fault? You literally bumped into me!”
She raised up her hands in surrender. “Okay, look, I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “Alright. Sorry, but I have to go.”
“I…”
But Katie was already gone, swallowed by the crowd of the city.
Martha shook her head affectionately. Still the same rusher as ever.
…..
In the office, Martha tapped her fingers on the table. Come on, come on…
Her old assistant came in. “Your 1 pm appointment is here, ma’am.”
She smiled. “Send her in.”
If she didn’t know her old assistant for 7 years, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight widening of her eyes. Then, she went out, back to her desk presumably.
Katie strode in and soon stopped in her tracks, shock to see Martha.
If Martha wasn’t busy putting on her game face, she would’ve smiled.
Time to change the future.
WC: 731
What I listened to while writing this: Nothing again, I left my headphones at home and I'm on a trip :((((
Word count: 871
"Well, who knew time travelling would be possible? I did! I'm the daughter of the most incredible scientist and engineer!
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, my mother! Welcome, Dr. Rosuma Filyn."
The cameras focus on the red curtains my mother gracefully parts and steps through. Her black curly hair bounces with each step, her high heels echoing in the dark wood floor as she makes her way to me.
She smiles and pulls me in an embrace as the crowd behind us claps and hoots. "Hi baby" she says in my ear, before squeezing my arms and sitting down on the chair beside my table. The band and cheers die down as I sit down as well.
Pride feels my chest. I look down at the cards on my table and I push them aside.
"Thank you so much for being here, Dr. Rosuma."
"Pleasure's all mine! I wouldn't miss this for the world."
"So, how does it feel having built something so incredible as a time machine, and what are you calling it?" I start the interview I know millions of people have been waiting for.
Without wasting a beat, Mom answers.
"It's unfathomable really. I spent so long trying to find out the missing link, that when I did find it… it felt like an impossible dream." She pauses, breathing deeply. Scratching her palms absentmindedly, she continues. "I was thinking of calling it Agatha's Clock."
"Mom!?" My exclamation left me at the same time she completed with "Surprise!" For you, it probably does not come as a shock that your mother would name something like this after her child. But that's because you don't know my mom:
Her style is to always name a project after what gave her the idea to do said project. So in this instance, I was the thing that gave her the idea to first create a freaking time machine. I wonder what exactly she was thinking when she had that bright idea!
"... and so I thought, why not that name?"
As I was having a full blown crisis, I didn't notice that my mother had continued talking. I was still thinking, did she not want me? Is that why she made this machine? Why else would I give her that idea?
"Sweetie? Is everything alright?"
No. Nothing's okay. I thought.
My mother had stopped talking and was looking concernedly at me. Reaching out with her hand, she touched my arm, but I shrugged it off. I felt my eyes water, but I pushed it all down and calmly replied.
"No, I don't feel well". Looking at no one at all I said, "can we take a five please? Thanks"
And without giving any further explanation, I got up and left.
________________________________
Five minutes later, I found myself at the terrace, hiding. Because that's what I was doing. Hiding from my mother, the cameras, even myself. I was looking to the city beyond when Mom found me with my streaked black makeup and red eyes.
"Darling, what's going on? Why did you leave?"
I didn't want to answer her. I knew now how stupid it all was, even though I still felt my chest cracking. I whispered the words, afraid of what would happen if I said them clearly out loud.
"Did you not want me? Because… why else would you name the machine my name?" After every second, I got angrier, my chest pounding, my words getting louder. "Why would you even tell me that?! Do you know how horrible it feels to know your own mother does not want you? You should have just stayed quiet and named it something else. Now, not only do I know how much you don't love me, the world does as well."
Her face was one of pure shock and horror. Slowly twisting to one of anger. Good. I thought savagely. Now we're on the same page.
"First of all girl, how could you say I don't love you after all that I did for you?! Huh? Second, mind your manners! I am still your mother. Third, I have just told you why I named the machine after you!" Her fists were trembling. "You were hurt when I thought of it. You were merely a child, playing at home close to the wall when the clock fell and hit you in your head. You had a stroke and all I could think was, 'if I hadn't let you play under the clock or if I had taken down the stupid old clock off the wall, this would not have happened. If I could go back in time, I would change all of that.' And those were the reasons I created the time machine."
I looked at her then. My eyes were burning again and I felt tears silently falling down my cheeks.
"What I didn't tell you before, is that I changed it all already. I did what I had to do to make sure you were okay."
We were hugging now, and I was wetting the whole front part of her dress.
"Sorry mom."
Her black hair was tickling my nose and her arms were holding me fiercely.
"I love you too dear. More than you could ever imagine."
I don't know if this counts but my brain gave me nothing else to work with so here ya go- wc - 285 I hope you are well.
I do not know if you can tell, but I have been waiting. For you. For you to notice me. For you to see.
But I know it’s only a pathetic act of desperation. Nevertheless, I’ll still wait for you, even if it takes ages—I do not age; even if death finally calls for me—I will not and cannot be swayed.
My waiting shall be never ending, until you come to me at last.
If only time travel existed. Only then, I can return to when you first caught my eye and when I first felt the pull of fate towards you. Only then, I can relive every moment again and again and cherish it more. Only then, will I be able to fix what I most regret: not telling you anything.
But with my curse... I am helpless. I cannot do anything to save you from this dreadful, painful, tiresome loop.
Fate crosses our paths and I am drawn to you. Our red strings intertwine. Yet it is not enough for us to be us. My curse makes me watch the scene over and over on a loop. I have to watch you in my arms as your life fades in every single lifetime.
I want it to stop. I wish to tell you everything so your reincarnation shall not experience another life of misery.
I have begged the gods, if there are any left, to take my soul and store it in hell—that way, I cannot bring harm to you—but no answers have come.
I loved you. And I still do.
So if you find this letter, know. Please.
I hope you are well.
(Just a heads up this is sort of a doctor who fan fic based off a specific episode so if you haven't watched it don't expect anything to make sense lol )
John smith. That’s my name. A plain old name for an ordinary human being, which is what I am, sort of.
Usually people will tell you they can’t imagine being anyone else but themselves, yet sometimes I am someone else, only in my dreams, almost as if there is more to John Smith than even I know, like there's something missing. it’s a bit odd, well that’s what my wife often told me, anyway.
Her name was Joan Redfern, and it was 1913 when I first met her. She was a nurse at Farringham School for boys, which is where I worked as a professor. My life was all a little but fuzzy before then, just places and names. My childhood not so much memories but facts that were made up, as my lovely Joan seemed to put it.
Joan and I became friends soon after we met and I’d often tell her about the dreams I had where I was a different man, someone far more extraordinary than plain old John Smith. She’d often laugh and tell me how silly it was and that I was far more interesting than this other man, which was utter nonsense, but it made me blush. Nevertheless, she’d insist on me telling her all the stories that I had dreamt and that’s what I’d do. I told her how John Smith was just an alias and what people called me in my dreams was the doctor; nothing more than that. My real name a secret that I would take to the grave.
The doctor was an ancient being whose planet and people were long gone, The last of the time lords. They were an ancient race who lived on a far-off planet known as Gallifrey where they lived under a burnt orange sky. They were peaceful and swore never to interfere, but there was a war. A Time War. The last great Time War. the doctor’s people fought a race called the Daleks for the sake of all creation, and they lost. They lost. Everyone lost. And they were all gone, his family, his friends, even that sky.
I shifted positions on my old armchair that sat by the window, the last of the sun’s rays reaching out, the evening almost over. I whistled a soft tune, taking an old fog watch from my pocket; turning it over in my wrinkled hand. I’d always had the old thing, but it didn’t seem important. It felt weightless and empty and often forgettable.
I turned back towards the window once again, losing myself in the memories.
Almost every night the doctor appeared in my dreams, although not always with the same face, yet I knew somehow that it was him. He was timeless, and when on the verge of death, could miraculously change his face as well as everything about himself. I often think that it is the same as dying. That version of the doctor dies and hands over his memories to a new doctor who will saunter off to see the stars, leaving his old lives behind.
Of course, the stars. The doctor might have seen them all. A small blue box was always a constant in my dreams, a machine known as the Tardis, that can travel anywhere in time and space, disguised as a police box and appearing to be bigger on the inside.
I chuckled to myself. I’d often seen police boxes throughout my life, but not so much nowadays. Although the strangest one I’d seen would have had to be the one by the school in 1913, simply because the young lady who had traveled with me to the school and whom i had helped find a position as a maid always seemed to be hanging around it, though I’m not sure why she did or why there was one in a barn on school grounds at all. Very peculiar. But I can’t lie I felt a strong connection to it, partly because before the start of the great war the lady disappeared. Martha Jones, she was called. I’d always felt quite sad about the whole disappearance. That is why when the school was demolished some years later, I took the liberty of having the Phone Box removed, and it has sat in my garden ever since.
I often think the doctor might have liked Martha if he met her. He’d had many friends like her who would travel through time and space with him. Mad, they must have been, but wonderful at the same time. He called them his companions. Yet often these friends would leave or pass on, often tragically and so the doctor always seemed such a lonely man. The doctor has such fantastic adventures, but he could never have had a life like mine. I smiled. My life had been happy. I’d had my struggles like all people did, but in the midst I always had my family, Joan and the kids. They’d all grown up now. They often came to visit me but they had families of their own, so I did see less of them.
My time was drawing to a close, but unlike the doctor’s life, I couldn’t live forever, nor would I want to, at least not without Joan. But yet, even in the completeness of my life, something was missing. Now that I had so much time on my own, I felt that although my life was almost at an end, there was a story that wasn’t over yet.
I pulled the fog watch from my pocket and held it in my palm, a deep sigh escaping my lips. I’ve said before that it often feels weightless, but now that I am dying, it seems heavier; More dense. Like it contains more than what could psychically fit in a normal fog watch.
The sun had set, and the stars were coming out, twinkling across the dark night sky. And with each breath drawn, I understood more. I knew now that the doctor was real and his memories and identity were hidden in the watch and only I could set him free. I rose from my chair and lent on the windowsill, staring out at the universe that I would no longer call home, the fog watch still firmly in my grip. A tear slid down my wrinkled face and I looked at the watch with watery eyes, flipping it open before I could change my mind.
The watch whispered to me and I closed my eyes as the whispering grew louder and louder, a bright form of energy escaping the inside of the watch.
My eyes shot open, my body brimming with energy. I could feel my wrinkles smoothing and the years slipping from my body.
I straightened up, blinking and thought of John Smith. he was gone now, but I smiled at the sweet memories, though they did not belong to me. He was right. I could never have a life like that.
Now what did Martha get up to that day she disappeared… oh YES, that’s the beauty of it all. I don’t have a clue where she went, so it’s not written in stone. She just disappeared!
I ran out the back door of John Smith’s country house and into the chilly night air; the Tardis waiting patiently like it had for so many years. I ran to it but remembered I didn’t have a key. Sighing in frustration, I pressed my face against the weathered door of my most faithful companion. The door clicked, and I stumbled, falling through.
“Well,” I grinned. “I didn’t think you would still care about me after all that time.” The Tardis make a small creaking sound and I laughed. She hadn’t changed a bit. I ran and grabbed my coat off the side of the console and began flipping switches, clicking buttons and switching dials, piloting the Tardis after such a long time, though I was sure she already knew where we were going.
“Come on, old girl,” I laughed. “Let’s go get Martha!”
The Tardis landed on a small hill outside Farringham school in the year 1914, and there was Martha, sitting all alone on the wet grass. She looked up as the Tardis materialized and I walked through the doors, the familiar sound casting a smile across her face.
“Doctor!”
“Martha!”
I ran to her, hugging my long-lost friend and companion. The smile disappeared and I could see she had been crying
“The plan didn’t work out at all. You left me and you never told me you were going to fall in love.” She glared at me. “WHY wasn’t that on the list of instructions? Did it even cross your mind? Huh?”
“No,” I shook my head sadly, “and I’m sorry Martha, I really am, but it all worked out in the end. I just came the long way around.”
Martha’s face softened. “Your eyes,” she said. "They’re so much older.”
I smiled weakly.
“John Smith lived a good long life, but that’s besides the point. I know I abandoned you, so I completely understand if you want me to take you home.”
Martha grinned. "All of time and space or back to my apartment in London? Come on, don’t be ridiculous of course i'll come with you if you want me to.”
“Alright, i'd like that.” I laughed as we began walking back towards the Tardis “Allon-y!”
Hiishkri divined the green-blue crystals spread over the cave walls. Three of the six sides fell into shape.
Iisli. Vhali. Ual.
The insects of the crystal are nervous, explore the waterfall.
Hiishkri stood up, readied himself for the day, and walked out with a skin bag in his hand.
On the way he met Hulvri. Two small tusks went into a gleeful wrinkle when Hulvri spotted the skin bag.
Hulvri walked in the way, "Out for the crystals again?"
"Iis. Can you let me through."
"You must be stupid as stone. They tell you nothing."
"Let me through."
Hulvri stepped to the side. "Don't go to the fall. Something kicked the insects up in a frenzy, wouldn't wanna be near it."
Hiishkri ignored Hulvri and walked through the gate onto the plains.
The plains were not completely flat. There was a slight slope that Hiishkri was fighting against.
The animals are all in unrest. They swarm around and fly to the town. One of the animals, a cat-like entity, trampled over Hiishkri and he was sent flying.
Coughing, Hiishkri went back to the village.
"Told you so," muttered Hulvri, and carried Hiishkri on his back. Hiishkri was surprisingly light, but firm. It reminded Hulvri of hollow wood.
He carried Hiishkri back to his home. When they walked through the door, Hiishkri jumped away from Hulvri with a cry, limped over to the crystals, and rearranged them.
"These crystals are not going to help cure your wounds."
"They give my wounds meaning," retorted Hiishkri.
The crystals danced around, waves of silver and glitter. They much shone like the bottom of a clear river, gems and stone glistening in the sunlight, a hidden beauty just waiting to be seen by Hiishkri and Hulvri. But they were more than that; they carried their language throughout the waves of time.
Iisli. Vhali. Ual. Riika. Tampiid.
Hiishkri divined the green-blue crystals spread over the cave walls. Three of the six sides fell into shape.
Iisli. Vhali. Ual. Riika. Tampiid.
The insects of the crystal are nervous, explore the waterfall. This timeline, the plains have a stampede, go through the forest.
Hiishkri stood up, readied himself for the day, and walked out with a skin bag in his hand.
On the way he met Hulvri. Two small tusks went into a gleeful wrinkle when Hulvri spotted the skin bag.
Hulvri walked in the way, "Out for the crystals again?"
"Iis. Can you let me through."
"You're going to the forest."
"Iis."
"Take care."
Hiishkri walked into the forest. There was little vegetation in the way, mostly trees. It was eerily quiet. The animals, he realized, must all have gone for the plains.
He walked in the gap between two cliffs and neared the waterfall. The insects were all mostly gone. Some insect corpses stayed behind. He inspected them, grabbed the insects and put them in his skin bag.
Then slowly he made his way back.
"Had a haul of crystals?" Hulvri grinned by the gate, two tusks formed in an arc.
Hiishkri knocked the bag in response.
Hulvri joined him on the way home. They entered through the entrance. A small alcove to the side revealed a stream of water.
Hiishkri poured water into the skin bag, shook it around, and spilled the contents on the crystal room interior.
The crystals popped out of the insect guts.
"This timeline is nearing an end…" muttered Hiishkri, and rearranged the crystals.
Iisli. Rhumi. Tampiid. Smkoli. Inhkri.
Insects of the crystal are trampled and bitten through, animals are in un-rest. The timeline is smoke, water on steel.
And then, the one at the ceiling. He needed to step on Hulvri's shoulders to reach the crystals.
Yaml.
Alive for sixty three days.
Word Count: 1,246 words
In a split second, Yena could only register a few things: a cacophony of shouts and searing heat enveloping her skin.
The next second, she was on muddy soil under a canopy of fragrant emerald trees. Her heart raced and every inch of her prepared for surprise attacks. Where was she? What happened? Where is everyone? Even as her thoughts raced to make sense of what happened, her senses immediately felt for the nature of energy and mana surrounding her.
There was the press of earthen energy, pushing against her legs sunk into the mud. (When did she even lose her footing? She needed to get a grip.) And softly lapping against her arms, too, was plant energy emitted by the multitude of trees, bushes, and endless grass. The two energies, constants in a forest, maintained its [undulating] waves around her.
Without moving a muscle, Yena reached out her senses to feel for any miasmic energy, Andor energy, or any of the energies of friend or foe.
She felt none.
Yena tried again, willing her training to work. Still, her search bore no fruit.
As the realization began to sink in—of being alone, of being alone in this forest, of the likelihood that she was too weak to defend herself—Yena could only stare at the circling patterns of the emerald tree across her.
Calm down.
Her breathing quickened.
Just think.
She gulped and closed her eyes.
Think. Or rest.
Yena brought a hand to her forehead, attempting to fight a forming ache.
What would Ikarus do?
"Miss?"
Yena's heart skipped a beat—she swore her own chest beat fiercely against itself— as she stumbled back. Her feet and knees dug deeper into the mud as her hand grabbed for anything she could—
A sharp thorn from emerald roots pierced her palm. She hissed and mentally cursed herself.
"Miss! Please, I won't hurt you."
Only then did Yena register that the voice was that of... a child.
Nursing her bleeding hand close to her chest, she looked at the source of the voice. There, half-hidden by a bush and shaded by her hood and the tree canopy, was a child who looked no older than six.
She would scold herself for calming down in the future—in her line of work, even kids might be dangerous, when you're alone and cornered—but, then again, the kid was, like, five and a half.
Maybe the kid finally noticed Yena calmed down, and so she stepped forward out of the bush. Stepping through the mud almost too strategically for her age, Yena noted, the child made her way to her. Who still remained frozen with her knees in the mud.
When the child let down her hood, Yena's heart made its second beat-skipping within the last two minutes.
The child looked to be a young, very young, Amira.
"A—" Yena stopped herself.
Little Amira-like blinked, before reaching out for her hand. "I can help."
"Huh?" Yena felt her wits dropping every second she was in this place.
"I can heal the wound. Teacher taught me how."
"Huh," Yena could only say as she blankly let the child hold her hand. She thought nothing of letting a child handle injuries, still stunned. However, as a familiar green glow formed itself around her hand, slowly encasing it in a small green orb, she knew she was right. This energy, this glow, can only be Amira.
And immediately, her mind caught up.
"Um, child," Yena said, softly so as not to startle the child. Though, based on the child's nod even as she wore a focused frown, Yena thought she was probably the more shaken among the two. Not the little Amira. "May I ask, just to be sure..."
Little Amira said nothing.
"What day is it today?"
The child blinked at her, caught off guard. The green light flickered and, noticing that, she immediately went back to frowning and focusing on Yena's wound. "Did you injure your head too, Miss?"
Yena couldn't help but smile. "No." At least, she didn't think so. "But I just want to make sure. I... kinda lost track of time here in the forest."
"Miss, the nearest town is just two kilometers from here."
Oh. Her senses must be too drained from the battle to reach that far. She needed to work on that. "I must have been more rattled than I thought," she said, chuckling awkwardly.
"Hmph. Clearly."
"...so? What day is it?"
The child sighed. She must either be tired of Yena... or she was thinking Yena was strange. "It's Tuesday."
"Year... 2009, perhaps?" Though if I'm right, then probably not.
"Huh? No, it's the year 1997."
I knew it. Yena sighed, closing her eyes before snapping it open. Wait. "Aren't you... five?"
"No," the child said with more force, almost glaring at her even as she tried to maintain the green glow. Oh, Yena noted, the pain has eased a little. "I am eight years old," she said with a pout.
Yena smiled, biting back a laugh. By the look of her face and the mumbles coming out of her pout, Little Amira must have been questioned regarding her age multiple times. "I see. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," the child mumbled. "I know I'm shorter than the others."
Yena couldn't stop the chuckle brought by that.
The child glared at her. "You are very weird."
Yena smiled back, deigning not too rebut her statement. She may be right, after all. As the child went back to work, Yena let silence envelop them both. Basking in the familiar green glow of Amira's energy and the warmth emitted by the young Vessel nursing her hand, Yena felt her eyelids and shoulder sag as tension seeped out.
Her eyes wandered around the forest, golden light flittering through the cracks in the tree canopy—from an upcoming sunset, most likely. The breeze was almost non-existent and only came from the direction Little Amira came from. That must be where the town was.
The green glow surrounding her hand gradually ceased. As it faded to nothing, Yena returned her attention to the child in front of her. "Thank you," she said, smiling as the child stepped back and let go of her hand.
Little Amira nodded, putting her hands on her waist as she puffed up her chest. "You're welcome. My ability is meant to help others."
Yena smiled fondly. Images of older Amira, the Amira she knew, flashed across her mind's eye. "Yes, it is. However..." Before she could stop herself, Yena rested her hand —the very one Little Amira healed—on the child's shoulder. "Your ability shouldn't decide your responsibility. It was you who decided to help me, not your ability." With her other hand, Yena patted the child's head. "You are very kind. Thank you."
Little Amira flushed to her ears and stepped back. Wrapping her hooded jacket closer to herself, in adorable embarrassment, the child turned around. "You are very weird," she muttered, but before Yena could add anything, she continued, "but okay."
Smiling, Yena stood up. At her movement, the child blinked at her.
"Let's go. I'll lead you to town," she offered, turning around and walking before Yena could even say sure.
Yet as she stepped forward to follow in Little Amira's little footsteps, a searing white light enveloped her.
A cacophony of shouts.
Bright, blue skies.
The worried faces of her friends.
Behind her, solid ground.
Ah. She's back.