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Member
Join Date: Jan 2008
Posts: 4
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To The End of Time - Chapter 1 - Time is always on your side
This is my first time posting here, hi everybody! Below is chapter 1 of a story about a Time Traveler I just started working on. It is currently titled "To The End of Time" however that could change.
Chapter 1
Time is always on your side
The golden sun was caught, hanging in the brilliant sapphire sky, like a fly in a spider web, and beneath the puffy silver clouds, the earth was coated with shimmering emerald green grass. The children were romping about and playing, breathing in the dignifying fresh air, and soaking up the sunlight, but inside, in the dark, Herbert Frankston fumbled and tripped over bullets and a revolver.
The blinds were drawn, as to prevent any pestering children or begrudging priests to observe any of the activities taking place inside; this turned the room into a shadowy and miserable cave. Other than the dim candles lit, whose light gently touched the shoddy furniture and caressed the chipped walls, the house was completely devoid of brightness.
“Phew” Herbert mumbled to himself as he peered out his Venetian blinds “Look at those pathetic children, so happy. Happy and naïve.” He shoved a bullet into the silver revolvers chamber, a scowl on his face.
Drawing his wearied, blood shot eyes away from the painful light of the window he murmured “Damn children. Damn people. Damn life.” And pushed a second bullet into the chamber.
“Nothing is worth anything, we have no purpose.” A third bullet slid smoothly into its place.
“Purpose?” an unusually elegant and unfamiliar voice interrupted “Is the beauty of the sky and the trees and the flowers and the children playing outside on the grass not purpose enough for you?” The sound echoed throughout the room as if it had no definite source.
Herbert whirled around wildly in a futile attempt to find the source of the voice “Show yourself!” he shouted
The voice ignored him and continued unaffected “And is naivety not the essence of happiness?”
“How long have you been listening to me?” Herbert asked in chagrin, still whirling about.
“Long enough to realize that you are a pessimistic, misanthropic, and sadly misguided fool.”
Through gritted teeth Herbert demanded “And who might you be to spout such bitter accusations?”
“Who might you be to deny them? You hold a gun loaded with three bullets in one hand and a note exclaiming your deep seeded hatred of the human race in the other”
Herbert had no reply other than to clench his clammy fists and swallow the saliva welling up in his parched mouth.
The voice paused briefly as if observing him with its non-existent eyes, before beginning again “You must be very uneducated, not to mention foolish, to think these thoughts. What inspires a man to become so grotesquely self-absorbed is a mystery to me.”
Pressing the cold barrel against his warm flesh, Herbert said “If you’ve come to stop me, you’re too late.”
At that fate defining moment, a blue light burst forth, seemingly from thin air and illuminated the room to the farthest corners, casting silhouettes on the run-down ceiling. A door materialized in a flurry of purple ashes and out stepped a slender man in a sophisticated, almost bewitching manner. He had matted brown hair, and was wearing a nineteenth-century velvet tailcoat—which he now proceeded to whimsically brush off and pat down—pinstripe slacks, and a tall top hat. Gently he crept toward Mr. Frankston, grabbed the pistol, and softly uttered “You might want to reconsider that, my dearest friend.”
Herbert’s stubborn nature led him to put down the gun, if only so he could continue to argue “Friend?!?! I do not even know you, sir!”
The man smiled “Ah. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Creasing his brow Herbert burst out in a fit of frustration “Who are you to burst into my house, dressed as queer as can be, telling me what I have and haven’t done!”
A smirk crossed the man’s face and he looked down at his clothes while lifting the tail of his coat with his hand “Hmph… … I thought they were rather stylish. What ever happened to the fashions and rules of the 1800’s? You could certainly use a lesson in being a gentleman. And just for the record, I find your clothes queer.”
With a flushed red face shifted his eyes to his grungy t-shirt and flip flops. He found himself irritated from the sheer calmness of this man. If only he would burst into yelling as well, then Herbert could be satisfied and carry out his suicidal deed.
“Please Leave” Herbert said firmly, trying to contain his temper
“Oh, I will leave! In due time. Time… It’s a funny thing, you know? Most people think it’s like a river, flowing swift and sure in one direction, when in reality it’s more like a big, Wibbly… Wobbly… Ocean sort of thing.”
That was well stated” Herbert mocked
“Thank you.” The man didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm “Ah yes! By the way, you can call me the professor! And speaking of the way, we should be on our way!”
“We?”
“uh… yes. When I said I would be leaving in due time, what I really meant was we. Because you see, we have bigger and better things to do than sit here chatting about such insignificant matters all day long.” The tempo of his speaking was blazingly fast, and Herbert struggled to keep up. “Although…” he added in a slower tone “Insignificant matters can be quite fun, maybe we’ll deal with those later.”
Herbert was shocked at how thoughtful this “Professor” was about every point he made, and every thing he said.
The professor shook his head briskly around as if to snap himself out of his deep thought, lifted a finger and said “You know how people say ‘there is no time like the present’?”
Herbert nodded
“Well! They lied! Now without further ado I present to you—oh that rhymed… how wonderful!—my time machine!”
With that, from the same blue light and purple ash as the door had come, a mighty machine melted into the room. It was covered in what appeared to be antique clocks, each one ticking in sync, creating a symphony of harmonized clicks. There were also hefty grinding gears, outstretching pistons and a massive engine that bled steam from five huge iron pipes. Herbert coughed from the fumes and stared on blankly.
The professor grabbed a pole on the side of the machine and with one swift motion pulled himself up onto a single red arm chair that sat perched atop the rusted machinery, forming a stark contrast.
“Good lord!” Herbert shouted
“Oh stop it! You’re yelling is louder than when I saw the Krakatoa erupt! It was quite a show you know—oh, again with the rhyming! I must stop myself, I sound like mother goose. I once met her actually… Wonderful woman, Elizabeth Foster goose was her name. She lived from 1635 to 1693, and a lot of people don’t know this, but the rhymes were songs she used to sing to her twenty children, eventually they were gathered up and written down. And that’s your history lesson for today… I digress though. Onto the machine!”
Blinking and lost in the high paced flurry of words Herbert climbed uneasily onto the machine. The engine exploded into a loud roar and over the clamor the professor screamed “That was much easier than I expected! I suppose I just have a way with people.” And in the blink of an eye the machine was lost in another detonation of blue light.
The sky was blue, the grass was green, the flowers were blooming, the children played outside, and momentarily the present society was rid of the burden that was Herbert Frankston.
Chapter 2 is coming soon, it is titled "Reynolds!" Anyone who can figure out what it's about has earned my appreciation.
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