Keenan

Hello everyone. I would like to start out by saying that this is my FIRST story. I worked hard, and I am serious about writing a major piece once I become more experienced. Unfortunately, I am 18 years old, and I previously never read much, nor did I ever write much. But for some reason, I have changed and I desire to write a novel someday.

This piece, is two acts long. Which is basically two chapters, divided into 'scenes,' separated by ~'s.

The genre is Science Fiction/Philosophical. I haven't really figured out my best writing style yet, so I took this approach. Note, the characters and the dialogue are not 'supposed' to be entirely realistic, but hopefully believable. I am aware that some parts need some fine-tunning, but I would really appreciate if I can get some feedback, and help.

It would be an honor if someone were to edit this, I really want to write, and I need help. Thank you,
I hope you enjoy.

Masses of women and children scurried across the streets, seeking shelter as the skies cried, pouring its hardest. In the distance, sounds of gunfire reverberated, and men screamed, terrified as their homeland was sacked by foreign forces.
Amidst the smoke and ruins, enemy tanks rolled in, cracking bones of corpses that lied in their paths, firing shots relentlessly.
“Get out of there!” a soldier cried to another.
The soldier panicked, beginning to climb down the watch tower.
“Hurry!”
But it was too late. The tanks shot at it, engulfing his friend in flames, causing him to scream to his death.
“God dammit!” a commander shouted. “Forget about him,” he told the distraught solider. “This is impossible.”
The commander raised a white flag for all to see. “Retreat for the gates!” he bellowed, motioning his arm towards the city gates.
Outcries of men ran for their lives, away with nothing; their loved ones buried under the debris, lost forever.
Despite their retreat, the tanks would not let up. They kept bombarding their escape, bringing down the gates, entrapping the soldiers.
From towers high above, stood a general and his diplomat, overlooking the terror.
“They attack our homeland, our families, for what?”
The diplomat shrugged.
“They shall pay with their blood,” the general said hatefully. “I want every man, woman, and child massacred. Their land shall burn to Hell's keep as their history, whipped and forgotten by all future men to walk this planet.”
The diplomat agreed, “That they should.”
“I want those weapons readied at our base; they shall fear us now. The time has come.”
“It has, it has,” replied the diplomat eagerly.

Six bickering gentlemen passed beneath two archways and took their seats at a long table. After a moment, a seventh gentleman entered, head held high, striding below the central and largest archway. The six hushed at the sight of him, for his name was Dr. Martin Lawrence –chairman of Esotek Research, and the Great Society's most notorious of inventors. As he headed for his armchair, his weight casted a cold breeze that blew past his men. They wondered what Lawrence knew, since he called a special meeting, which never happened before. A few of them, however, peered about the walls, locating their portrait, remembering that they were among the elite. Lawrence huffed as he sat down, lit a cigar, giving it a few puffs, and observed his inferiors veil their fears. Weak they are, he thought.
“I have bad news,” Lawrence stated, their attentions raised. “It appears that the enemy has been conducting research on top-secret weapons. Missiles, in such high numbers, there's enough of them to destroy every major city, spread across our empire.”
“Impossible!” a gentleman exclaimed.
An uproar stirred; the men hissed and spoke wildly without turn.
“Madness! The Great Society will never fall!”
“Where'd you get such an absurd idea? Our units have destroyed every opposing city, base, fort, you –”
“Silence!” growled Lawrence, smashing his cigar into his ash tray. They quieted, not one dared to snap at him. “There's been enough of your pettiness and shallow words, it's a wonder why we're now on the loosing end. More than ever now, the freedom of our people is at risk. We can loose it all within a few days, as our people have become more fearful of the enemy but not us. Be warned! They're angry... real angry. They'll kill anything. Anything that belongs to the Great Society is to be massacred they say. Including your families, women, children, anything, and they won't even stop at infants. They're uncivilized barbarians with no remorse, nor compassion. We need to act quickly or –”
“Or what, Dr. Lawrence?” a man interrupted from his right, wearing a burgundy suit and tie. “Loss of power? Or are you trying to fool us into another one of your false pretenses, just so you can scare us off. Last time you made it all up. Where's the proof? Or is this a matter of boy who cried wolf on your part?”
Yet another rant was triggered, louder than before. Lawrence elevated himself, his face red and charged with anger.
Wham! The ranting was silenced again, his hands pressed firmly against a typed report. “Not according to the latest I read from intelligence reports,” Lawrence said forcefully, sliding the report towards the gentleman. Startled, the man brought the report closer to himself. Lawrence fixated his eyes on him, perceiving his fearfulness and considered this to his advantage.
Copies of the report were handed to everyone, Lawrence kept one for himself. His men were quiet, wide-eyed, and frantically glancing left to right between the textual columns. He really means it this time. What a ruthless Devil!
“Coffee anyone?” he said, in effort to heighten their tensity. Their response was nothing more than brief stares –they were in shock.
A man questioned him, worried and without a clue, “So what're we gonna do about it?”
Lawrence spoke, “We are going to toy with one of the universal laws.” He hesitated, and then emphasized, “The law of time. Never again will our society deal with the consequences of mistakes at war. We can save the lives which uphold our power. If we succeed in our endeavors, we will define humanity for what it ought to be. In time, we will uphold knowledge of the future, as we refuse to share it. Our missiles will strike the enemy's in midair with exact precision, and our empire will be saved. They will cower away and seek refuge from what appears to them as... supernatural. Believe me, we can show so much to the world. But we must keep it secret, indeed. Nobody can find out. If anyone gets a hold of such technology, who knows –their decisions will interfere with ours. Something so terrible could happen. We could find ourselves engaged in a battle for time.”
A gentleman replied with uncertainty, “So EsoTek constructed a time machine? I never heard about this.”
“And where're the proofs, the blueprints, or anything to say such a thing even exists?” another yelled.
“You're going to have to believe me, if you want to ponder on even the idea of having another weekend. I do have proof. Live footage of the machine in Lab 111B. I now ask of you all to observe project code: XS769.”
The men now rummaged speedily through their mess of papers. It was difficult to locate the document, for the papers weren't sorted and over half of them were documents on discontinued projects, and rest were projects that failed, or deemed farfetched by Dr. Lawrence himself. But this document was unlike the others. It wasn't proved wrong nor tried; and if it could work, there would be peace –at least for them.
It was yet another effort to defend the establishment of illusionary democracy from its own cause. Their society claimed so much from the world. They said they were the guardians of freedom, protectors of justice, and they signified the ideals for humanity to admire. But those in power corrupted it –they sought after something intangible –something which awards its master with gratification through the arts of destruction. The crave for Power. The Great Society dominated and plagued mankind relentlessly, spreading falsehoods, worldwide fears, and the dishonest truths about those beyond their kingdom for hundreds of years. But humanity has now reached it's final degree: The End Times. Now, world powers have constructed mechanisms of war that could do dreadful things. There were now more than enough of these powerful weapons to wipe out the existence of civilization dozens of times over again. In the end, mortals and their creative works, history and culture would only remain within the the complete mind of God. Man's final hope was identified: Project Timeless.
A gentleman shouted without holding back, “I found the document! I want to see the footage!”
A large screen drifted downwards from the ceiling. Images of the shiny, charcoal black time machine flashed right before their eyes. The men watched the screen as Lawrence narrated the live feed:
“This, my inferiors, is the TT100.” The men awed in admiration. Lawrence went on, “A cylindric mechanism that churns and manipulates time, operated by a manned control panel. It seats just one individual, keeping his vital signs in check, preserving his life as he takes his journey through time. This machine will allow him to experience the future as it will happen. But its sheer ability has been locked by its inventors, preventing him to travel back in the past by his will. Our mission, is to send a man through a time tunnel, a century beyond, and have him report to us on what he sees if society choose to continue on with its current affairs. But, before we can send him through, I will personally inform trusted personnel to be expecting a messenger from the past, and they are to advise him on the appropriate decisions for us to take. Then, our time traveler will travel a century backwards. This will be when he'll tell us what he heard and saw. If successful, we can continue this process back-to-back and finalize answers which help us make the right decision, each and every time. Time travel will prove itself as the oracle of our times, as it will be nothing more but an enigma to them.”
“I say it's Brilliant!” a gentleman cheered. The group of men stood from their seats, celebrating with applause.
But one disrupted with a sneer, “You gotta be out of your fucking mind! Sounds implausible to me. How do you know this thing actually works?”
“I've seen it in action myself,” Lawrence responded defensively. “Last week we sent a monkey through time, a century forwards and back, like this one will be. As proof that it worked, the informers from the future placed an unripe, green banana with markings inside of the capsule's time preservation container. And when they rewound the time, it did not evaporate as expected. In fact, both the monkey and the banana came back intact along with their markings, at the same age prior to their travel through time.”
A man chuckled humorously, “It's no space monkey, but a time monkey!” A burst of laughter filled the air, but quickly hushed.
“But this is a man you're sending through time. It's not the same,” argued the scornful one.
Lawrence detested him, “If you don't believe me, I'll gladly place you elsewhere. I cannot afford to allow unfaithful ones to partake within this council.” The man sat down again and became quiet, not a word was spoken.
A man articulately asked Lawrence, “Well then, who will play as time traveler?”
Lawrence grinned, looking at the man receptively, “That's precisely what this meeting is really all about. We'll have to appoint someone with extensive knowledge of the procedure. And, in order to prevent the spread of this secret, we need someone on the team who worked directly on the project.”
For a while, the men meditated on the subject, glancing over their documents, which contained names of those involved on the project.
One of the gentleman suggested without much thought, “How about one of the lab techs? Jared or Manuel? It wouldn't be a terrible loss if we lost one of them.”
“Nah,” Lawrence replied. “They aren't quite intellectual material. We need someone who really knows the ins and outs of that capsule. Someone with brains.”
“How bout Greg or Vincent? They're pretty smart.”
Lawrence shook his head negatively for it was the worst suggestion, “Not Greg. He doesn't have much faith in this project. He wouldn't step one foot into that capsule even if I offered him my beautiful wife for a night. And definitely not Vincent. He's far too eccentric to deal with future matters. He may be an excellent programmer, but he lacks the social skills to give the future informers even the mildest utterance of what we ask of him.”
Another contributed, “Well, we obviously can't send the supervisor, Mr. Osbourne. And definitely not Rachael –because she's a woman –so she can't do it. But even though I don't like to spoil things, I do recommend her coworker, Dr. Harold Anderson, even though they seem rather close... if you know what I mean?”
“Why him?”
“Well, he's the quantum chemist who worked directly on the capsule. He worked on the atom preservation units, so he must be pretty smart. He must definitely know a whole lot about time travel to do that.” The man glanced once more at Harold's bio, “And, he's unmarried with no family –he hasn't much to loose. And oh yeah, he's a Ph.D, which is a plus.”
“Indeed,” Lawrence said. “But a doctorate in anything just means a few more years of drinking at parties and showing up to class hungover. I've been there, I would know what it's like.” The men snickered. “But all kidding aside, I happen to know him also. But not enough to prevent myself from assigning him such a risky task. He's quite a serious-minded individual. I have faith in his abilities.”
The man nodded and grinned with appreciation for Lawrence's satisfaction in his choice.
Lawrence said with pleasure, “Time is a ticking. I'll inform Dr. Anderson about this promptly.”
“Splendid choice, Lawrence.”
Lawrence smiled, “It's doctor... Lawrence.”

An electric-powered silver sedan pulled up alongside a curb next to a modest single-story house. It was Harold back from work for the evening, wearing his black and gray laboratory suit. Walking along a sidewalk, he saw his neighbors packing their belongings, yet again in fear. Harold shook his head, thinking, People are brainwashed; so easily swayed by the media... it's a wonder we continue to function as a society.
Harold's house was lightly decorated with various electronics and gadgets that he bought with discounts from his job. The walls were bare with the exception of some old photographs of his parents who were now dead. Harold entered the living room for a drink to relieve himself from yet another hectic day. The LAN phone rang. Unusual, it must be important, he thought. It couldn't be a buddy from work, expecting one of those drinks I owe 'em –they would've called on the cell. He picked it up. It was Dr. Lawrence –with an offer. Lawrence told him that he would be his time traveler. That he would be a hero as the savior for the fate of humanity and that he would gain much fame, a promotion, and fifty thousand, untaxed. I must do it. This was Harold's opportunity to experience the time capsule –a machine that man once only dreamed of. Harold agreed, but he didn't have a choice, since he would loose his position if he failed to comply.
Harold then sat on his favored green plush recliner, thinking. Sounds easy enough, just sit back and let it take me away. Fifty grand; that's enough to keep him busy for a while. He knew that his journey into another time was tomorrow, and there was no tuning back.

Keenan

It was now morning and Harold's car drove through the main gates, bypassing two guards adjacent to a sign post that read: EsoTek Research Laboratories. His car whirred through the long, whip-like dirt road as dust clouds kicked up behind the car's thrust. The car stopped at a beige and brown complex. It wasn't magnificent in size, but most of it was underground anyway. Inside, research information was hush-hush, not even the scientists knew why they did what they were told. But Harold knew that his risks should yield extraordinary rewards. Hopefully.
Harold went into Room 110 –the health inspection centre, prior to his journey into the unknown. He was seated, hunched over atop an operating post with chords connected to his hairy chest.
Dr. Garry Lambda, a physician, and long time friend of Harold, slithered into the room like a snake. His head was oblong and his body was flimsy.
“Vital signs checked out good. It looks like you have a long day ahead of you, or century,” Garry chuckled as he scanned over Harold's health records.
“Thanks doc,” Harold said. “Yeah I do. I feel anxious about the whole thing. Lawrence told me that he'll grant me a generous reward if all goes well. A fifty grand bonus and a promotion to the top. He'll even add my portrait among elite six. But I sure hope I can prove that my atom preservation process works on humans. I'll become famous if so.”
Garry sighed, “I wonder why he didn't pick me. I'm quite surprised, I mean, I served him all throughout the first Great War as his personal counselor. I thought he would ask me. He even said he would because I treated him so well.”
“Perhaps he values your services too much to send you through?”
“Perhaps.” Garry said sorely as he leaned his body towards the counter, jotting down some quick notes. There was now a sense of uneasiness. Garry seemed jealous of Harold's opportunity, as if he was betrayed. However, his bitterness was not directed at Harold, but it was at Lawrence's broken promises. Harold redirected the situation.
“Hey doc?” he said thoughtfully.
“Yes?” Garry answered, absorbed in his notes with half attention.
“What do you think I'll see over there? In another time? Do you think the future is set in stone? Can the future really be altered as Lawrence's men believe?”
Garry's attention was now stimulated. He glanced over at Harold and looked at him seriously. “I don't know,” he responded. “The future might be governed by what seems like a freeway, where man selects his fate by the exit he chooses, and from there, he embarks onto a set of roads where he must realize his destination and figure the best route to get there. Like the existence of humanity, the length of a freeway must come to an end, and merge onto a new one with new paths and sights to explore.”
Harold replied, “That could be why Lawrence values decision making. Lawrence seems to believe he can stop our fate of extinction. I'm not so sure about this myself.”
“But who else ever said our fate would be our ultimate obliteration?” Garry questioned to prove Lawrence wrong. “I don't think we should fall subject to what everybody else thinks. Also, there is no reason to fear death. I believe that it's your time to go when the time is right.”
“But Lawrence seems to think that in order to sustain his authority as president of Esotek, he must manipulate the illusion of time.”
“What Lawrence thinks is not what you think, Harold. You're an individual. Believe what you think is true. Lawrence's authority over you is limited compared to your thoughts.”
For a second, Harold paused as his eyes looked into the distance. He thought to himself for a moment as if he realized something, but he couldn't put it into words. Harold turned his head towards Garry and whispered softy, “I do fear death.”
Garry comforted Harold and said, “There's no reason to be afraid. Life is an adventure, it provides grounds for growth. Your worry and fears only decelerate this.”
“I guess,” Harold said with agitation. His head peered about as he wanted to express his feelings. Eventually, he did in a rant. “But I'm a nobody. I haven't a family to support, I haven't been loved, and I busted my ass over a doctorate in quantum chemistry, and where did it get me? Nowhere! I work five days a week, from sunrise to sunset, like everybody else. I'm not special, in fact, I'm far less than special. I'm nobody, nothing. Nobody knows who I am, but I could care less. I don't need them. They're less than me, they just don't know it.”
Garry attempted to cheer Harold up. “You're getting carried away Harold. You're just a little stressed it all. You'll be fine. After all this, you're gonna step out of that capsule with a big smile on your face. Visualize it Harold. You're going to be among the six, you'll be the seventh in that fray of theirs.” Garry smiled, but soon gave Harold a concerned look. “I should warn you, though. Lawrence is full of broken promises. He never keeps his word about anything. But I don't think he'd treat a human being as his lowly guinea pig for a machine that was barely tested.”
“I guess,” Harold said with a low sigh. “I guess I shouldn't worry much about it. I'll just let fate play its part. I'll do what I think is right.”
Garry beamed and said with exhilaration, “Now that's the spirit! Don't allow worry to bully you like that. You have every right to make your own decisions, just like Lawrence does.” Garry finished his final note, tearing it off his notepad. “Now I want you to head towards Room 111. Your team is preparing the capsule for take off in Lab 111B, next door. Hand this paper to Rose at her desk. You checked out fine, just wait in the waiting room. They're about to generate some power for the capsule. It should be ready within a few hours.” Harold took the paper with his trembling hand. He didn't say a word as he stumbled his way towards the door; his eyes glanced over at Garry as if to say goodbye. Haphazardly, Harold left the room, and the door closed itself shut. Garry wondered, Why would Lawrence offer him so much? He's not the generous-type. He might expect him to fail. But failure will lead him to his death. But no, he couldn't. That machine works. I know it does.

In a bright room lit by florescent lights with rain-blue walls, a pale green floor, and cluttered with buzzing computer terminals, a group of scientists in gray suits were inspecting the time capsule for its journey ahead. Seated at the corner of the control room, was Dr. Vincent Morris on his laptop, hacking away. As a computer scientist, he was observing everything that went on around him, speculating everything. He had a lunar-shaped noggin with thick, black rectangular glasses. Towards the left side of the room, seated near the mapping console, was Dr. Greg Trefel, a biochemist, and a genius no doubt. He could recite the value of pie radians till the 314th digit and the base-two sequence until what seemed like infinity. He also had black spectacles, but his age was much greater; his skin was crusty and uneven in color. And of course, there was Jared and Manuel, tampering with the inner workings of the machine. They both looked alike, and they were not unique in manner.
Greg was resting his chin over his palm, viewing a large hologram of the world map. He doubted that the world would even be around for another hundred years. To him, plotting a spawn location for the capsule was inconceivable. Nevertheless, Dan Osbourne came running through the sliding door with updates. “I have new word on the warping location,” Dan said, in a loud commanding voice. Greg faced Dan, eyes wide. Oh Really? Dan went on and said hurriedly, “Lawrence wants the informers to meet our Harold in a location far from our empire, to ensure that nothing gets in the way of the meeting. We wouldn't want possible missile attacks, or enemy occupation, now would we? His manifestation into the future must not be witnessed by anyone, but only to our loyal informers.” Dan reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small data chip. He presented it to Greg for him to see. “I have the exact position stored on this.” Dan inserted the card into one of the console slots. The holographic map flickered once and refreshed itself, displaying a pinpoint location. He pointed at the holographic arrow figure and said, “They are to meet on this small, secluded island that rests on our great ocean.” Greg shrugged and didn't think much of it. Dan added, “And if anything were to get in the way of this spawn position, the computer onboard should be able to reprogram itself and spawn the capsule at the nearest, safest, location.” Dan turned towards Vincent, “Isn't that right Vincent?” Vincent nodded affirmatively and looked away again.
“I doubt it,” Greg said sarcastically.
“What do you mean? This procedure is completely safe,” Dan argued.
“It's not even that. Do you honestly believe that the informers themselves will be alive in a hundred years? Sounds absurd to me.”
“Of course not!” Dan exclaimed defensively. “Information of Harold's star appearance will be handed down throughout the generations. His date of appearance has already been booked, a century from today.”
“Yeah, sounds great if there were to be a society in existence to hear him out. Humanity will keep fighting wars against itself, without consideration of its final devastation. What he'll see, will be an inanimate and static wasteland. There'll be no informers, or people for that matter, because they'll be dead.”
“Such nonsense!” Dan shouted in an outcry. “Humanity will always have foundation. They need foundation. The people will be governed, and they will enjoy an age of peace, that is, of course, only until the enemy has been defeated. And those who belonged to the enemy will assimilate and realize that our way of life is superior.”
“We only have enemies because we made them. There would be no struggle if you didn't make them in the first place.”
“You are so narrow minded, you never believe in a damn thing. This is gonna work. It did so with the monkey. I introduce, Mister Happs.” Dan took out his remote and pressed a button. A hidden wall-compartment slid open, revealing a built-in cage. Inside, was Happs, jumping with excitement, taunting Greg.
Greg rolled his eyes in frustration, “Such slander! It's not the same. The monkey's warpings through time proved nothing. There was no evidence that he was seen by the informers. Anyone could've placed that banana in the container for him.”
“Let's be real here. The only people who would've known to place that banana with those exact markings as specified, would've been our informers. There is absolutely no trace of civilization on that island, and nobody else would've been there to do it.”
Suddenly, a noise of footsteps scuffling approached.
“I'm worried about Harold,” Rachel interrupted as she stormed into the lab.
Dan was the first to respond, “Why? Where did you come from? You're supposed to be in the waiting room with Harold.”
“But I think we're rushing into this.”
Dan said in attempts to convince her, “We got to do this. We'll be dead if we don't. It's true; the enemy is about to attack. We have no other choice but to proceed.”
Greg griped in anger, “I'm tellin ya, it won't work! You guys are absolutely nuts –to think that you can send a man through time, nuts I tell ya!”
“We need to think of an alternative,” Rachel added.
Dan scorned Rachael, “What we need to think about is the annoyance of your squaller. You have no say in this. Lawrence does, and let's keep it at that.”
Greg's temper was never in check, but this time he was bothered by Dan's impudence. He took on a sarcastic act, “Whatever. I'll cooperate to please my master.”
“That you will,” Dan replied, showing little respect. “Now, the TT100 requires a vast amount of power in its reservoir to work. Time travel is costly,” he chucked lightly. “But, I order that the power generators be activated in preparation for Harold's travels into the unknown. It should take about a few hours to fully charge.”
Greg, still sarcastic, made his way towards the power control lever. “Will do sir!” He smiled sardonically. Rachael, barley keeping her balance, wished that she could faint. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to never open them again. Stop! Stop, please.
Dan, himself, ran towards the lever and got into Greg's way, “In fact, Greg. Let me be the one to pull down the lever. I've always been waiting for this moment.”
Greg stood aside, giving Dan a mean look behind his back. Dan hastily pulled on the lever and forced it downwards. Soon, bolts of lightning begun to strike the generator's spinning turbines. They spun rapidly, feeding raw power into the capsule's power supply. Both Greg and Rachael stood behind Dan with astounded looks on their faces. Bluish lighting casted a shadow behind the three figures. Dan grinned as his yellow and nearly rotten teeth showed with iniquity. Greg and Rachael both knew that what was about to happen, was beyond their control. But there was little they could do about it.

Keenan

The wall-clock ticked slowly, the hands barely budged as the scientists were waiting patiently, yet restlessly. Some looked at their wrist watches, eying the time, while some were fast asleep.
A buzzer finally sounded. Leaning against a computer terminal was Greg, who elbowed Dan, awaking him from his nap. Dan became alert and glanced over at the monitor.
“All bars are full,” Dan said. “Someone bring in Harold.”
Rachael spoke immediately. “I'll go get him,” she said, walking briskly towards the slider door.
And there he was, twiddling his thumbs, gazing at the beautiful paintings scattered across the pale blue walls. He was very silent, but his mind was raging, I'll never be the same after this, something will happen; I'll change. My soul will vanish and become lost in a tunnel. Something will malfunction, I won't be able to recover. No, nothing will happen. I'll be okay. Esotek is cautious; they would never do anything possibly dangerous unless they proved it was absolutely safe. They wouldn't want to spoil their record of excellence to the Great Society. Nevertheless, he was shaking, but he was able to conceal most of it with the deep breathing techniques he learned from when he was young. He remained cool and calm so he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of the clerks.
The door of the room creaked open and Rachael came through with a worrisome look on her face. Harold stood from his seat, “Rachael!” he smiled. She ran over to him. “Oh, Harold!” she said, hugging him tightly as if it was his last.
“What's wrong? Everything is gonna be okay,” he said reassuringly, as his right hand came down, with only his left holding onto her waist.
Both of her hands latched onto his cheeks. She stared at him openly. “I don't know. That machine just scares me. I really don't want you to go into it.”
He moved his hands through her wavy, dark brown hair and told her, “I must take this adventure, Rachael. If I don't do it, then who would? I haven't a family to support, my death would leave a minimal scar in this world.”
Her head rested onto his as tears rolled, leaving a wet spot on his collar. She murmured, “I have something to tell you, Harold.”
“What would that be?”
She slowly looked up at him. She was about to tell him something, but it was all in ruin.
To their surprise, Dan walked in as they were both locked together. Interesting, he thought. “The capsule is waiting for you, Dr. Anderson,” he said plainly.
Harold nodded affirmatively, breaking away from Rachael's reach. But she wanted to hold on longer.
They all walked him up to Lab 111B. Green lights lined up alongside a metal ramp, leading towards the fully charged capsule. Jared and Manuel strapped Harold into a time suit, consisting of various data panels and monitoring devices attached to it. The capsule's window moved upwards, inviting Harold, and he slid through the opening. The technicians booted the computers inside and readied them.
“It will be just a moment, Dr. Anderson,” Jared said as he was typing commands into a nearby computer.
Rachael came up to Harold, carrying a helmet. She looked at him kindly, and she finally found time to tell him how she really felt about him.
“Harold,” she said in a distant voice, leaning over inwards towards the interior of the capsule as her dark, wavy hair dangled over his chest. She rested the palms of her hands onto his shoulders and gave Harold a wet, yet soft kiss on his forehead. “I love you,” she whispered smoothly.
Harold gazed into her eyes and spoke from his heart, “No matter how far I go, I love you, always.” She wept; her face became tense as several strands of dark tears from eyeliner rolled down her cheeks.
Harold fed his feelings to her. “You will see me again, Rachael. No matter what happens to me.”
As she continued to weep, she buckled him up, rechecking his helmet and safety with all her care. They then said their goodbyes, without a single utterance of words, communicating with only the deepest feelings that resonate within the heart. Rachael pulled away and sulked some more.
Those words Rachael told him, meant so much to him, for he now knew that he would be loved by somebody before he went.
“All systems activated,” Dan mentioned.
The computers became louder, chugging about, sounding off high-pitched frequencies as they processed data. Harold's heads-up-display printed: Systems Activated.
Vincent rechecked the compiled code, and confirmed its validly, giving Manuel a brief nod.
“Ready when you are Dr. Anderson,” Manuel called.
After a moment, Harold ultimately said, “Take me away.”
Manuel gave the final thumbs up for Jared to see. Jared grasped the time lever with both hands tightly and took a deep breath of hope. After what seemed like the longest second, the lever at last came down. Fans on both ends of the capsule begun to whirl at uncontrollable speeds. Harold lied there, his body tense, clinging on for dear life.
In awe, Dan and Greg stared at the capsule with Harold in it. Rachael couldn't take it, her body stiffened, as her hands covered her tensed face. A magnetic pull begun to draw everyone closer towards the capsule, but they held on to the tables.
Looking out, Harold's image begun to twist and distort. His body begun to feel lighter as he became somewhat dizzy and disorientated. His vision seemed to swirl about too; it was a trip indeed.
Their faces and everything surrounding them begin to melt and turn to dust. A wormhole materialized in his sight. It churned gloomy mist about in a clockwise fashion, where he was now taken through it, towards another era of time. In the end, it all seemed successful and went as planned.

Warping location obstructed... calculating new location.
The capsule rattled a bit and gravity returned to normal as the engines mellowed and became soundless. It was now completely dark inside, with luminance casting from only the interface displays. Harold took a breath of relief, I made it with my life, he thought.
He detached his helmet and undid the seat straps which bound him, sitting himself upright, with intention of viewing the date; but the screen panel was damaged. He tinkered with it for a while, switching the power dial on and off, but nothing worked. This is frustrating!
His view from the window above was fogged and poured with wetness. Motioning his hands about the window revealed bits and chunks of rock and dirt, but there was a tiny crack emitting dim light that shinned through onto his pale face. He was happy about that, At least the sun didn't hide from us in the future.
He propped open the window encasing from below, keeping his eyes shut to avoid the falling dirt particles. As he opened his eyes halfway, he lifted himself out, placing his right foot onto the sandy ground. His eyes became wide and they took a greater look:
What he saw was unexpected and horrific. This was not an island afar from civilization, but it was the city he once knew one hundred years ago. Peering around the environment some more, it was the precise position he took off from. However, there was no resemblance of the lab room, but he could recognize it by the outline of structural ruin that traced it. Esotek was now effaced from the world it seemed. But not only that, the city was now a place in ruin: The skies were orange and brown, the clouds were like cotton balls, yet purplish, and full of soot. The surrounding was a complete wasteland, stripped of its value. What happened here? he thought.
The winds howled as they brushed up against his neck. He stood atop a hill, overlooking the lake he once knew, now a sludge bath, and the roads encircling it were now crumbled clumps of concrete and debris towards the end of the horizon. The air was thick, almost too toxic to breathe. Barely visible, the sun was tinted red as seen through the fouled clouds. Harold couldn't believe what he saw as the fate of the human race. He wanted to warn them before it was too late. So he rushed back to the time capsule.
The capsule itself was nearly buried under the sand, which was blown by the rapid winds. Harold brushed off the sand with a rag he retrieved from a compartment in one of the capsule's storage bays. He then lied himself back within the capsule in preparation to return home. To his surprise, the engines chugged and released steam, but they stalled, failing to function. He kept twisting the key over and over again, but it only gave out a faint whimper. God dammit!
The winds hastened as Harold became more furious. The capsule had no intentions of working anytime soon. Harold sighed deeply, I'm stuck here for good. I'll never find a way back home.
So he stepped outside once again and decided to wander around the streets, in hopes to come across a helpful hand. Walking down what was once main street, frameworks of vehicles were scattered about, and Harold could smell the burnt rubber of tires rotting away, basking away in the sun's intensified heat.
“Hello?” he shouted, in attempts to attract attention. But all he heard was his own echoing back at him.
After the longest ten minutes of his life, he reached main street's corner. There, a small adobe-style house patched with reddish paint caught his eye, for it was the only structure that was left unscathed. Harold knocked at the round scarlet door in curiosity to see if anyone lived there. A minute passed, no response. So he attempted to open the door. To his surprise, it opened easily into the living room.
The interior contained walls enclosing the space in cool-white plaster. In it, was a lightly a colored dining set, and towards the corner of the room, were some empty bottles of rum, resting on a wooden side table. Harold eased his way inwards and made his final attempt to convey his presence. “Is anyone here?” he questioned without direction. It was still quiet, not a sound dared to come forth.
Harold peered around the room some more, and he discovered a small library of dusty old books near an oval-shaped window. He approached the bookcase, with desire to search for a history book. But he was cut off –
At the corner table, an empty glass fell and shattered near the kitchen. It sounded like something scurried across the room.
“Who goes there?” Harold yelled, adrenaline surging through his veins. It became quiet yet again, his heart pounding as the loudest.
Suddenly, a wide, yet fainter shadow appeared over Harold's. He turned sharply towards the dinning set. The shadowy figure was then revealed as an old man with a scruffy white beard wearing a dark purple and golden robe, equipped with a noble white staff in hand.
“Identify yourself!” Harold cried with wrath.
The old man looked at him in question, his eyes were wise. “I can help you,” he said in an older, but friendly voice.
Harold stepped back defensively, “Don't take one step closer old man!”
“There is no need for such violence. Why do you fear me?”
“Who are you?” Harold yelled, demanding an answer.
“Who I am and where I come from is unimportant. For you can refer to me, though, as Omatheus –the wise one, who shall bring the teachings of The One to those in need.” Omatheus shut his eyes for a brief moment, opening them again. “Now, I pick up that your people refer to you by the name, Harold. Am I correct? You seem to be locked in a world of technological wonder, with little escape from conformity.”
Harold snapped, “How did you know my name? I demand answers –make it quick!”
“How I know you, is quite the riddle in your times. Earlier, I realized that you were not from here, but you were from elsewhere. I saw your time mechanism appear in the distance. It appeared to me that you were in need of some help. But now, I am here to aid you on your journey home. I can take you somewhere beyond the riverbank, and through the rugged canyons, to a place where everybody had escaped; a place where I know people who have the parts to fix that machine for you. We call this place –The Sanctuary. You can accept my offer, or you can remain here and wonder about in timeless existence.”
“You seem to know about my machine. Are you the informer I was looking for? And where is this place you speak of?”
“I'm not the informer you meant to find, but I am a sort of informer, perhaps. And that place I spoke of, is just eleven of miles away, in physical terms. The gates to it lie on the coast, near the ocean. Beyond those gates is a land man could only dream of.”
Harold said in surprise, thinking that the old man was crazy, “There's no ocean around here for about 300 miles, what're you talking about?”
“There is now, Harold.”
“Then where are we? What is today, what year?” Harold questioned, with a confused look on his face.
“We are a couple hundred meters from where you were, about thirty minutes later.”
Harold became even more confused. “But I warped a century ahead didn't I? This all couldn't happen in thirty minutes.”
“That you did –to them at least. But it has been a half hour for you.”
“Then how was this city destroyed? And what is the date?”
Omatheus answered, “Civilization was destroyed. But how can I know what day or time it is, when there wasn't a conciseness to drive it for so long? Time was merely your awareness, it's a half hour later; but to them, it was a century of struggle, warfare, famine, plague, and chaos. But time ticked once again when you arrived.”
Harold shouted in frustration, “I want to head back! I want to warn the others before it's too late!”
“I can let you see them again, that is, if you allow me to guide you on your journey home. If not, I'll come find you when the time is right.” Omatheus went over towards the door and opened it, motioning his arm, inviting Harold to join him. Harold knew that he had no other choice but to accept Omatheus' offer.
So they set foot for the promised land. They begun to walk for miles across downtown, avoiding the various potholes and sharps edges of fallen glass. Their goal was to reach the outskirts of the city, cross the riverbank, and then traverse through the harsh terrain towards the supposed ocean Omatheus told him about.
They were now on a stone bridge, which spanned across the riverbank, leaving the metropolitan border. From a distance, streams of mighty cliffs and mystifying canyons, so red in color, populated the lands.
Surprised by the beauty, Harold said, “I've never seen land like this around here before, or in my life. Nothing is like it was. How could something so beautiful still last through man's war?”

Keenan

Omatheus turned towards Harold as he leaned on his cane and smirked, “You just didn't look hard enough.”
Harold continued on and followed Omatheus without further question.
They hiked up a steep cliff overlooking the vast mountainous regions and canyons. The sun was beginning to set amidst the hillside, as rolling rocks were now tinted a darker orange, and the skies became a dim brown, while the clouds were almost black.
“It's getting dark,” Omatheus said, standing confidently, his cane resting on a rock. “We better setup a campfire to repel the evil spirits that roam the nights. The sun will soon hide itself amongst the hills in the west. Once it returns from the east, it shall shed its light and protect us from the dead.”
Harold could barely keep up with the old man and he finally reached level grounds with him. “Spirits?” he questioned, exhausted.
“Yes, those who choose to remain here, as partial beings on the the physical world. They longed to stay because they could not come to terms with their death. And, when the moon ascends, it sheds lunar light which feeds the dead, providing them with energy. But once the moon has left us, we expect the sun to rise towards the east. When it does, it feeds life, while it banishes those evil spirits from below, back down into the subterranean worlds. Those entities at night are negative, and they fear light. They haunt these lands and scare away all living creatures, harassing them to join them in their death. They emerge as phantoms, zombies, skeletons, vampires, werewolves, you name it. They are the feared creatures of your age, created by the ancient myths and folklores of man's wild imagination.”
“Well, you didn't bring any camping gear it seems.”
“No, but it should arrive here shortly.” Omatheus looked around for a bit. “You just wait and see.”
After a few seconds, a campsite suddenly appeared in thin air, catching Harold by surprise. The camp consisted of two tents, a crate filled with foodstuffs, and in the middle, there was a campfire already ablaze. Magic.
“See?” Omatheus said with an expression of joy. Harold shook his head and didn't know what to suppose.

From a distance, above the cliff's shadow, was a small flare in the night, like a lone star opposite to the sky. The fire that was never started provided warmth around their campsite. Over the flames, Omatheus was cooking his special recipe –soup, made with ingredients from who knows where.
“This will warm the soul when isolated in darkness,” Omatheus said, handing an old brown bowl to Harold.
Harold held it up to his lip firmly, as he gulped the warm bath of noodles and mysterious vegetables.
Harold had trust in the old man. He just felt uncertain about who Omatheus was. He thought, Why would there be a sanctuary built upon the ocean? Maybe it's because the ocean breeze airs out the pollution.
“So, what brings you here Harold?” Omatheus questioned him, in order to start up conversation.
Harold replied, “I was sent on a mission by the elite few. A mission to secure the future of humanity. But unfortunately, from what I observed, my fears were confirmed.”
Omatheus asked, already knowing, “Why should man secure his future? What happens was brought upon himself. There is no other way around it.”
“Because they didn't want to make another mistake, because it will cost humanity greatly.”
“A mistake?” he grunted, “Many times, humanity has referred to what they have called on many occasions, mistakes. But these so-called mistakes are really just misguided decisions. Each mistake offers a lesson to be learned, taking man one step closer to perfection. But, those men you spoke of, refuse to face their lesson; they refuse to face what their doings have brought upon their fellow men. Their desire to traverse through time will do nothing but slow their development beyond.”
“I'm still confused. Who you really are you really?”
“Oh me?” he chucked. “I've just observed humanity throughout the ages. As you have pointed out, they have embarked on many decisions in hopes to act on the best one, but most cannot accept responsibility for their actions. But there are those who look to the heavens, maybe just to satisfy their own egos, conjuring up beings from worlds beyond as their servants for life. But there are those who remained loyal, who have spread my teachings throughout their world, enlightening their fellow man with words of wisdom. You may happen to know them as your famous spiritual leaders, with preference towards the infinite representations of God. But your people have difficulty in comprehending what God is. They view him as his own, as a man who decides fate and makes laws. But God wants them to be free; to make their own decisions, to self-discover themselves and assist others on their path.” Omatheus took his eyes off the late sky and looked at Harold and emphasized, “Everything is God, Harold.”
The sky was now pitch black as the moon coasted above them, casting light, empowering the dead. Leaves from the brush nearby, rustled. Ethereal beings sprung from the ground, roaming the lands restlessly, awaiting to scare away any trace of life. Harold and Omatheus laughed at them, since they knew the dead could never harm them, for the light from the fire blinded them and made them feel sickened.
The moon was now at their zenith. It appeared to be the darkest hour of the night. Both Harold and Omatheus were star gazing prior to their rest, as a form of meditation to recuperate from their long journey. Omatheus told Harold, breaking the silence of the night, “See those lights in the sky, Harold?” Harold concentrated on the sky, trying to pin-point constellations for himself. “Those are stars; animated with esoteric facets of mankind. Like a man, nature needs its rest, before it can power another day of sunshine.”
Harold responded, “But not all of those lights in the starry night are stars. A few of them happen to be planets of our star system.”
Omatheus reacted in a mature manner. “That fact is insignificant; for the stars have influenced man for thousands of years as they have shaped our world as grounds for life. They themselves, harbor elements of man's imagination, which is life in itself. A star represents the energy of life, while the planets that revolve around it, shape what it is, and how it is.”
“Then how should a man view himself as a star?” Harold asked.
Omatheus made his final claim. “Each star system within the galaxy may represent a sole individual. A man can master what he is once he can subject his will beyond how the planetoids made him; ironing out his bad traits, and replacing them with the new, as he has spoken to his guardian. But the stars in the heavens are subject to the mind's will. Once you have mastered this, you become a bright star yourself.”

It was now daybreak, and the sun rose from the east as Omatheus promised.
“We better head out,” Omatheus said advisably. “We wouldn't want to beg for yet another campfire; the Gods don't like handing out their rations beyond their realm. It's only about five more miles north.”
They then left their camp the way it was. The blaze whimpered away in the winds as they set forth towards the mountains.
The environment appeared different to Harold than it did yesterday. The sky was clearer, and the clouds were almost white. The sun emitted a clean glare upon the land as occasional patches of grass sprouted upwards along the hillsides, breezing in the winds.
“Why does it all look so different now, like normal almost?” Harold sounded around the landscape as Omatheus still was still ahead of him.
“Because we're almost there,” Omatheus replied.
Harold shrugged and continued on, he was much too concerned about getting back home to question him further.
As they went on, Harold commented, “I would like to return to my time, back to those I know and love.”
“We can arrange that for you, once we reach the sanctuary. It's just across the crevice of the mountainside,” Omatheus said as he pointed at it. “Your friends are practically waiting for you over there, since you are about unbind yourself from time once again.”
They cut through the trail, central to the rugged mountain. And through the mountain, they knew was their destination.
“The hike through the mountain crevice won't be a steep one,” Omatheus annotated. “The Gods amassed great quakes to break it, allowing us to cross. You will see the gates into the ocean at the peak of your path.”
The path towards the peak was darkly lit, the sun could not penetrate through the rock above. With little effort, they reached the high ground of their path. Harold saw a bright light permeating through the exit, along with a gate, leading into an ocean. Sounds of waves crashing up against the shore and that of birds echoed through. A cool breeze suddenly whipped passed them, roughing up Omatheus' beard.
“This is amazing. This ocean was never here before,” Harold said with amazement as he stood next to Omatheus at the peak.
Omatheus smiled, “Things change, Harold.”
After a brief hike downwards, they now reached the shore, with plenty of energy left to burn. Their journey today was not a difficult one.
“Luckily, we made it here alive,” Harold said in relief. “I'm surprised we didn't get lost.”
Omatheus said, “There is no such thing as luck, Harold. It is impossible to loose a soul on any plane, when it must realize the truth.”
Still walking towards the gates, Omatheus turned towards Harold again, stopping him, “Speaking of luck. I also sense, or knew actually, of a tragic death in your family. Your parents were killed in a car accident when you were a little boy. Correct?”
“Why yes? Are you physic or something?” Harold grimaced, while still confused by Omatheus' character.
“I'm connected, let's just put it that way,” Omatheus said knowingly. “But I would like to assure you that you didn't loose them forever. You should see them again once you step into the afterlife. They are not unlucky.”
Harold jested, “Well, that shouldn't be for quite a while. I'll swing by their place in the clouds for visit when I can.”
Omatheus became somewhat baffled by Harold's density. “No, Harold. I know your parents. They are in the sanctuary. They are in there waiting for you.”
“What? What do you mean? You're just a crazy old man! They're dead, plain and simple –dead. Even more so now that it's a century ahead.”
“You will understand soon,” Omatheus said patiently.
“Now where is this sanctuary you speak of?” Harold asked impatiently as he paced about, in search for civilization. “I don't see any buildings, all I see is a gate into an ocean, nothing.”
“You will understand soon,” Omatheus repeated.
The ocean soon calmed, and it became soundless. All Harold could hear was the last few breaths that escaped his mouth, and the sound of crystalline waters quietly trickled downwards. He turned towards Omatheus, whose eyes were peacefully closed, his face solemn. From the waters, emerged a beautiful woman wearing a white gown with long, dark, straight hair and green eyes. She had a pleasant face, striding femininely towards the shore.
Omatheus opened his eyes and turned towards her and back to Harold. “Harold, this is Angie,” he said, introducing her. “She will take you into the sanctuary. Your time has come.”
“Hello,” she said, radiating warmth, as she approached Harold.
“It cannot be?” Harold said, almost in tears.
“Harold.” Omatheus begun to tell him the truth. “You have passed on, into the afterlife. Your soul has transitioned beyond the physical planes, and into a higher ground for growth. But your research did not fail you. In fact, it was successful. Your preservation units did preserve the atoms which composed your physical body. However, there was one crucial element which animates the various lifeforms long forgotten by humanity thousands of years ago. And that was... the life force; it aged and diminished into another plane, as your body remained youthful.”
Angie said in attempts to ease Harold, “Your friends and family are waiting for you behind the gates.”
Harold questioned, hiding his emotions, “What is it like, over there? In the ocean's sanctuary?”
Angie smiled cheerfully, and said, “Oh, it is a wonderful place of infinite wisdom, harmony, and understanding of one another. It's place where the mind can run wild, at peace, creating at its own pace, inventing, and bound to nothing but to your ultimate power.”
She extended her hand to him and said in a soft voice, “Allow me to take you home.”
Harold understood, accepting his death and grasped her hand with gentle firmness. Her hand felt soft and warm, causing Harold to feel tingly.
They stepped their way through the white sand, towards the gates, just missing the sea shells scattered about. When they reached the entrance, the gate swung open, revealing a portal leading into the the ocean of life. The portal was surrounded by white mist, revolving counter-clockwise. They synced their first step, and then another into the portal, which lead them onto a trail.
“See,” Angie said. “Now that was painless now wasn't it?”
Harold nodded in response as he was looking around, curious of what would happen next.
The mist soon cleared away, she looked at him and smiled, “Rest assured, Harold. You're home.”
A soothing chill pulsated down his spine as he was taken away by sheer beauty. Looking ahead, the environment consisted of forests and evergreen hills, with rivers flowing amidst them, pouring down from the mountains afar. The trail lead upwards towards the utopian society, basked in light of the young sun. People began to undress and gather around ponds, which were so clear, they perfectly mirrored the vibrant blue sky. The people became naked, laughing and bathing in the sun.
As Harold took his path upwards, he saw Rachael in a pleasing blue dress, standing on a grassy hilltop. She was waiting for him, giving him a big smiled. Harold ran up to her and hugged her tightly.
She looked at him as they were locked together. “My love for you lasts for eternity.”
Harold smiled, continuing to hold on.
On a nearby hilltop, was Harold's mother and father, happy to see their son –in love for the first time. Harold acknowledged them with a smile as he continued to embrace Rachael in his arms.
She said finally, “It's a pleasure to have you with us. We missed you.”

“He's dead!”
It was cold and motionless.
His body lied there, without a sign of life.
“What happened!” Dan shouted as he ran towards the capsule window, releasing it. “Why didn't he disappear and come back? ...Alive for that matter.”
Greg, Vincent, Jared, and Manuel circled around the capsule, looking downwardly, upset and disappointed.
Garry overheard Dan and stepped into the room, showing his respects. “I don't know,” he said with empathy. “We may have forgotten something of importance to humanity. Something deeper, unseen by us. Only time can tell us now. Only time...”
Rachael sobbed uncontrollably, and looked up at the ceiling and wondered, Why? Why did they go through with it? Oh, Harold. I'll be there... waiting for you.

#

HippoHead

I read half of the first post.
It was readable enough, but meetings are exceedingly dull things to write about, and i wouldn't start off with one. Give us a juicy openeer, THEN the meeting will be more care-about-able

Not bad at all, sonny. I'm just too lazy to read it all.

A-L

There is something intriguing about your story, but it is boring. The beginning bogs it down and makes the reader unwilling to continue, even thought it is well written.

AlienatedAlien

Quite well written for an 18 year old. Well written for someone of any age actually. However, if you intend on writing for a living I suggest you further your education and join a 'real world' writing group...you can only get so much help from an online forum.

HippoHead

There is no 'good for an eighteen year old' - I'm eighteen! There are 13 year olds who get published novels (though the ones I know of are classed as geniuses) but it doesn't change the fact that they're published. There is no using your age as an excuse for a few mistakes here and there, sonny!

Keenan

I'm going to revamp this entire thing. I'll re-post when the time comes that it is fixed. I have A LOT of work to do. And also, I'm not going to write as a living, lol. That wouldn't pay, unless...lol. But I'm going to take creative writing courses at my university... creative writing is my minor after all.

Keenan

Ok, I edited the whole thing. What do you all think?
(check first post)

Raniegh

I only read the first paragraphs and Im very intrigued I loved it. Its not like there aren't books out htere already about war and time machines, but this has true originality keep it up. when i have more time ill read the whole.

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