time-travel

The acrid odor of overloaded circuitry permeated the air, the horrid smell witness that at least one of his senses was working as sights and sounds became one with the unknown. Eventually he collapsed to the floor, wondering if he'd wake up in mortality. Then the muddled spectra went black, the silence that followed only possible in the deepest sectors of space. Or death.

He__ used the amulet to read my thoughts again. I pictured smacking him in the face.

I noticed him right away. No, it wasn__ his lean, rugged face. Or the dark waves of shiny hair that hung just a little too long on his forehead. It wasn__ the slim, collarless biker jacket he wore, hugging his lean shoulders. It was the way he stood. The confident way he waited in the cafeteria line to get a slice of pizza. He didn__ saunter. He didn__ amble. He stood at the center, and let the other people buzz around him. His stance was straight and sure.

I caught his hand. __hat do you want me to do?__eaning down, he kissed the pulse beating on my neck just above the damaged skin. __omorrow, I need you to die.

Vane__ lips tightened to suppress a smile. __hy so hostile, love?___ou whacked me on the head with a ball!___ou deserved it.

Do you think we can be friends?_ I asked.He stared up at the ceiling. __robably not, but we can pretend.

Have you ever listened to a song from a long time ago; from your past; a song that was filled with so many memories tied to it, that you felt it so deeply- that it made you cry? And did you listen to it again, intentionally, for a second time? So you could travel back in time through that song; back when everything seemed so much simpler, basic, carefree? Those are the songs that are the soundtracks of our lives_ the ones that bring back childhood memories, deep feelings, snapshots of our lives (or short videos), best friends, first loves, first heartbreaks_ births, deaths. Our lives are like the record albums that we used to play just a few years ago; just yesterday. We played some of the songs over and over again- to the point of which we can sing along with every word as we play it. Other songs seem somewhat unfamiliar, as we rarely go back to listen to them; we skip over them or we barely listen to the start of it before we turn off the record player. But just like on a record album and just like in our memories, you can't cut a song out off an album... just like you can't cut out a memory. The songs and memories remain there, side by side; the good ones, the bad ones, the ones that thrill us and the ones that hurt. Those are the songs that our lives are composed of. Those are the songs that we chase back, back into our our own memories in our private and personal musical time machines.

Take me back into the time when I lost track of time!

Past and future are the same, and we cannot change either, only know them more fully. My journey to the past had changed nothing, but what I had learned had changed everything, and I understood that it could not have been otherwise. If our lives are tales that Allah tells, then we are the audience as well as the players, and it is by living these tales that we receive their lessons.

I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.

And that__ basically the end of this story. I know it sounds unbelievable and all. And I__ not saying I can explain all the time travel parts or the magical tattoo parts. You may not even believe me. That__ okay, though. I know it happened and that__ all that counts.

Linear__ defeated form The intangible reality rise.'' ~ Wanderer

People say, 'Time heals all wounds.' That may be true, but relocating to an alternate reality can sure help too." -Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 1941

Matter and energy are equivalent, according to the equation E=mc2, where E stand for energy, m for mass and c for the speed of light,' 'Merapa explained. 'Matter can't be transported at the speed of light but energy can. Therefore, during a time shift transformation, matter is converted to energy then condenses back. In other words all the molecules in your body have been changed from matter to energy then back again.''Wow. It's a wonder it's not fatal,' Dirck said.'Sometimes it is. If any transcription errors occur between the DNA and RNA in your vital organs you're all but dead.

I__e never liked urban myths. I__e never liked pretending to believe in them; never understood why everyone else doesn__ see straight through them. Why is it they__e always happened to a friend of a friend - someone you__e never met? Why does everyone smile and nod and pull the right faces, when they must know they__e not true? Pointless. A waste of breath. So I sneered at the myths about Scaderstone Pit. It was just an old quarry _ nothing more. I never believed in the rumours of discarded dynamite. It had decayed, they said. It exploded at the slightest touch, had even blown someone__ hand off. I shrugged off the talk of the toxic waste. It was dumped in the dead of night, they said. The canisters rusting away, leaking deadly poisons that could blind you, burn your lungs. I laughed at the ghost stories. You could hear the moans, they said, of quarrymen buried alive and never found. You could see their nightwalking souls, searching for their poor crushed bodies.I didn__ believe any of it _ not one word. Now, after everything that__ happened, I wonder whether I should__e listened to those stories. Maybe then, these things would__e happened to someone else, and I could__e smiled and said they were impossible.But this is not an urban myth. And it did not happen to someone else, but to me. I__e set it down as best I can remember. Whether you believe it or not, is up to you.

Sometimes he__ dream of hunting for Adam the Usurper twenty years in the future, or of Doctor Simmons sending Aero to burrow into his head and steal his most secret thoughts and desires.

Veins stood out in her temples as she struggled against her silence. No one noticed. Those words had already been used up, spent, thrown out into the atmosphere to dissipate without effect.

Lifting my hands from the keyboard, I fold them in my lap and tilt back my desk chair. I think, I could do it. I could turn back time.