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[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | As his vision dimmed from the agony of his body, the traveler appeared to him again. He remembered vividly the conversation they had 23 years ago.
"I cannot believe what you are saying. You must be from the devil. My parents have told me I will fulfill a prophecy and you are telling me that I will be worshiped and all I want is to build beautiful things. I don't want these burdens. I want to learn from my father how to use a plane and a saw. Nothing more! Go away!"
This time the traveler did all the talking.
"You became all that I said you would. Surely you believe me now? Millions will be slaughtered in your name. Millions more will be subjugated and oppressed. Billions will worship you over the millennia. You will be the most known name on this planet. But not one of those billions will speak of you as the boy who built toys for his brothers from their father's scraps. None will think of you as the teenager who carried water for his mother as the load became to heavy for her. You will not be known for the person you've spent your whole life trying to become. Your name will be an oath, a profanity, a banner, and a war cry but Jesus will never be a man to any of them." | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself how do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | A young Dutch boy carries a crate of paintings into a dark room, balancing them precariously in one arm as he searches for a light. Suddenly there’s a woman in a simple white dress standing in front of him, illuminated by the glow of lantern. The paintings crash to the floor in a heap.
“Leave them,” says the woman, gesturing to the paintings. “They pale in comparison to the art you will make. You will create more paintings in a decade than most artists do in a lifetime, and people will travel from around the world for a glimpse of it. You will father no children but have countless heirs, forever in your debt despite never meeting you.”
The boy doesn’t appear shocked. “Are you an angel?” he asks.
“An admirer,” says the woman sadly as she walks towards the boy. “Just try to keep your head up and your ears on straight.” She leans in and blows out the lantern, disappearing in an instant.
**July 1890**
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” says the time traveler. She’s dressed in black this time.
“You came back. Just when I’d convinced myself you were only another voice in my head. Maybe they’re all real, but I’m past caring,” says the boy. He’s older now, and missing an ear. A pistol rests against his temple.
“I thought I could change things, but sometimes I wonder if it’s my fault.” Says the woman in black. “Just know that you will be celebrated among the greatest artists in history. A single painting of yours will be worth more than the richest man alive today. Yet more valuable than your fame are the artistic and cultural movements you will inspire, and the lives your work will shape for generations to come.”
Van Gogh considers this, then nods. “What’s your name?” he asks, voice calm and controlled.
“Sarah,” says the time traveler.
“Sarah,” repeats Vincent. “I like it. Reminds me of sorrow,” he says as closes his eyes and pulls the trigger.
| I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself how do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself how do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself how do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | A young Dutch boy carries a crate of paintings into a dark room, balancing them precariously in one arm as he searches for a light. Suddenly there’s a woman in a simple white dress standing in front of him, illuminated by the glow of lantern. The paintings crash to the floor in a heap.
“Leave them,” says the woman, gesturing to the paintings. “They pale in comparison to the art you will make. You will create more paintings in a decade than most artists do in a lifetime, and people will travel from around the world for a glimpse of it. You will father no children but have countless heirs, forever in your debt despite never meeting you.”
The boy doesn’t appear shocked. “Are you an angel?” he asks.
“An admirer,” says the woman sadly as she walks towards the boy. “Just try to keep your head up and your ears on straight.” She leans in and blows out the lantern, disappearing in an instant.
**July 1890**
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” says the time traveler. She’s dressed in black this time.
“You came back. Just when I’d convinced myself you were only another voice in my head. Maybe they’re all real, but I’m past caring,” says the boy. He’s older now, and missing an ear. A pistol rests against his temple.
“I thought I could change things, but sometimes I wonder if it’s my fault.” Says the woman in black. “Just know that you will be celebrated among the greatest artists in history. A single painting of yours will be worth more than the richest man alive today. Yet more valuable than your fame are the artistic and cultural movements you will inspire, and the lives your work will shape for generations to come.”
Van Gogh considers this, then nods. “What’s your name?” he asks, voice calm and controlled.
“Sarah,” says the time traveler.
“Sarah,” repeats Vincent. “I like it. Reminds me of sorrow,” he says as closes his eyes and pulls the trigger.
| FADE IN
EXT. SENATE - ANCIENT ROME - DAY
A loud COMMOTION can be heard coming from inside the senate. Muffled shouting can be heard mixed in with the occasional sound of pottery breaking.
SANDOR REECE (voiceover)
You might say this is where it all begins
INT. SENATE
A lone MAN, -- middle aged, dressed in a toga -- stands bleeding surrounded by an angry mob. His toga is torn and he has several knife wounds on his body, each trickling a stream of red BLOOD. He gives a long stare at the crowd before resting a longing gaze at one of the men in front.
CAESAR
*Et tu, Brute?*
BRUTUS stepped forward, and without a word, plunged his dagger into CAESAR's chest. Then again. And again.
FREEZE FRAME
SANDOR REESE (voiceover)
Yeah, yeah. We all know Julius Caesar is killed by his friends, yahdah yahdah. Lets get to me!
Fast-forward motion of the murder of Julius Caesar plays out, as the crowd continues to stab Caesar's dying body, and one by one begin to clear out, until..
SANDOR REESE (voiceover)
Wait, wait! Go back a little bit! There, there! That's me!
The shot rewinds and pulls back a bit, panning around until we see a sharply dressed figure in the background.
SANDOR REESE (voiceover)
Ugh! I *cannot* believe I dressed like that! I mean, who wears a suit for an *assassination ?* Really, what was I thinking.
The scene continues, with SANDOR REESE strutting confidently toward the dying Caesar.
The dying man opened his eyes, and as Sandor's image comes into focus, he lets out a sharp gasp!
CAESAR
*Et..et tu--*
SANDOR REESE
Yeah, yeah. Sander Reese. We met when you were 10? Though I don't see how you could forget -- I'm pretty sweet.
Caesar lets out a soft whimper
SANDOR REESE
Alright look, I don't have much time -- and by the looks of things, neither do you -- so I'll make this quick.
Sander begins to pace back and forth as Caspar lays in front of him, dying, as he recounts the great legacy of history's Julius Caesar.
SANDOR REESE
...So, you established a political regime that will inspire leaders for millennia, no small task, I must mind you. Anyway, through all the greatness you inspire, many of your own thought you were kind of a dick.
Caesar scowled incredulously at the remark.
SANDOR REESE
Yeah, I guess you kinda figured that out yourself, amiright?
Sander pulled out a small device. He pressed a button and a bright light appeared in the air behind him. He moved toward it.
SANDOR REESE
Anyway, great chat, but I gotta bounce. I'm due to meet King Solomon before his bar mitza. So I'll uh -- God dammit, you BLED on my *SUIT?* Really? This is cashmere!
With those words Sandor entered the portal and blinked away.
SANDOR REESE (voiceover)
I never learn...
CUT TO TITLE SEQUENCE
*To be continued*
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | A young Dutch boy carries a crate of paintings into a dark room, balancing them precariously in one arm as he searches for a light. Suddenly there’s a woman in a simple white dress standing in front of him, illuminated by the glow of lantern. The paintings crash to the floor in a heap.
“Leave them,” says the woman, gesturing to the paintings. “They pale in comparison to the art you will make. You will create more paintings in a decade than most artists do in a lifetime, and people will travel from around the world for a glimpse of it. You will father no children but have countless heirs, forever in your debt despite never meeting you.”
The boy doesn’t appear shocked. “Are you an angel?” he asks.
“An admirer,” says the woman sadly as she walks towards the boy. “Just try to keep your head up and your ears on straight.” She leans in and blows out the lantern, disappearing in an instant.
**July 1890**
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” says the time traveler. She’s dressed in black this time.
“You came back. Just when I’d convinced myself you were only another voice in my head. Maybe they’re all real, but I’m past caring,” says the boy. He’s older now, and missing an ear. A pistol rests against his temple.
“I thought I could change things, but sometimes I wonder if it’s my fault.” Says the woman in black. “Just know that you will be celebrated among the greatest artists in history. A single painting of yours will be worth more than the richest man alive today. Yet more valuable than your fame are the artistic and cultural movements you will inspire, and the lives your work will shape for generations to come.”
Van Gogh considers this, then nods. “What’s your name?” he asks, voice calm and controlled.
“Sarah,” says the time traveler.
“Sarah,” repeats Vincent. “I like it. Reminds me of sorrow,” he says as closes his eyes and pulls the trigger.
| I get my birthday clothes on; I'm finally 10 years old. I hope no one forgot. I run downstairs and I am surprised to see my relatives jump out from behind the furniture.
*"Happy birthday, Adolf!"* My mother kisses me on the cheek and joins her friends as they return to chat with eachother. I should go find where my parents hid my presents!
I run into the basement. There is a man in the dark, wearing bright orange, strange glasses, and sandals. He greets me; *"Hello, young Adolf"*. Who is this man?
*"Adolf, you have a hatred inside of you"*. *"What you may do in the future may effect Germany forever, maybe even the world"*. The man smacks me in the face unconscious. I wake up. He's gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-Fast forward years later-
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We lost. The Americans have won. The jews won. I killed my girlfriend. Germany is ruined. The Reich is ruined. I put the nozzle of my gun in my mouth. The man I saw years ago, flashes in front of me and smacks the gun from my mouth.
*"Adolf, you tried, but you didn't succeed."* I'm in shock. I listen carefully.
*"You will be remembered as the most respected man on 4chan. We salute you, sir."* He grabs the gun, and aims it at me. *"Sorry, but this is the way history intended it to happen."* *"No one likes jews in the future anyways, so don't worry*".
He pulls the trigger. Darkness. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | I knew that history could be changed for the better. I've spent countless years studying the greatest and the worst minds of history. How Ive asked myself do I cut a clear path for a better tomorrow? That was my goal. Oh Eliza...I couldn't save you but with my machine I could save the world. That led me to July 6, 1957 midland Texas. I came upon a modest yet affluent house and I could tell a birthday party was underway.
It was still early yet, there was a little boy playing in the front yard as I approached. I would recognize that face anywhere. A man who at one time in his life held the world in his hands and watched it burn. I had correctly assumed he was the lynch pin who caused our future to collapse. As I ventured forth down the long driveway up the cobblestone path I could hear him making various noises and sound effects with his trucks and trains on the wet Texas grass. He was wearing a cowboy hat...how appropriate.
Quite the juxtaposition for musings of a future that would never come to fruition. My shadow loomed over the green grass and soon over the boy as my feet made imprints in the soil underfoot.He looked up...those eyes...still beady and soulless as ever. I could see the future flash before them. I could see him stumbling his words in front of the nation. Giving the orders that would expend countless lives. I knelt down, my long over coat swathing the ground around me creating almost a halo effect around my body. I eased my weight onto my knees, well my left knee. My right one had been all but mangled during that trip to april 15th 1865. Its never a good idea to give chase to a gun man who's willing to take a flying leap off a balcony. It was a poorly executed plan where everything that could go wrong unfortunately ..did.
As I spoke to this ten year old boy I was surprised that the first thing he said to me was the proposition of a question. "Do you like trains?" He had the least bit of a texas accent a speech pattern I was all to familiar with. My mouth drier than all get out due to the extremities of my method of travel as of late I simply nodded in response. He then handed me a locomotive, a small one with tin wheels. No specific type just a run of the mill toy train.
He wanted me to play with him. I could see exuberance in his eyes and his appearance as a ten year old child in a time of innocence was frankly alarming. Disconcerting. Frankly a little alarming to say the least. Whether it was the time travel or the mood stabilizers used to suppress the effects I could see my time was growing short. The speech i had prepared which wasn't in the least hastily written felt moldy and wet in my jacket pocket. My fingers grasped the edges of the paper teetering on exactly what I do not know. I glanced up, the clouds now threatening to close in on this reunion of sorts.
There would be no rain this time. As I stuck the syringe into the little boys neck he made an inaudible surprised whimper a gasp...then nothingness....The future would not be held accountable for this mans actions. Someone once told me that above all else the mind and heart are the very last things to be bereft of innocence and the very first to be perverted by the inequities of evil. As my physical form faded into non-existence A rain cloud hovered over this modest Texas home. A cowboy hat and train lay peacefully next to a small still figure on the cool Texas grass. No, there would be no rain this time. No rain. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | I wake with a start, lightning illuminating the shadows of the midnight-dark room. My heart thuds within me for a moment, before it begins to canter back to a normal rhythm.
Or at least, as normal a rhythm as it gets these days.
Forty-three years, and I still have the nightmares. The memories of those horrid decisions, come back to remind me of what a monster I was.
I reach up with a shaky arm to wipe away the cold sweat. The silence of the room murmurs with the patter of a gentle rain outside. A flash of lightning illuminates the room just long enough for me to see the clock across the room -- past three in the morning. I lean back against my pillow, then flip it over to the less-sweaty side.
It's a good thing I never married. No bed-partner would be able to put up with my sleeping habits, or lack-thereof.
Sleep is always illusive after such dreams. My weary body longs for rest, but my frightened mind revolts at the idea of more nightmares. I've had enough visions of the past to fill a whole new lifetime of futures. No drugs, meds, or drinks have succeeded in driving them away, no matter how I have tried. I can only lay and pray for a respite.
Pray? No. There is no one to pray to. If there was a god, he would not have let a monster like me into the world.
Another flash of lightning, and there stands another shadow.
I sit bolt-upright, heart galloping once more. A thought of hallucinations passes through my mind -- it has happened before, but only as the result of the myriad of drugs and drinks that fought the nightmares and failed. My system is clear this night. The doctors demand that much.
"Who are you?" I shout.
The figure takes a single step forward, just enough to put him alongside the window. The gentle light of the streetlamps casts just enough glow to illuminate his soft face.
My already-rapid pulse spikes. "You!"
"Hello, Robert," The lean figure takes another step, now just on the edge of shadow again. Somehow, his voice is still as congenial as I remember it, all those decades ago. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
I feel my back press against the wall as I involuntarily scoot back. "How are you here? It can't be you. It--" I feel my voice falter in spite of myself. "It's been so long."
The dark-haired figure blends back into the shadows, reappearing a bit closer to the bedside. A sad frown marks the smooth features. "I'm so sorry, Robert."
I don't know what to say. For a moment, I just sit, wide-eyed, listening to the terror-beat of my heart. I know it can't be good for me -- the doctors have told me that I don't have long as it is. Their high-level treatments have been just as effective as my hoped-for nightmare cures.
I feel the words rising in my throat, and I'm not surprised when my voice trembles. "Why did you tell me? Do you know what it was like? Coming to those moments and knowing what I had to do? Knowing what was going to happen?"
"Oh, Robert," There is a terrifying level of pity in that sigh of a tone. "Don't you understand? I was trying to help you, encourage you. I was meant to bolster you."
I can feel myself frowning, because for some reason it highlights the pounding headache that has begun to take over. I don't have time to think about that. "Bolster me? What kind of bullshit is that? Bolster someone who... who... would do such horrible things?"
My breath is getting short. I can't remember the last time I felt so shaky. I see another flash of lightning, but my heart is pounding far too hard for me to hear the distant rumblings it produces.
The figure takes a careful seat on the bedside. He stares thoughtfully at his knees for a moment. "These are always the hardest," he says softly. "It is easy to tell someone that they are going to do great things, and then tell them what a visionary they will be remembered as."
"You do this often?" I manage to cough.
He looks over to me, and I can see the unmistakable pain in his eyes. He's a monster too. I can see it. He knows the nightmares.
"History is not always kind to people like you, Robert. But it had to be done. It will be a long time before anyone really understands."
Perhaps it is the now-stabbing pain in my head, or the increasingly crushing weight in my chest, but for that moment I have to believe what he's saying. For a moment, it makes just enough sense -- in some very strange way -- to be comforting. And maybe that's enough. "Will they understand?"
The smooth face turns my way, and the start of a smile lifts his lips. He nods. "Yes, Robert. One day, they will. Not for a very long time. But one day, they will understand."
I can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. I didn't even realize that they were building, but now they flood. They pour endlessly, icy cold droplets against my raging hot skin. The release is almost numbing in its ecstasy, and I cannot comprehend why. But a part of me knows. "There won't be any more nightmares, will there?"
And the shadowy specter smiles broadly this time, a smile brighter than the lightning. "No, Robert. There won't be any more nightmares."
I lean back with a sigh, and allow the blissful dark to take me. A darkness without nightmares.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welp, this is my first submission to this subreddit. I've only just recently gotten back into writing, and especially the daily-practice side. So I'm sorry if this is utter shit. I'm trying to improve! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | I wake with a start, lightning illuminating the shadows of the midnight-dark room. My heart thuds within me for a moment, before it begins to canter back to a normal rhythm.
Or at least, as normal a rhythm as it gets these days.
Forty-three years, and I still have the nightmares. The memories of those horrid decisions, come back to remind me of what a monster I was.
I reach up with a shaky arm to wipe away the cold sweat. The silence of the room murmurs with the patter of a gentle rain outside. A flash of lightning illuminates the room just long enough for me to see the clock across the room -- past three in the morning. I lean back against my pillow, then flip it over to the less-sweaty side.
It's a good thing I never married. No bed-partner would be able to put up with my sleeping habits, or lack-thereof.
Sleep is always illusive after such dreams. My weary body longs for rest, but my frightened mind revolts at the idea of more nightmares. I've had enough visions of the past to fill a whole new lifetime of futures. No drugs, meds, or drinks have succeeded in driving them away, no matter how I have tried. I can only lay and pray for a respite.
Pray? No. There is no one to pray to. If there was a god, he would not have let a monster like me into the world.
Another flash of lightning, and there stands another shadow.
I sit bolt-upright, heart galloping once more. A thought of hallucinations passes through my mind -- it has happened before, but only as the result of the myriad of drugs and drinks that fought the nightmares and failed. My system is clear this night. The doctors demand that much.
"Who are you?" I shout.
The figure takes a single step forward, just enough to put him alongside the window. The gentle light of the streetlamps casts just enough glow to illuminate his soft face.
My already-rapid pulse spikes. "You!"
"Hello, Robert," The lean figure takes another step, now just on the edge of shadow again. Somehow, his voice is still as congenial as I remember it, all those decades ago. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
I feel my back press against the wall as I involuntarily scoot back. "How are you here? It can't be you. It--" I feel my voice falter in spite of myself. "It's been so long."
The dark-haired figure blends back into the shadows, reappearing a bit closer to the bedside. A sad frown marks the smooth features. "I'm so sorry, Robert."
I don't know what to say. For a moment, I just sit, wide-eyed, listening to the terror-beat of my heart. I know it can't be good for me -- the doctors have told me that I don't have long as it is. Their high-level treatments have been just as effective as my hoped-for nightmare cures.
I feel the words rising in my throat, and I'm not surprised when my voice trembles. "Why did you tell me? Do you know what it was like? Coming to those moments and knowing what I had to do? Knowing what was going to happen?"
"Oh, Robert," There is a terrifying level of pity in that sigh of a tone. "Don't you understand? I was trying to help you, encourage you. I was meant to bolster you."
I can feel myself frowning, because for some reason it highlights the pounding headache that has begun to take over. I don't have time to think about that. "Bolster me? What kind of bullshit is that? Bolster someone who... who... would do such horrible things?"
My breath is getting short. I can't remember the last time I felt so shaky. I see another flash of lightning, but my heart is pounding far too hard for me to hear the distant rumblings it produces.
The figure takes a careful seat on the bedside. He stares thoughtfully at his knees for a moment. "These are always the hardest," he says softly. "It is easy to tell someone that they are going to do great things, and then tell them what a visionary they will be remembered as."
"You do this often?" I manage to cough.
He looks over to me, and I can see the unmistakable pain in his eyes. He's a monster too. I can see it. He knows the nightmares.
"History is not always kind to people like you, Robert. But it had to be done. It will be a long time before anyone really understands."
Perhaps it is the now-stabbing pain in my head, or the increasingly crushing weight in my chest, but for that moment I have to believe what he's saying. For a moment, it makes just enough sense -- in some very strange way -- to be comforting. And maybe that's enough. "Will they understand?"
The smooth face turns my way, and the start of a smile lifts his lips. He nods. "Yes, Robert. One day, they will. Not for a very long time. But one day, they will understand."
I can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. I didn't even realize that they were building, but now they flood. They pour endlessly, icy cold droplets against my raging hot skin. The release is almost numbing in its ecstasy, and I cannot comprehend why. But a part of me knows. "There won't be any more nightmares, will there?"
And the shadowy specter smiles broadly this time, a smile brighter than the lightning. "No, Robert. There won't be any more nightmares."
I lean back with a sigh, and allow the blissful dark to take me. A darkness without nightmares.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welp, this is my first submission to this subreddit. I've only just recently gotten back into writing, and especially the daily-practice side. So I'm sorry if this is utter shit. I'm trying to improve! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | I wake with a start, lightning illuminating the shadows of the midnight-dark room. My heart thuds within me for a moment, before it begins to canter back to a normal rhythm.
Or at least, as normal a rhythm as it gets these days.
Forty-three years, and I still have the nightmares. The memories of those horrid decisions, come back to remind me of what a monster I was.
I reach up with a shaky arm to wipe away the cold sweat. The silence of the room murmurs with the patter of a gentle rain outside. A flash of lightning illuminates the room just long enough for me to see the clock across the room -- past three in the morning. I lean back against my pillow, then flip it over to the less-sweaty side.
It's a good thing I never married. No bed-partner would be able to put up with my sleeping habits, or lack-thereof.
Sleep is always illusive after such dreams. My weary body longs for rest, but my frightened mind revolts at the idea of more nightmares. I've had enough visions of the past to fill a whole new lifetime of futures. No drugs, meds, or drinks have succeeded in driving them away, no matter how I have tried. I can only lay and pray for a respite.
Pray? No. There is no one to pray to. If there was a god, he would not have let a monster like me into the world.
Another flash of lightning, and there stands another shadow.
I sit bolt-upright, heart galloping once more. A thought of hallucinations passes through my mind -- it has happened before, but only as the result of the myriad of drugs and drinks that fought the nightmares and failed. My system is clear this night. The doctors demand that much.
"Who are you?" I shout.
The figure takes a single step forward, just enough to put him alongside the window. The gentle light of the streetlamps casts just enough glow to illuminate his soft face.
My already-rapid pulse spikes. "You!"
"Hello, Robert," The lean figure takes another step, now just on the edge of shadow again. Somehow, his voice is still as congenial as I remember it, all those decades ago. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
I feel my back press against the wall as I involuntarily scoot back. "How are you here? It can't be you. It--" I feel my voice falter in spite of myself. "It's been so long."
The dark-haired figure blends back into the shadows, reappearing a bit closer to the bedside. A sad frown marks the smooth features. "I'm so sorry, Robert."
I don't know what to say. For a moment, I just sit, wide-eyed, listening to the terror-beat of my heart. I know it can't be good for me -- the doctors have told me that I don't have long as it is. Their high-level treatments have been just as effective as my hoped-for nightmare cures.
I feel the words rising in my throat, and I'm not surprised when my voice trembles. "Why did you tell me? Do you know what it was like? Coming to those moments and knowing what I had to do? Knowing what was going to happen?"
"Oh, Robert," There is a terrifying level of pity in that sigh of a tone. "Don't you understand? I was trying to help you, encourage you. I was meant to bolster you."
I can feel myself frowning, because for some reason it highlights the pounding headache that has begun to take over. I don't have time to think about that. "Bolster me? What kind of bullshit is that? Bolster someone who... who... would do such horrible things?"
My breath is getting short. I can't remember the last time I felt so shaky. I see another flash of lightning, but my heart is pounding far too hard for me to hear the distant rumblings it produces.
The figure takes a careful seat on the bedside. He stares thoughtfully at his knees for a moment. "These are always the hardest," he says softly. "It is easy to tell someone that they are going to do great things, and then tell them what a visionary they will be remembered as."
"You do this often?" I manage to cough.
He looks over to me, and I can see the unmistakable pain in his eyes. He's a monster too. I can see it. He knows the nightmares.
"History is not always kind to people like you, Robert. But it had to be done. It will be a long time before anyone really understands."
Perhaps it is the now-stabbing pain in my head, or the increasingly crushing weight in my chest, but for that moment I have to believe what he's saying. For a moment, it makes just enough sense -- in some very strange way -- to be comforting. And maybe that's enough. "Will they understand?"
The smooth face turns my way, and the start of a smile lifts his lips. He nods. "Yes, Robert. One day, they will. Not for a very long time. But one day, they will understand."
I can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. I didn't even realize that they were building, but now they flood. They pour endlessly, icy cold droplets against my raging hot skin. The release is almost numbing in its ecstasy, and I cannot comprehend why. But a part of me knows. "There won't be any more nightmares, will there?"
And the shadowy specter smiles broadly this time, a smile brighter than the lightning. "No, Robert. There won't be any more nightmares."
I lean back with a sigh, and allow the blissful dark to take me. A darkness without nightmares.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welp, this is my first submission to this subreddit. I've only just recently gotten back into writing, and especially the daily-practice side. So I'm sorry if this is utter shit. I'm trying to improve! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | I wake with a start, lightning illuminating the shadows of the midnight-dark room. My heart thuds within me for a moment, before it begins to canter back to a normal rhythm.
Or at least, as normal a rhythm as it gets these days.
Forty-three years, and I still have the nightmares. The memories of those horrid decisions, come back to remind me of what a monster I was.
I reach up with a shaky arm to wipe away the cold sweat. The silence of the room murmurs with the patter of a gentle rain outside. A flash of lightning illuminates the room just long enough for me to see the clock across the room -- past three in the morning. I lean back against my pillow, then flip it over to the less-sweaty side.
It's a good thing I never married. No bed-partner would be able to put up with my sleeping habits, or lack-thereof.
Sleep is always illusive after such dreams. My weary body longs for rest, but my frightened mind revolts at the idea of more nightmares. I've had enough visions of the past to fill a whole new lifetime of futures. No drugs, meds, or drinks have succeeded in driving them away, no matter how I have tried. I can only lay and pray for a respite.
Pray? No. There is no one to pray to. If there was a god, he would not have let a monster like me into the world.
Another flash of lightning, and there stands another shadow.
I sit bolt-upright, heart galloping once more. A thought of hallucinations passes through my mind -- it has happened before, but only as the result of the myriad of drugs and drinks that fought the nightmares and failed. My system is clear this night. The doctors demand that much.
"Who are you?" I shout.
The figure takes a single step forward, just enough to put him alongside the window. The gentle light of the streetlamps casts just enough glow to illuminate his soft face.
My already-rapid pulse spikes. "You!"
"Hello, Robert," The lean figure takes another step, now just on the edge of shadow again. Somehow, his voice is still as congenial as I remember it, all those decades ago. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
I feel my back press against the wall as I involuntarily scoot back. "How are you here? It can't be you. It--" I feel my voice falter in spite of myself. "It's been so long."
The dark-haired figure blends back into the shadows, reappearing a bit closer to the bedside. A sad frown marks the smooth features. "I'm so sorry, Robert."
I don't know what to say. For a moment, I just sit, wide-eyed, listening to the terror-beat of my heart. I know it can't be good for me -- the doctors have told me that I don't have long as it is. Their high-level treatments have been just as effective as my hoped-for nightmare cures.
I feel the words rising in my throat, and I'm not surprised when my voice trembles. "Why did you tell me? Do you know what it was like? Coming to those moments and knowing what I had to do? Knowing what was going to happen?"
"Oh, Robert," There is a terrifying level of pity in that sigh of a tone. "Don't you understand? I was trying to help you, encourage you. I was meant to bolster you."
I can feel myself frowning, because for some reason it highlights the pounding headache that has begun to take over. I don't have time to think about that. "Bolster me? What kind of bullshit is that? Bolster someone who... who... would do such horrible things?"
My breath is getting short. I can't remember the last time I felt so shaky. I see another flash of lightning, but my heart is pounding far too hard for me to hear the distant rumblings it produces.
The figure takes a careful seat on the bedside. He stares thoughtfully at his knees for a moment. "These are always the hardest," he says softly. "It is easy to tell someone that they are going to do great things, and then tell them what a visionary they will be remembered as."
"You do this often?" I manage to cough.
He looks over to me, and I can see the unmistakable pain in his eyes. He's a monster too. I can see it. He knows the nightmares.
"History is not always kind to people like you, Robert. But it had to be done. It will be a long time before anyone really understands."
Perhaps it is the now-stabbing pain in my head, or the increasingly crushing weight in my chest, but for that moment I have to believe what he's saying. For a moment, it makes just enough sense -- in some very strange way -- to be comforting. And maybe that's enough. "Will they understand?"
The smooth face turns my way, and the start of a smile lifts his lips. He nods. "Yes, Robert. One day, they will. Not for a very long time. But one day, they will understand."
I can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. I didn't even realize that they were building, but now they flood. They pour endlessly, icy cold droplets against my raging hot skin. The release is almost numbing in its ecstasy, and I cannot comprehend why. But a part of me knows. "There won't be any more nightmares, will there?"
And the shadowy specter smiles broadly this time, a smile brighter than the lightning. "No, Robert. There won't be any more nightmares."
I lean back with a sigh, and allow the blissful dark to take me. A darkness without nightmares.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welp, this is my first submission to this subreddit. I've only just recently gotten back into writing, and especially the daily-practice side. So I'm sorry if this is utter shit. I'm trying to improve! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I wake with a start, lightning illuminating the shadows of the midnight-dark room. My heart thuds within me for a moment, before it begins to canter back to a normal rhythm.
Or at least, as normal a rhythm as it gets these days.
Forty-three years, and I still have the nightmares. The memories of those horrid decisions, come back to remind me of what a monster I was.
I reach up with a shaky arm to wipe away the cold sweat. The silence of the room murmurs with the patter of a gentle rain outside. A flash of lightning illuminates the room just long enough for me to see the clock across the room -- past three in the morning. I lean back against my pillow, then flip it over to the less-sweaty side.
It's a good thing I never married. No bed-partner would be able to put up with my sleeping habits, or lack-thereof.
Sleep is always illusive after such dreams. My weary body longs for rest, but my frightened mind revolts at the idea of more nightmares. I've had enough visions of the past to fill a whole new lifetime of futures. No drugs, meds, or drinks have succeeded in driving them away, no matter how I have tried. I can only lay and pray for a respite.
Pray? No. There is no one to pray to. If there was a god, he would not have let a monster like me into the world.
Another flash of lightning, and there stands another shadow.
I sit bolt-upright, heart galloping once more. A thought of hallucinations passes through my mind -- it has happened before, but only as the result of the myriad of drugs and drinks that fought the nightmares and failed. My system is clear this night. The doctors demand that much.
"Who are you?" I shout.
The figure takes a single step forward, just enough to put him alongside the window. The gentle light of the streetlamps casts just enough glow to illuminate his soft face.
My already-rapid pulse spikes. "You!"
"Hello, Robert," The lean figure takes another step, now just on the edge of shadow again. Somehow, his voice is still as congenial as I remember it, all those decades ago. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
I feel my back press against the wall as I involuntarily scoot back. "How are you here? It can't be you. It--" I feel my voice falter in spite of myself. "It's been so long."
The dark-haired figure blends back into the shadows, reappearing a bit closer to the bedside. A sad frown marks the smooth features. "I'm so sorry, Robert."
I don't know what to say. For a moment, I just sit, wide-eyed, listening to the terror-beat of my heart. I know it can't be good for me -- the doctors have told me that I don't have long as it is. Their high-level treatments have been just as effective as my hoped-for nightmare cures.
I feel the words rising in my throat, and I'm not surprised when my voice trembles. "Why did you tell me? Do you know what it was like? Coming to those moments and knowing what I had to do? Knowing what was going to happen?"
"Oh, Robert," There is a terrifying level of pity in that sigh of a tone. "Don't you understand? I was trying to help you, encourage you. I was meant to bolster you."
I can feel myself frowning, because for some reason it highlights the pounding headache that has begun to take over. I don't have time to think about that. "Bolster me? What kind of bullshit is that? Bolster someone who... who... would do such horrible things?"
My breath is getting short. I can't remember the last time I felt so shaky. I see another flash of lightning, but my heart is pounding far too hard for me to hear the distant rumblings it produces.
The figure takes a careful seat on the bedside. He stares thoughtfully at his knees for a moment. "These are always the hardest," he says softly. "It is easy to tell someone that they are going to do great things, and then tell them what a visionary they will be remembered as."
"You do this often?" I manage to cough.
He looks over to me, and I can see the unmistakable pain in his eyes. He's a monster too. I can see it. He knows the nightmares.
"History is not always kind to people like you, Robert. But it had to be done. It will be a long time before anyone really understands."
Perhaps it is the now-stabbing pain in my head, or the increasingly crushing weight in my chest, but for that moment I have to believe what he's saying. For a moment, it makes just enough sense -- in some very strange way -- to be comforting. And maybe that's enough. "Will they understand?"
The smooth face turns my way, and the start of a smile lifts his lips. He nods. "Yes, Robert. One day, they will. Not for a very long time. But one day, they will understand."
I can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. I didn't even realize that they were building, but now they flood. They pour endlessly, icy cold droplets against my raging hot skin. The release is almost numbing in its ecstasy, and I cannot comprehend why. But a part of me knows. "There won't be any more nightmares, will there?"
And the shadowy specter smiles broadly this time, a smile brighter than the lightning. "No, Robert. There won't be any more nightmares."
I lean back with a sigh, and allow the blissful dark to take me. A darkness without nightmares.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welp, this is my first submission to this subreddit. I've only just recently gotten back into writing, and especially the daily-practice side. So I'm sorry if this is utter shit. I'm trying to improve! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | I wake with a start, lightning illuminating the shadows of the midnight-dark room. My heart thuds within me for a moment, before it begins to canter back to a normal rhythm.
Or at least, as normal a rhythm as it gets these days.
Forty-three years, and I still have the nightmares. The memories of those horrid decisions, come back to remind me of what a monster I was.
I reach up with a shaky arm to wipe away the cold sweat. The silence of the room murmurs with the patter of a gentle rain outside. A flash of lightning illuminates the room just long enough for me to see the clock across the room -- past three in the morning. I lean back against my pillow, then flip it over to the less-sweaty side.
It's a good thing I never married. No bed-partner would be able to put up with my sleeping habits, or lack-thereof.
Sleep is always illusive after such dreams. My weary body longs for rest, but my frightened mind revolts at the idea of more nightmares. I've had enough visions of the past to fill a whole new lifetime of futures. No drugs, meds, or drinks have succeeded in driving them away, no matter how I have tried. I can only lay and pray for a respite.
Pray? No. There is no one to pray to. If there was a god, he would not have let a monster like me into the world.
Another flash of lightning, and there stands another shadow.
I sit bolt-upright, heart galloping once more. A thought of hallucinations passes through my mind -- it has happened before, but only as the result of the myriad of drugs and drinks that fought the nightmares and failed. My system is clear this night. The doctors demand that much.
"Who are you?" I shout.
The figure takes a single step forward, just enough to put him alongside the window. The gentle light of the streetlamps casts just enough glow to illuminate his soft face.
My already-rapid pulse spikes. "You!"
"Hello, Robert," The lean figure takes another step, now just on the edge of shadow again. Somehow, his voice is still as congenial as I remember it, all those decades ago. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
I feel my back press against the wall as I involuntarily scoot back. "How are you here? It can't be you. It--" I feel my voice falter in spite of myself. "It's been so long."
The dark-haired figure blends back into the shadows, reappearing a bit closer to the bedside. A sad frown marks the smooth features. "I'm so sorry, Robert."
I don't know what to say. For a moment, I just sit, wide-eyed, listening to the terror-beat of my heart. I know it can't be good for me -- the doctors have told me that I don't have long as it is. Their high-level treatments have been just as effective as my hoped-for nightmare cures.
I feel the words rising in my throat, and I'm not surprised when my voice trembles. "Why did you tell me? Do you know what it was like? Coming to those moments and knowing what I had to do? Knowing what was going to happen?"
"Oh, Robert," There is a terrifying level of pity in that sigh of a tone. "Don't you understand? I was trying to help you, encourage you. I was meant to bolster you."
I can feel myself frowning, because for some reason it highlights the pounding headache that has begun to take over. I don't have time to think about that. "Bolster me? What kind of bullshit is that? Bolster someone who... who... would do such horrible things?"
My breath is getting short. I can't remember the last time I felt so shaky. I see another flash of lightning, but my heart is pounding far too hard for me to hear the distant rumblings it produces.
The figure takes a careful seat on the bedside. He stares thoughtfully at his knees for a moment. "These are always the hardest," he says softly. "It is easy to tell someone that they are going to do great things, and then tell them what a visionary they will be remembered as."
"You do this often?" I manage to cough.
He looks over to me, and I can see the unmistakable pain in his eyes. He's a monster too. I can see it. He knows the nightmares.
"History is not always kind to people like you, Robert. But it had to be done. It will be a long time before anyone really understands."
Perhaps it is the now-stabbing pain in my head, or the increasingly crushing weight in my chest, but for that moment I have to believe what he's saying. For a moment, it makes just enough sense -- in some very strange way -- to be comforting. And maybe that's enough. "Will they understand?"
The smooth face turns my way, and the start of a smile lifts his lips. He nods. "Yes, Robert. One day, they will. Not for a very long time. But one day, they will understand."
I can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks. I didn't even realize that they were building, but now they flood. They pour endlessly, icy cold droplets against my raging hot skin. The release is almost numbing in its ecstasy, and I cannot comprehend why. But a part of me knows. "There won't be any more nightmares, will there?"
And the shadowy specter smiles broadly this time, a smile brighter than the lightning. "No, Robert. There won't be any more nightmares."
I lean back with a sigh, and allow the blissful dark to take me. A darkness without nightmares.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welp, this is my first submission to this subreddit. I've only just recently gotten back into writing, and especially the daily-practice side. So I'm sorry if this is utter shit. I'm trying to improve! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The child sleeps before me, clutching his favourite of the gifts he received today. A toy mechanism he will tear apart tomorrow, just to discover how it works. This would happen even if I didn't give him his *nudge* tonight.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
“Never stop playing, my child,
never stop discovering.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to you
for as long as you work to discover them.”
A grin creeps across the child's face.
He will barely remember this *dream* tomorrow morning, but this small push will be just enough.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
*****
I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The man sleeps before me. Only a moment before passing from this existence. A clam look on his face. Long ago deciding to face this inevitability with curiosity.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
"Your name will never be forgotten.
Your work will inspire billions to follow in your path.
Your work will be the the foundation of great discoveries, and great exploration.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to those who work and play as you did."
A grin creeps across the man's face.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
The man passes from this existence. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The child sleeps before me, clutching his favourite of the gifts he received today. A toy mechanism he will tear apart tomorrow, just to discover how it works. This would happen even if I didn't give him his *nudge* tonight.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
“Never stop playing, my child,
never stop discovering.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to you
for as long as you work to discover them.”
A grin creeps across the child's face.
He will barely remember this *dream* tomorrow morning, but this small push will be just enough.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
*****
I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The man sleeps before me. Only a moment before passing from this existence. A clam look on his face. Long ago deciding to face this inevitability with curiosity.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
"Your name will never be forgotten.
Your work will inspire billions to follow in your path.
Your work will be the the foundation of great discoveries, and great exploration.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to those who work and play as you did."
A grin creeps across the man's face.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
The man passes from this existence. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The child sleeps before me, clutching his favourite of the gifts he received today. A toy mechanism he will tear apart tomorrow, just to discover how it works. This would happen even if I didn't give him his *nudge* tonight.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
“Never stop playing, my child,
never stop discovering.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to you
for as long as you work to discover them.”
A grin creeps across the child's face.
He will barely remember this *dream* tomorrow morning, but this small push will be just enough.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
*****
I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The man sleeps before me. Only a moment before passing from this existence. A clam look on his face. Long ago deciding to face this inevitability with curiosity.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
"Your name will never be forgotten.
Your work will inspire billions to follow in your path.
Your work will be the the foundation of great discoveries, and great exploration.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to those who work and play as you did."
A grin creeps across the man's face.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
The man passes from this existence. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The child sleeps before me, clutching his favourite of the gifts he received today. A toy mechanism he will tear apart tomorrow, just to discover how it works. This would happen even if I didn't give him his *nudge* tonight.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
“Never stop playing, my child,
never stop discovering.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to you
for as long as you work to discover them.”
A grin creeps across the child's face.
He will barely remember this *dream* tomorrow morning, but this small push will be just enough.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
*****
I grab hold ... and my flow stops.
The man sleeps before me. Only a moment before passing from this existence. A clam look on his face. Long ago deciding to face this inevitability with curiosity.
I fold over him and whisper into his mind.
"Your name will never be forgotten.
Your work will inspire billions to follow in your path.
Your work will be the the foundation of great discoveries, and great exploration.
The Universe will continue to reveal her secrets to those who work and play as you did."
A grin creeps across the man's face.
I release my hold ... and my flow resumes.
The man passes from this existence. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | The interviewer watched me. I watched back. It was hard not to look away from him: Dull, blue eyes with sags under each of them, square black eyeglasses with no special features, a bright blue polo shirt, he wore.
We sat there, watching each other for what I thought was a century. It wasn't long after that he reached into his pocket, puling out a tape recorder and placing it on the table.
He speaks. "Now, let's begin the interview, Mr...?"
"T. Raveller," I tell him, grinning.
"Is that your real name?" he replies with a motionless look on his face.
"One of many."
"Then what's your real name? The one your parents gave you?"
"I don't know. I traveled through time so much and was given so many names it's lost even to myself."
The interviewer nods his head. "Very well then, Mr. Raveller," He says. "Let us begin."
He clicks a button on the recorder. From the inside, I see little reels slowly spinning.
"Let's start with what I think is the most important question: How do you travel through time?"
I think about it for a moment. Should I tell him? If so, how? I can't just say how. There are some savory people who would love to get their hands on it.
"I can't tell you," I answer.
"And why not?
"Because one, everyone's gonna wanna go after it, and two, I'll have to kill you. And I don't mean that as a threat: I will proceed to cave your skull in on this table and destroy your tape recorder."
He becomes wide-eyed. "Oh, er, I see. Okay, well do you mind telling us about your best experience with someone in history?"
He has no idea what he just said. There are many that I enjoyed: Julius Ceasar, Ghenghis Khan, Napoleon, there's really no definitive answer. And then it hit me. something him and the rest of the world will want to hear.
"Hitler," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Hitler? Adolf Hitler?"
"Yeah," I say with a laugh.
"You had the opportunity to talk about any famous figure in history, and you choose Hitler."
"What, you want me to talk about Rosie O'Donald? She's not so much of a historical figure, but she is a damn fool."
"Fine, fine, I get it. So, Hitler. When did you travel to him?" He moves the recorder closer to me.
"I traveled to him on his 10th birthday. Well, it was more like a few days afterwards. Traffic was pretty backed up. Anyways, I get there, and I see him drawing. I think it was like a house and some trees or some shit like that."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Yes. I sat next to him and asked him about his future. He said he wanted to be an artist. See where I'm getting at?"
"He failed art school," the interviewer said.
"That's right. Indirectly, I told him that if for some reason he couldn't make it through that, he should get in politics. I told him he's really good at working with people and they will love him."
"His rise in politics and to the Third Reich."
"Mmmhmm. I told him all this. I told him about how if there was a big war going on, he should join the rest of Austria in fighting, for he was sure there was no better fighter than him."
"World War 1."
"Exactly. I told his all this, and left."
The interviewer looks bedazzled by all he's hearing. "So, you left? That was it? You told him about how he failed art school, went to war, and got into politics? You encouraged all this?"
"Yes, I encouraged it. I can't just simply alter the course of history, but no, that wasn't all of it."
He became surprised. "What happened afterwards?"
"I watched him die."
"You watched him shoot himself?"
"No, he didn't shoot himself in 1945-"
"Wait wait wait," He interrupted. "You say he didn't die in '45? In the fuhrer bunker?"
"No. He died in 1943. His 'apparent' death in '45 was a ruse. After his real death, Heinrich Himmler was left in charge, and no one but Hitler's highest-ranking generals knew."
"How did he die?"
"He enjoyed hunting. No one knew except his family. One day, he and Himmler, of all people, went hunting in the valleys of Southern Germany, or where Austria once was. They were attacked by a bear, who tore right into Hitler's chest, causing him to bleed heavily. Himmler ran off to find help. I walked to Hitler's body and picked him up in my arms. He looked at me, and noticed who it was. There were tears in his eyes. He asked me one final wish. He wanted me to tell his family about his death. He tasked me to tell them about how he died. Gloriously, of course."
"Did you?"
"No. I couldn't interfere with the time stream. Even his closest family couldn't be contacted."
The interviewer sat back in his seat, his mind blown. he sat back up and looked back at me. "Before we wrap this up, what did you do afterwards?"
"I came back to the present. My service to Hitler was no more. It was then that I began to pinpoint who to visit next. So. I guess we're done here?"
The interviewer pressed a button on the tape recorder. "Yes, I think so. I have to say, I wasn't expecting such a plot twist, to be honest. I'm blown away from Hitler's true way he died, though. So, what will you do now?"
I stood up from my seat, cracking my back. "I'm off to visit Kalashnikov." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | The interviewer watched me. I watched back. It was hard not to look away from him: Dull, blue eyes with sags under each of them, square black eyeglasses with no special features, a bright blue polo shirt, he wore.
We sat there, watching each other for what I thought was a century. It wasn't long after that he reached into his pocket, puling out a tape recorder and placing it on the table.
He speaks. "Now, let's begin the interview, Mr...?"
"T. Raveller," I tell him, grinning.
"Is that your real name?" he replies with a motionless look on his face.
"One of many."
"Then what's your real name? The one your parents gave you?"
"I don't know. I traveled through time so much and was given so many names it's lost even to myself."
The interviewer nods his head. "Very well then, Mr. Raveller," He says. "Let us begin."
He clicks a button on the recorder. From the inside, I see little reels slowly spinning.
"Let's start with what I think is the most important question: How do you travel through time?"
I think about it for a moment. Should I tell him? If so, how? I can't just say how. There are some savory people who would love to get their hands on it.
"I can't tell you," I answer.
"And why not?
"Because one, everyone's gonna wanna go after it, and two, I'll have to kill you. And I don't mean that as a threat: I will proceed to cave your skull in on this table and destroy your tape recorder."
He becomes wide-eyed. "Oh, er, I see. Okay, well do you mind telling us about your best experience with someone in history?"
He has no idea what he just said. There are many that I enjoyed: Julius Ceasar, Ghenghis Khan, Napoleon, there's really no definitive answer. And then it hit me. something him and the rest of the world will want to hear.
"Hitler," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Hitler? Adolf Hitler?"
"Yeah," I say with a laugh.
"You had the opportunity to talk about any famous figure in history, and you choose Hitler."
"What, you want me to talk about Rosie O'Donald? She's not so much of a historical figure, but she is a damn fool."
"Fine, fine, I get it. So, Hitler. When did you travel to him?" He moves the recorder closer to me.
"I traveled to him on his 10th birthday. Well, it was more like a few days afterwards. Traffic was pretty backed up. Anyways, I get there, and I see him drawing. I think it was like a house and some trees or some shit like that."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Yes. I sat next to him and asked him about his future. He said he wanted to be an artist. See where I'm getting at?"
"He failed art school," the interviewer said.
"That's right. Indirectly, I told him that if for some reason he couldn't make it through that, he should get in politics. I told him he's really good at working with people and they will love him."
"His rise in politics and to the Third Reich."
"Mmmhmm. I told him all this. I told him about how if there was a big war going on, he should join the rest of Austria in fighting, for he was sure there was no better fighter than him."
"World War 1."
"Exactly. I told his all this, and left."
The interviewer looks bedazzled by all he's hearing. "So, you left? That was it? You told him about how he failed art school, went to war, and got into politics? You encouraged all this?"
"Yes, I encouraged it. I can't just simply alter the course of history, but no, that wasn't all of it."
He became surprised. "What happened afterwards?"
"I watched him die."
"You watched him shoot himself?"
"No, he didn't shoot himself in 1945-"
"Wait wait wait," He interrupted. "You say he didn't die in '45? In the fuhrer bunker?"
"No. He died in 1943. His 'apparent' death in '45 was a ruse. After his real death, Heinrich Himmler was left in charge, and no one but Hitler's highest-ranking generals knew."
"How did he die?"
"He enjoyed hunting. No one knew except his family. One day, he and Himmler, of all people, went hunting in the valleys of Southern Germany, or where Austria once was. They were attacked by a bear, who tore right into Hitler's chest, causing him to bleed heavily. Himmler ran off to find help. I walked to Hitler's body and picked him up in my arms. He looked at me, and noticed who it was. There were tears in his eyes. He asked me one final wish. He wanted me to tell his family about his death. He tasked me to tell them about how he died. Gloriously, of course."
"Did you?"
"No. I couldn't interfere with the time stream. Even his closest family couldn't be contacted."
The interviewer sat back in his seat, his mind blown. he sat back up and looked back at me. "Before we wrap this up, what did you do afterwards?"
"I came back to the present. My service to Hitler was no more. It was then that I began to pinpoint who to visit next. So. I guess we're done here?"
The interviewer pressed a button on the tape recorder. "Yes, I think so. I have to say, I wasn't expecting such a plot twist, to be honest. I'm blown away from Hitler's true way he died, though. So, what will you do now?"
I stood up from my seat, cracking my back. "I'm off to visit Kalashnikov." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | The interviewer watched me. I watched back. It was hard not to look away from him: Dull, blue eyes with sags under each of them, square black eyeglasses with no special features, a bright blue polo shirt, he wore.
We sat there, watching each other for what I thought was a century. It wasn't long after that he reached into his pocket, puling out a tape recorder and placing it on the table.
He speaks. "Now, let's begin the interview, Mr...?"
"T. Raveller," I tell him, grinning.
"Is that your real name?" he replies with a motionless look on his face.
"One of many."
"Then what's your real name? The one your parents gave you?"
"I don't know. I traveled through time so much and was given so many names it's lost even to myself."
The interviewer nods his head. "Very well then, Mr. Raveller," He says. "Let us begin."
He clicks a button on the recorder. From the inside, I see little reels slowly spinning.
"Let's start with what I think is the most important question: How do you travel through time?"
I think about it for a moment. Should I tell him? If so, how? I can't just say how. There are some savory people who would love to get their hands on it.
"I can't tell you," I answer.
"And why not?
"Because one, everyone's gonna wanna go after it, and two, I'll have to kill you. And I don't mean that as a threat: I will proceed to cave your skull in on this table and destroy your tape recorder."
He becomes wide-eyed. "Oh, er, I see. Okay, well do you mind telling us about your best experience with someone in history?"
He has no idea what he just said. There are many that I enjoyed: Julius Ceasar, Ghenghis Khan, Napoleon, there's really no definitive answer. And then it hit me. something him and the rest of the world will want to hear.
"Hitler," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Hitler? Adolf Hitler?"
"Yeah," I say with a laugh.
"You had the opportunity to talk about any famous figure in history, and you choose Hitler."
"What, you want me to talk about Rosie O'Donald? She's not so much of a historical figure, but she is a damn fool."
"Fine, fine, I get it. So, Hitler. When did you travel to him?" He moves the recorder closer to me.
"I traveled to him on his 10th birthday. Well, it was more like a few days afterwards. Traffic was pretty backed up. Anyways, I get there, and I see him drawing. I think it was like a house and some trees or some shit like that."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Yes. I sat next to him and asked him about his future. He said he wanted to be an artist. See where I'm getting at?"
"He failed art school," the interviewer said.
"That's right. Indirectly, I told him that if for some reason he couldn't make it through that, he should get in politics. I told him he's really good at working with people and they will love him."
"His rise in politics and to the Third Reich."
"Mmmhmm. I told him all this. I told him about how if there was a big war going on, he should join the rest of Austria in fighting, for he was sure there was no better fighter than him."
"World War 1."
"Exactly. I told his all this, and left."
The interviewer looks bedazzled by all he's hearing. "So, you left? That was it? You told him about how he failed art school, went to war, and got into politics? You encouraged all this?"
"Yes, I encouraged it. I can't just simply alter the course of history, but no, that wasn't all of it."
He became surprised. "What happened afterwards?"
"I watched him die."
"You watched him shoot himself?"
"No, he didn't shoot himself in 1945-"
"Wait wait wait," He interrupted. "You say he didn't die in '45? In the fuhrer bunker?"
"No. He died in 1943. His 'apparent' death in '45 was a ruse. After his real death, Heinrich Himmler was left in charge, and no one but Hitler's highest-ranking generals knew."
"How did he die?"
"He enjoyed hunting. No one knew except his family. One day, he and Himmler, of all people, went hunting in the valleys of Southern Germany, or where Austria once was. They were attacked by a bear, who tore right into Hitler's chest, causing him to bleed heavily. Himmler ran off to find help. I walked to Hitler's body and picked him up in my arms. He looked at me, and noticed who it was. There were tears in his eyes. He asked me one final wish. He wanted me to tell his family about his death. He tasked me to tell them about how he died. Gloriously, of course."
"Did you?"
"No. I couldn't interfere with the time stream. Even his closest family couldn't be contacted."
The interviewer sat back in his seat, his mind blown. he sat back up and looked back at me. "Before we wrap this up, what did you do afterwards?"
"I came back to the present. My service to Hitler was no more. It was then that I began to pinpoint who to visit next. So. I guess we're done here?"
The interviewer pressed a button on the tape recorder. "Yes, I think so. I have to say, I wasn't expecting such a plot twist, to be honest. I'm blown away from Hitler's true way he died, though. So, what will you do now?"
I stood up from my seat, cracking my back. "I'm off to visit Kalashnikov." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| The interviewer watched me. I watched back. It was hard not to look away from him: Dull, blue eyes with sags under each of them, square black eyeglasses with no special features, a bright blue polo shirt, he wore.
We sat there, watching each other for what I thought was a century. It wasn't long after that he reached into his pocket, puling out a tape recorder and placing it on the table.
He speaks. "Now, let's begin the interview, Mr...?"
"T. Raveller," I tell him, grinning.
"Is that your real name?" he replies with a motionless look on his face.
"One of many."
"Then what's your real name? The one your parents gave you?"
"I don't know. I traveled through time so much and was given so many names it's lost even to myself."
The interviewer nods his head. "Very well then, Mr. Raveller," He says. "Let us begin."
He clicks a button on the recorder. From the inside, I see little reels slowly spinning.
"Let's start with what I think is the most important question: How do you travel through time?"
I think about it for a moment. Should I tell him? If so, how? I can't just say how. There are some savory people who would love to get their hands on it.
"I can't tell you," I answer.
"And why not?
"Because one, everyone's gonna wanna go after it, and two, I'll have to kill you. And I don't mean that as a threat: I will proceed to cave your skull in on this table and destroy your tape recorder."
He becomes wide-eyed. "Oh, er, I see. Okay, well do you mind telling us about your best experience with someone in history?"
He has no idea what he just said. There are many that I enjoyed: Julius Ceasar, Ghenghis Khan, Napoleon, there's really no definitive answer. And then it hit me. something him and the rest of the world will want to hear.
"Hitler," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Hitler? Adolf Hitler?"
"Yeah," I say with a laugh.
"You had the opportunity to talk about any famous figure in history, and you choose Hitler."
"What, you want me to talk about Rosie O'Donald? She's not so much of a historical figure, but she is a damn fool."
"Fine, fine, I get it. So, Hitler. When did you travel to him?" He moves the recorder closer to me.
"I traveled to him on his 10th birthday. Well, it was more like a few days afterwards. Traffic was pretty backed up. Anyways, I get there, and I see him drawing. I think it was like a house and some trees or some shit like that."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Yes. I sat next to him and asked him about his future. He said he wanted to be an artist. See where I'm getting at?"
"He failed art school," the interviewer said.
"That's right. Indirectly, I told him that if for some reason he couldn't make it through that, he should get in politics. I told him he's really good at working with people and they will love him."
"His rise in politics and to the Third Reich."
"Mmmhmm. I told him all this. I told him about how if there was a big war going on, he should join the rest of Austria in fighting, for he was sure there was no better fighter than him."
"World War 1."
"Exactly. I told his all this, and left."
The interviewer looks bedazzled by all he's hearing. "So, you left? That was it? You told him about how he failed art school, went to war, and got into politics? You encouraged all this?"
"Yes, I encouraged it. I can't just simply alter the course of history, but no, that wasn't all of it."
He became surprised. "What happened afterwards?"
"I watched him die."
"You watched him shoot himself?"
"No, he didn't shoot himself in 1945-"
"Wait wait wait," He interrupted. "You say he didn't die in '45? In the fuhrer bunker?"
"No. He died in 1943. His 'apparent' death in '45 was a ruse. After his real death, Heinrich Himmler was left in charge, and no one but Hitler's highest-ranking generals knew."
"How did he die?"
"He enjoyed hunting. No one knew except his family. One day, he and Himmler, of all people, went hunting in the valleys of Southern Germany, or where Austria once was. They were attacked by a bear, who tore right into Hitler's chest, causing him to bleed heavily. Himmler ran off to find help. I walked to Hitler's body and picked him up in my arms. He looked at me, and noticed who it was. There were tears in his eyes. He asked me one final wish. He wanted me to tell his family about his death. He tasked me to tell them about how he died. Gloriously, of course."
"Did you?"
"No. I couldn't interfere with the time stream. Even his closest family couldn't be contacted."
The interviewer sat back in his seat, his mind blown. he sat back up and looked back at me. "Before we wrap this up, what did you do afterwards?"
"I came back to the present. My service to Hitler was no more. It was then that I began to pinpoint who to visit next. So. I guess we're done here?"
The interviewer pressed a button on the tape recorder. "Yes, I think so. I have to say, I wasn't expecting such a plot twist, to be honest. I'm blown away from Hitler's true way he died, though. So, what will you do now?"
I stood up from my seat, cracking my back. "I'm off to visit Kalashnikov." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | I was sitting in my room that was lit by a single candle, planning out my next move. I’m so close, just a little more and I’ll achieve it, my dream. I was so busy with my scheming that I didn’t notice someone had sneaked behind me until he spoke.
“Quite busy, aren’t we?”
I immediately stopped and my heart skipped a beat. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. The first time I heard it was 46 years ago when I was an unassuming 10 year old. It was my voice of reason, my guide. It was the voice that led me to where I am right now.
I stood up and turned around to look at the face of that voice. I have waited so long for this day; the day that I can show him what I have become, what I have achieved and that he was right in choosing me.
“The same goes for you my old friend; you haven’t shown yourself for quite some time. How has it been? 46 years?” I looked at his face and it was still as I remembered. As if time has stopped for him.
“It is.” His face showed no emotion as he replied to me. Along my journey I learned to read people well. I knew what they were thinking even before they said it, it was easy for me to detect lies and it was what helped my get to where I am today. But it seems that all that experience is useless against this man.
“Tell me my friend why are you here? You have come too early to witness my triumph.” I turned around and took 2 glasses from my drawer and a 12 year old scotch.
“Quite the opposite” my hand slipped and I let go of the glass I was holding. Confusion was now written all over my face as I turned around to face him once more.
“What do you mean?” I felt a feeling of dread as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was preparing to tell me some grim news.
“I’m here to tell you how you have failed.” I took a step back at his statement. I failed? How? I’m already so close, so near to my goal that I can taste it how can it be over?
“My friend, your actions up until now has led you to this day. You will fall and people will remember you as a monster, a tyrant. You will be heralded as the devil himself.” I can’t say a word. For the first time in my life I was speechless. I looked at his face but the only thing I saw in there was pity. I couldn’t take that look, I had to say something.
“What do you mean I will fall? What do you mean that my actions led to it? Everything I did I did because I was supposed to. I followed what you said to me!” All my doubt and confusion was replaced by rage. How dare he tell me that I will fall and be remembered as a tyrant. Everything I did was in accordance to what he has said to me back when I was but a child.
“You were the one who filled my head with ideas of a better world. You were the one who told me that I will be the greatest leader the world has ever seen. You were the one who told me what to do! I was only following your instructions!” After my outburst I was out of breath. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
He closed his eyes once again and spoke. “I did tell you that you will become a great leader, that you will lead the world and make it a better place. But I did not tell you how.” He stopped and opened his eyes, the look of pity never leaving it and still directed at me.
“You thought that you were above everyone else so you asserted your dominance and created a dictatorship, you acted like a god and decided to rid the world of people you didn’t see fit which resulted in genocide.” I was stuck in place. My body won’t move even if I tell it to. I did all of it to create a better world. I was going to say something but the tip of a revolver stopped my words.
“I’m sorry, Adolf.” Was the last thing I heard before everything turned black.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | I was sitting in my room that was lit by a single candle, planning out my next move. I’m so close, just a little more and I’ll achieve it, my dream. I was so busy with my scheming that I didn’t notice someone had sneaked behind me until he spoke.
“Quite busy, aren’t we?”
I immediately stopped and my heart skipped a beat. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. The first time I heard it was 46 years ago when I was an unassuming 10 year old. It was my voice of reason, my guide. It was the voice that led me to where I am right now.
I stood up and turned around to look at the face of that voice. I have waited so long for this day; the day that I can show him what I have become, what I have achieved and that he was right in choosing me.
“The same goes for you my old friend; you haven’t shown yourself for quite some time. How has it been? 46 years?” I looked at his face and it was still as I remembered. As if time has stopped for him.
“It is.” His face showed no emotion as he replied to me. Along my journey I learned to read people well. I knew what they were thinking even before they said it, it was easy for me to detect lies and it was what helped my get to where I am today. But it seems that all that experience is useless against this man.
“Tell me my friend why are you here? You have come too early to witness my triumph.” I turned around and took 2 glasses from my drawer and a 12 year old scotch.
“Quite the opposite” my hand slipped and I let go of the glass I was holding. Confusion was now written all over my face as I turned around to face him once more.
“What do you mean?” I felt a feeling of dread as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was preparing to tell me some grim news.
“I’m here to tell you how you have failed.” I took a step back at his statement. I failed? How? I’m already so close, so near to my goal that I can taste it how can it be over?
“My friend, your actions up until now has led you to this day. You will fall and people will remember you as a monster, a tyrant. You will be heralded as the devil himself.” I can’t say a word. For the first time in my life I was speechless. I looked at his face but the only thing I saw in there was pity. I couldn’t take that look, I had to say something.
“What do you mean I will fall? What do you mean that my actions led to it? Everything I did I did because I was supposed to. I followed what you said to me!” All my doubt and confusion was replaced by rage. How dare he tell me that I will fall and be remembered as a tyrant. Everything I did was in accordance to what he has said to me back when I was but a child.
“You were the one who filled my head with ideas of a better world. You were the one who told me that I will be the greatest leader the world has ever seen. You were the one who told me what to do! I was only following your instructions!” After my outburst I was out of breath. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
He closed his eyes once again and spoke. “I did tell you that you will become a great leader, that you will lead the world and make it a better place. But I did not tell you how.” He stopped and opened his eyes, the look of pity never leaving it and still directed at me.
“You thought that you were above everyone else so you asserted your dominance and created a dictatorship, you acted like a god and decided to rid the world of people you didn’t see fit which resulted in genocide.” I was stuck in place. My body won’t move even if I tell it to. I did all of it to create a better world. I was going to say something but the tip of a revolver stopped my words.
“I’m sorry, Adolf.” Was the last thing I heard before everything turned black.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | I was sitting in my room that was lit by a single candle, planning out my next move. I’m so close, just a little more and I’ll achieve it, my dream. I was so busy with my scheming that I didn’t notice someone had sneaked behind me until he spoke.
“Quite busy, aren’t we?”
I immediately stopped and my heart skipped a beat. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. The first time I heard it was 46 years ago when I was an unassuming 10 year old. It was my voice of reason, my guide. It was the voice that led me to where I am right now.
I stood up and turned around to look at the face of that voice. I have waited so long for this day; the day that I can show him what I have become, what I have achieved and that he was right in choosing me.
“The same goes for you my old friend; you haven’t shown yourself for quite some time. How has it been? 46 years?” I looked at his face and it was still as I remembered. As if time has stopped for him.
“It is.” His face showed no emotion as he replied to me. Along my journey I learned to read people well. I knew what they were thinking even before they said it, it was easy for me to detect lies and it was what helped my get to where I am today. But it seems that all that experience is useless against this man.
“Tell me my friend why are you here? You have come too early to witness my triumph.” I turned around and took 2 glasses from my drawer and a 12 year old scotch.
“Quite the opposite” my hand slipped and I let go of the glass I was holding. Confusion was now written all over my face as I turned around to face him once more.
“What do you mean?” I felt a feeling of dread as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was preparing to tell me some grim news.
“I’m here to tell you how you have failed.” I took a step back at his statement. I failed? How? I’m already so close, so near to my goal that I can taste it how can it be over?
“My friend, your actions up until now has led you to this day. You will fall and people will remember you as a monster, a tyrant. You will be heralded as the devil himself.” I can’t say a word. For the first time in my life I was speechless. I looked at his face but the only thing I saw in there was pity. I couldn’t take that look, I had to say something.
“What do you mean I will fall? What do you mean that my actions led to it? Everything I did I did because I was supposed to. I followed what you said to me!” All my doubt and confusion was replaced by rage. How dare he tell me that I will fall and be remembered as a tyrant. Everything I did was in accordance to what he has said to me back when I was but a child.
“You were the one who filled my head with ideas of a better world. You were the one who told me that I will be the greatest leader the world has ever seen. You were the one who told me what to do! I was only following your instructions!” After my outburst I was out of breath. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
He closed his eyes once again and spoke. “I did tell you that you will become a great leader, that you will lead the world and make it a better place. But I did not tell you how.” He stopped and opened his eyes, the look of pity never leaving it and still directed at me.
“You thought that you were above everyone else so you asserted your dominance and created a dictatorship, you acted like a god and decided to rid the world of people you didn’t see fit which resulted in genocide.” I was stuck in place. My body won’t move even if I tell it to. I did all of it to create a better world. I was going to say something but the tip of a revolver stopped my words.
“I’m sorry, Adolf.” Was the last thing I heard before everything turned black.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I was sitting in my room that was lit by a single candle, planning out my next move. I’m so close, just a little more and I’ll achieve it, my dream. I was so busy with my scheming that I didn’t notice someone had sneaked behind me until he spoke.
“Quite busy, aren’t we?”
I immediately stopped and my heart skipped a beat. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. The first time I heard it was 46 years ago when I was an unassuming 10 year old. It was my voice of reason, my guide. It was the voice that led me to where I am right now.
I stood up and turned around to look at the face of that voice. I have waited so long for this day; the day that I can show him what I have become, what I have achieved and that he was right in choosing me.
“The same goes for you my old friend; you haven’t shown yourself for quite some time. How has it been? 46 years?” I looked at his face and it was still as I remembered. As if time has stopped for him.
“It is.” His face showed no emotion as he replied to me. Along my journey I learned to read people well. I knew what they were thinking even before they said it, it was easy for me to detect lies and it was what helped my get to where I am today. But it seems that all that experience is useless against this man.
“Tell me my friend why are you here? You have come too early to witness my triumph.” I turned around and took 2 glasses from my drawer and a 12 year old scotch.
“Quite the opposite” my hand slipped and I let go of the glass I was holding. Confusion was now written all over my face as I turned around to face him once more.
“What do you mean?” I felt a feeling of dread as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was preparing to tell me some grim news.
“I’m here to tell you how you have failed.” I took a step back at his statement. I failed? How? I’m already so close, so near to my goal that I can taste it how can it be over?
“My friend, your actions up until now has led you to this day. You will fall and people will remember you as a monster, a tyrant. You will be heralded as the devil himself.” I can’t say a word. For the first time in my life I was speechless. I looked at his face but the only thing I saw in there was pity. I couldn’t take that look, I had to say something.
“What do you mean I will fall? What do you mean that my actions led to it? Everything I did I did because I was supposed to. I followed what you said to me!” All my doubt and confusion was replaced by rage. How dare he tell me that I will fall and be remembered as a tyrant. Everything I did was in accordance to what he has said to me back when I was but a child.
“You were the one who filled my head with ideas of a better world. You were the one who told me that I will be the greatest leader the world has ever seen. You were the one who told me what to do! I was only following your instructions!” After my outburst I was out of breath. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
He closed his eyes once again and spoke. “I did tell you that you will become a great leader, that you will lead the world and make it a better place. But I did not tell you how.” He stopped and opened his eyes, the look of pity never leaving it and still directed at me.
“You thought that you were above everyone else so you asserted your dominance and created a dictatorship, you acted like a god and decided to rid the world of people you didn’t see fit which resulted in genocide.” I was stuck in place. My body won’t move even if I tell it to. I did all of it to create a better world. I was going to say something but the tip of a revolver stopped my words.
“I’m sorry, Adolf.” Was the last thing I heard before everything turned black.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | The man shook the tablets in his hand, contemplating if there was another way. He knew the war was over, the Russians were coming, and he would never retreat. The only option was the cyanide.
Suddenly an old man casually walked into the room. The defeated man raised his pistol, and stared.
"I wouldn't do that Adolf," the old man said.
"You're the reason," the man exhaled, "you told me I would rule the world, you said I would never be defeated. I was desperate. I had to rule to meet my destiny."
"Son, I only told you what you could be, not what you would be."
Adolf swallowed the tablets in his hand and shot the old man. But as he watched the old man walk away he felt the bullet pierce him. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| The man shook the tablets in his hand, contemplating if there was another way. He knew the war was over, the Russians were coming, and he would never retreat. The only option was the cyanide.
Suddenly an old man casually walked into the room. The defeated man raised his pistol, and stared.
"I wouldn't do that Adolf," the old man said.
"You're the reason," the man exhaled, "you told me I would rule the world, you said I would never be defeated. I was desperate. I had to rule to meet my destiny."
"Son, I only told you what you could be, not what you would be."
Adolf swallowed the tablets in his hand and shot the old man. But as he watched the old man walk away he felt the bullet pierce him. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | I'd watched him all day, out shopping with his mother and father in one of those sleepy little towns that seem fixed in history. Neat little colorful rows of 17th-century trading houses and customs houses, staffed by neat little customs officials counting and recounting. All that joyful bureaucracy. But today it was his birthday, and his parents were taking him out for a little trinket to celebrate -- with his two-year old little sister still in his mother's arms, the little goose nestled tightly.
What struck me -- always strikes me in this job -- is how ordinary it all was. Famous people are both exceptional and unexceptional at the same time. Like an uncanny valley, they resemble ordinary people far more than you want them to, with their normal pastimes and obsessions and foibles. But it never quite fits, it's never quite perfectly normal. They are always slightly exceptional -- some little trait too highly toned, some little attribute too carefully pressed. It's shocking to see that, and then to see that in all other respects they are just normal.
And he was no exception, chattering away about music and songs that he loved -- and even singing to himself or no one in particular. Such a joyous, outgoing child. He would have made a good priest. His brother's death in two short years would derail those plans, turning him sullen and fatalistic, transforming that confident, peaceful strength into something harder-edged. But for now he was young and the world was all openness and hope.
"Give me 12 years," I said to him when he was finally alone -- outside his house as his parents fiddled and bopped around inside. He had been digging in the dirts, lining up some grand fort of sticks and mud into which small rocks could invade. His head jerked up as I spoke.
"Who are you?" he asked. He was surprisingly assured for a child of ten, caught unaware by a strange man. He seemed unflappable, even now.
"I'm an angel, if you like. Or a traveler. Or a man." I replied. "I haven't come here to hurt you."
"What do you want? Why are you bothering me?" Already so willful, so abrupt -- such a funny child sometimes, but with such a sharpened edge.
"I have information for you. About who you will be, what you will do when you grow up."
"Yeah? Will I be a priest?"
"No, you will be a soldier, and you will fight bravely in a great war. When that war is over, you will help to rebuild your country. You'll build giant monuments and remake the face of your country, even the people themselves. People will remember your name forever. You will be more than famous -- you will be a symbol of a movement so profound it changes the way human beings relate to one another. You will fundamentally change the world."
"Why would I want to do that?" he grumbled, turning back to his fort.
"Because you think it's the right thing to do," I answered. "Because you love your country, and want it to be proud of you."
He huffed to himself. "I want to be a priest," he replied, "and sing everyday." I laughed out loud, unable to help myself. At bottom, people are who they are, even as children, and this stubborn streak that would be so important both to his success and to his downfall was as present now as it would ever be.
"You can be whatever you want to be," I said with a pat on the head. "But remember what I told you -- give me 12 years."
As I walked away, I felt strangely empty. I'd pushed hard to get this assignment, but it was strangely hard to walk away from such a young, talented child with so much possibility, so much drive and desire and hope. In a different universe... I shook my head and laughed those thoughts away -- perhaps he wouldn't have made a very good priest, any more than he would have made a good painter. Perhaps he had only one destiny.
"Give me 12 years," I said to him, no longer the child in Branau am Inn but a man battered and shaking, near death.
"What? Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" he spat back at me, as dust from the walls mixed with the musty air, the bombs hammering again...hammering, hammering, hammering. There was no recognition in his eyes -- bloodshot, full of hatred, but still so sure of himself. It had been too long ago, too many lifetimes had passed since that day -- and, knowing him, I figured he simply hadn't paid it any mind in the first place.
I looked at him. Took it all in. This horrible, fetid place, still pretending at bureaucratic niceties, still yearning for the order of that customs house, but twisted, perverted, evil. But justified. That was what always killed me -- it was all internally justified. To him, to the customs officer's son, the child of idyllic fields and horrible mustard gas attacks, it was all proper, all understandable, all correct. It was worth it. And yet now he surely began to understand how the world would remember him. Now, as his lips dropped and he struggled even to move -- now, as his world caved in -- he must surely come to realize how it would all be seen, how it SHOULD all be seen.
"You at least remembered what I said, I hope?" I smiled at him, a mixture of victory and, perhaps, though it hardly seemed possible, pity. "All those years ago. I'd have thought you wouldn't have remembered me at all -- but do you remember that? What I told you?"
His eyes flashed a sudden recognition, and the energy seemed to pull out of his body, draining into the floor. The last reserves of stubbornness, of anger, of resolve. I knew he was finally, completely defeated. I knew that he finally understood, finally knew. That he was finally broken.
"Give me 12 years," he said, his voice weak and trembling, "and you won't recognize Germany." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I'd watched him all day, out shopping with his mother and father in one of those sleepy little towns that seem fixed in history. Neat little colorful rows of 17th-century trading houses and customs houses, staffed by neat little customs officials counting and recounting. All that joyful bureaucracy. But today it was his birthday, and his parents were taking him out for a little trinket to celebrate -- with his two-year old little sister still in his mother's arms, the little goose nestled tightly.
What struck me -- always strikes me in this job -- is how ordinary it all was. Famous people are both exceptional and unexceptional at the same time. Like an uncanny valley, they resemble ordinary people far more than you want them to, with their normal pastimes and obsessions and foibles. But it never quite fits, it's never quite perfectly normal. They are always slightly exceptional -- some little trait too highly toned, some little attribute too carefully pressed. It's shocking to see that, and then to see that in all other respects they are just normal.
And he was no exception, chattering away about music and songs that he loved -- and even singing to himself or no one in particular. Such a joyous, outgoing child. He would have made a good priest. His brother's death in two short years would derail those plans, turning him sullen and fatalistic, transforming that confident, peaceful strength into something harder-edged. But for now he was young and the world was all openness and hope.
"Give me 12 years," I said to him when he was finally alone -- outside his house as his parents fiddled and bopped around inside. He had been digging in the dirts, lining up some grand fort of sticks and mud into which small rocks could invade. His head jerked up as I spoke.
"Who are you?" he asked. He was surprisingly assured for a child of ten, caught unaware by a strange man. He seemed unflappable, even now.
"I'm an angel, if you like. Or a traveler. Or a man." I replied. "I haven't come here to hurt you."
"What do you want? Why are you bothering me?" Already so willful, so abrupt -- such a funny child sometimes, but with such a sharpened edge.
"I have information for you. About who you will be, what you will do when you grow up."
"Yeah? Will I be a priest?"
"No, you will be a soldier, and you will fight bravely in a great war. When that war is over, you will help to rebuild your country. You'll build giant monuments and remake the face of your country, even the people themselves. People will remember your name forever. You will be more than famous -- you will be a symbol of a movement so profound it changes the way human beings relate to one another. You will fundamentally change the world."
"Why would I want to do that?" he grumbled, turning back to his fort.
"Because you think it's the right thing to do," I answered. "Because you love your country, and want it to be proud of you."
He huffed to himself. "I want to be a priest," he replied, "and sing everyday." I laughed out loud, unable to help myself. At bottom, people are who they are, even as children, and this stubborn streak that would be so important both to his success and to his downfall was as present now as it would ever be.
"You can be whatever you want to be," I said with a pat on the head. "But remember what I told you -- give me 12 years."
As I walked away, I felt strangely empty. I'd pushed hard to get this assignment, but it was strangely hard to walk away from such a young, talented child with so much possibility, so much drive and desire and hope. In a different universe... I shook my head and laughed those thoughts away -- perhaps he wouldn't have made a very good priest, any more than he would have made a good painter. Perhaps he had only one destiny.
"Give me 12 years," I said to him, no longer the child in Branau am Inn but a man battered and shaking, near death.
"What? Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" he spat back at me, as dust from the walls mixed with the musty air, the bombs hammering again...hammering, hammering, hammering. There was no recognition in his eyes -- bloodshot, full of hatred, but still so sure of himself. It had been too long ago, too many lifetimes had passed since that day -- and, knowing him, I figured he simply hadn't paid it any mind in the first place.
I looked at him. Took it all in. This horrible, fetid place, still pretending at bureaucratic niceties, still yearning for the order of that customs house, but twisted, perverted, evil. But justified. That was what always killed me -- it was all internally justified. To him, to the customs officer's son, the child of idyllic fields and horrible mustard gas attacks, it was all proper, all understandable, all correct. It was worth it. And yet now he surely began to understand how the world would remember him. Now, as his lips dropped and he struggled even to move -- now, as his world caved in -- he must surely come to realize how it would all be seen, how it SHOULD all be seen.
"You at least remembered what I said, I hope?" I smiled at him, a mixture of victory and, perhaps, though it hardly seemed possible, pity. "All those years ago. I'd have thought you wouldn't have remembered me at all -- but do you remember that? What I told you?"
His eyes flashed a sudden recognition, and the energy seemed to pull out of his body, draining into the floor. The last reserves of stubbornness, of anger, of resolve. I knew he was finally, completely defeated. I knew that he finally understood, finally knew. That he was finally broken.
"Give me 12 years," he said, his voice weak and trembling, "and you won't recognize Germany." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | As his vision dimmed from the agony of his body, the traveler appeared to him again. He remembered vividly the conversation they had 23 years ago.
"I cannot believe what you are saying. You must be from the devil. My parents have told me I will fulfill a prophecy and you are telling me that I will be worshiped and all I want is to build beautiful things. I don't want these burdens. I want to learn from my father how to use a plane and a saw. Nothing more! Go away!"
This time the traveler did all the talking.
"You became all that I said you would. Surely you believe me now? Millions will be slaughtered in your name. Millions more will be subjugated and oppressed. Billions will worship you over the millennia. You will be the most known name on this planet. But not one of those billions will speak of you as the boy who built toys for his brothers from their father's scraps. None will think of you as the teenager who carried water for his mother as the load became to heavy for her. You will not be known for the person you've spent your whole life trying to become. Your name will be an oath, a profanity, a banner, and a war cry but Jesus will never be a man to any of them." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Wind blew through the strands of wheat, creating ombre, golden waves.
“Do you remember me?”
He smiled but didn't open his eyes.
“Is it time already?”
I looked down at my watch, yep.
“At times I doubted...” he turned to look at me with those watery, blue eyes, “but it all really happened in the end.”
“You know it,” I looked at my watch again, being told how right you are all the time can get pretty boring after awhile.
He looked down at his hands, they were shaking. “So what is it? What is my legacy?”
I tried to smile at him, but it was plastic and unfeeling. “You will be remembered as one of the greatest painters of all time. Billions of people will admire your work over millennia.”
He laughed bitterly, “You're fucking joking.”
I sighed, there was always so much talking before the end.
“It drove me crazy, you know. Ever since you came on that day. I was only a boy...what was I supposed to do with all that? Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe things would've been different, if it weren't for you.”
“Fate, Vincent. It is fate, you have one path.” Soon to be 'had'.
“What if I'm not ready to go? This is the end of line...but maybe if I continue on I can have my own life. I can forget all the anxiety, the anticipation of the future. I can be free!”
My gun was pressing into the small of my back. Primitive weapon for a primitive time. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, my friend.”
He laughed, “You can't kill me, that's not part of your job description.”
“Though instrumental, I am not the true cause of your death, only a catalyst.”
He staggered as my shot ripped through his chest. “Fuck you,” he spat.
The job doesn't get easier as you go. I watched as he trundled off towards Auberge Ravoux, he had a long day ahead of him. | "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | "I wondered when I would see you again" the old man looked up from the newspaper clutched in his pale white hands.
"Hello, old friend" I placed the bouquet of sunflowers upon the night stand next to his bed. "I told you that things would work out in the end. And the presidency wasn't too difficult for you."
The old man let go a slight laugh, followed by a series of coughing spasms that left him clutching a bloody handkerchief. "If I recall right, you might have had a hand in that. And besides, no one could have guessed that China would back down from the Nuclear talk."
"I might have had a hand in that, too." I let go a slight smirk, but quickly retracted it when he reached for my hand.
"Take me with you."
I knew that was coming. "I can't. This is the way that things are meant to be. You're meant to pass."
He looked at me and said "but I can't let myself die without knowing what the future holds."
I placed my hand into my pocket to reveal my DataPad. I handed it to him, with the click of a button images flashed before him, showing him what he leaves behind. It showed him everything he had done for good in this world. Then it showed him the bad. By the end of it, tears appeared on the edge of his eyes. He handed me my DataPad back.
"Leave me." He didn't look at me.
"If you didn't want this life, you should have never made the deal. I'm sorry Donald, but it's time now." I looked at him as I raised my hand toward the machine keeping him alive. "Goodnight, Mr. Trump."
I pulled.
| |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stand in front of the portal, steeling myself for the conversation. I already visited him when he was 10 years old, but he was a very different person then. Interestingly enough, that conversation was only seconds ago from my perspective, but from his it has been 46 years. I remember begging HQ for a different assignment, but they refused and I needed this job. I take a deep breath. Finally, I step through the portal to 1945 Berlin and see a man with a gun to his head. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "I've never done both."
"What d'ya mean?"
I looked back at him, and god damn.
"I have a special job."
"Like a firefighter?" He asked.
I smiled, and looked down. "Sometimes," I said. "It's just like that, really."
He smiled, and I bent down. "I like firefighters," He said.
"I know you do, James." God damn.
"They save so many people."
"They really... They really do, don't they?" I've never done both. "Happy birthday, James. I came here to give you a gift this morning, before the rest of the people get here-"
"Who's coming?! Is my Grandma coming?? I haven't seen her in so long!"
"Yeah, bud. I think she'll be here too."
"That's awesome! What about Papa?" God damn.
"I think so, bud. But hey, could you sit down for just a minute, could'ya? I have to talk to you real quick."
"Okie dokie," He said. With a smile on his face.
"I've got to tell you about my job. I've got a special job -"
"You're a firefighter!"
"Sure bud, but listen. I get to meet all these great people -"
"And you save them, right?" God damn. "From fires?"
"Well, bud. Not always. Sometimes. Sometimes, I can't save them. But that's not the worst, always. Some times... Sometimes are harder than others."
"But you do your best, right?"
"I try, but listen. Today... Today isn't one of those days, James... I can't save you today. I can't save you." *God damn*. "Some things are easy, bud, and some things just aren't. This is one of those things. I've never had to do both..."
"What do you mean?" He looked down. "I'm scared."
"Hey, James, don't be scared. You're going to do great things. You're gonna do so many great things, James. You have so much left to give. There is an *entire nation* out there, just waiting for your... for your gift."
"I don't know what you're saying. I don't know what you mean. What do you mean?" He met my eyes now. "It's my birthday. You can't scare me on my birthday!"
"Hey, buddy, calm down, okay? Everything is gonna be alright. You're going to do great things, okay? I just wanted to tell you that, okay? You're going to do so many great things..."
"I'm gonna call for my dad! He won't like what you said!"
"Hey buddy, it's okay. I'll go, okay. I just wanted to tell you... before... I just wanted to tell you. Don't be scared, buddy. Don't be scared. Don't be scared -"
"Daddy! Daaaaad!" As he yelled, there was a crash in another room. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Plaster feel from the ceiling of the bunker as the Soviet artillery scored another near miss. The cyanide capsule felt weirdly heavy in my hand.
"It's a little late to be thinking of art school," said the stranger. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | "John don't trust him god dammit, he's a terminator."
"Mom, he said I'm gonna save the world."
John went away with the robot for a moment against his mother's will.
"John Connor, you will save da human race. A robot that looks like me but eez not me tried to kill you and your mothah. Another eez coming."
John and his mother chose to trust this terminator.
"Come with me if you want to leeve," said the robot.
*30 years later.*
John lay on the ground. He was bleeding out after the battle against the machines.
"I told you I'd be back muddafucka."
The robot shot John once more in the face.
"You won't be remembahed."
End scene
------------
No clue what this was, totally destroyed the actual story but here you go! | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | “Why does he do that?” Adrian spoke, that ever present hint of annoyance tainting his words as he leaned back, checking the monitor, the array of lights seemed to stretch forever, tiny dots next to smaller numbers, all seamlessly taken in by the man behind the screen. “It’s a waste of resources. Hell, where’d he even get that planetary think at?” He barked again, his partner far too use to the rants offered little more than a shrug, too absorbed in his own work to care. “Give them a push when they’re kids. Flick the monkey’s in the right direction, that’s it. This sentimental garbage is why his quota is always so low, don’t get why the boss puts up with it.”
He reached up, fingers carefully tightening around the knot at his throat as he settled into the time line. It was always jarring coming back, those first seconds stepping onto solid ground before the world around him seemed to spin back up, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. He sighed, part of him happy, the chance to see an old friend was always sweet, but the bitterness was there as well, no point in denying it. At least it wasn’t a hospital this time, that much was comforting.
The first step was always the worst, moving from that point of landing was like pulling off a bandaid that had long overstayed it’s welcome, a prying sickly feel that left something behind. Still he moved, gaining the resolve needed for what was to come as he checked his watch, that light ‘Tick tock tick’ of old gears clacking away, writing out the time for him as he marched through the front door.
He was use to this by now, though in the early years it had been an unpleasant experience. Ignored by the world he worked so tirelessly to keep on track. The species he had devoted himself to preserving little more than shadows for the most part, except those rare few. He smiled though, passing men and women, the house truly seeming alive, it was good to see she wasn’t lonely anymore.
The man was silent as he entered the room, even the door so often prone to squeak and scrape held reverence in that moment as he stepped inside, both hands moving to cross behind his back before he announced himself. “Elizabeth, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” So often they forgot, though how could he blame them? What seemed a blink to his kind was a lifetime to these beautiful creatures. “You’re as lovely as ever-“ Tears, he was so poorly suited to deal with tears, it seemed a cruel joke of the cosmos to make him this way, and give him such a weakness.
“You came back?” Elizabeth stumbled over her words, her voice threatening to break as the tears in her eyes finally broke free, falling to announce their presence to everyone around.
“I told you I would, didn’t I? You should have more faith, little girl, I thought you would have grown but better than that.” He offered a laugh, weak, strained by the sight of something he held dear fading in front of him.
“I knew you were real.” The pride in that statement crushed his heart, that little girl he remembered so vividly had held on this long to the man who’d only spent an afternoon with her as a child. “I never told anyone, just like you said. But I knew you were real, and look at you as handsome as ever, do I at least get a name this time?” She smiled, those tears never seeming to falter as he moved in, turning himself to sit on the side of her bed.
“A name, huh.. I gotta say, that’s not a common request, Ms. Elizabeth. Though I guess I can manage it.” The pause was almost heavy, as he turned to smile. “For you at least.” Every word carried inflection to exude pride for what she’d become. “Michael.” He spoke softly, before reaching out and taking her hand. “Now if you will, I have a story I’d like to share with you, just like so many year’s ago.”
Hours passed before he stood again. Cheeks drenched in sorrow and happiness as he returned his gaze to his watch. ‘Tick tock tick’, that little sound ringing out in the silence of the room before that monitor, oh so far away, flickered and a little light bleeped out.
___________________________________________________________
First time writing in a long while, so any critique would be awesome.
Thanks for the prompt that got me going again. /u/Paynomind | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | “Why does he do that?” Adrian spoke, that ever present hint of annoyance tainting his words as he leaned back, checking the monitor, the array of lights seemed to stretch forever, tiny dots next to smaller numbers, all seamlessly taken in by the man behind the screen. “It’s a waste of resources. Hell, where’d he even get that planetary think at?” He barked again, his partner far too use to the rants offered little more than a shrug, too absorbed in his own work to care. “Give them a push when they’re kids. Flick the monkey’s in the right direction, that’s it. This sentimental garbage is why his quota is always so low, don’t get why the boss puts up with it.”
He reached up, fingers carefully tightening around the knot at his throat as he settled into the time line. It was always jarring coming back, those first seconds stepping onto solid ground before the world around him seemed to spin back up, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. He sighed, part of him happy, the chance to see an old friend was always sweet, but the bitterness was there as well, no point in denying it. At least it wasn’t a hospital this time, that much was comforting.
The first step was always the worst, moving from that point of landing was like pulling off a bandaid that had long overstayed it’s welcome, a prying sickly feel that left something behind. Still he moved, gaining the resolve needed for what was to come as he checked his watch, that light ‘Tick tock tick’ of old gears clacking away, writing out the time for him as he marched through the front door.
He was use to this by now, though in the early years it had been an unpleasant experience. Ignored by the world he worked so tirelessly to keep on track. The species he had devoted himself to preserving little more than shadows for the most part, except those rare few. He smiled though, passing men and women, the house truly seeming alive, it was good to see she wasn’t lonely anymore.
The man was silent as he entered the room, even the door so often prone to squeak and scrape held reverence in that moment as he stepped inside, both hands moving to cross behind his back before he announced himself. “Elizabeth, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” So often they forgot, though how could he blame them? What seemed a blink to his kind was a lifetime to these beautiful creatures. “You’re as lovely as ever-“ Tears, he was so poorly suited to deal with tears, it seemed a cruel joke of the cosmos to make him this way, and give him such a weakness.
“You came back?” Elizabeth stumbled over her words, her voice threatening to break as the tears in her eyes finally broke free, falling to announce their presence to everyone around.
“I told you I would, didn’t I? You should have more faith, little girl, I thought you would have grown but better than that.” He offered a laugh, weak, strained by the sight of something he held dear fading in front of him.
“I knew you were real.” The pride in that statement crushed his heart, that little girl he remembered so vividly had held on this long to the man who’d only spent an afternoon with her as a child. “I never told anyone, just like you said. But I knew you were real, and look at you as handsome as ever, do I at least get a name this time?” She smiled, those tears never seeming to falter as he moved in, turning himself to sit on the side of her bed.
“A name, huh.. I gotta say, that’s not a common request, Ms. Elizabeth. Though I guess I can manage it.” The pause was almost heavy, as he turned to smile. “For you at least.” Every word carried inflection to exude pride for what she’d become. “Michael.” He spoke softly, before reaching out and taking her hand. “Now if you will, I have a story I’d like to share with you, just like so many year’s ago.”
Hours passed before he stood again. Cheeks drenched in sorrow and happiness as he returned his gaze to his watch. ‘Tick tock tick’, that little sound ringing out in the silence of the room before that monitor, oh so far away, flickered and a little light bleeped out.
___________________________________________________________
First time writing in a long while, so any critique would be awesome.
Thanks for the prompt that got me going again. /u/Paynomind | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | “Why does he do that?” Adrian spoke, that ever present hint of annoyance tainting his words as he leaned back, checking the monitor, the array of lights seemed to stretch forever, tiny dots next to smaller numbers, all seamlessly taken in by the man behind the screen. “It’s a waste of resources. Hell, where’d he even get that planetary think at?” He barked again, his partner far too use to the rants offered little more than a shrug, too absorbed in his own work to care. “Give them a push when they’re kids. Flick the monkey’s in the right direction, that’s it. This sentimental garbage is why his quota is always so low, don’t get why the boss puts up with it.”
He reached up, fingers carefully tightening around the knot at his throat as he settled into the time line. It was always jarring coming back, those first seconds stepping onto solid ground before the world around him seemed to spin back up, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. He sighed, part of him happy, the chance to see an old friend was always sweet, but the bitterness was there as well, no point in denying it. At least it wasn’t a hospital this time, that much was comforting.
The first step was always the worst, moving from that point of landing was like pulling off a bandaid that had long overstayed it’s welcome, a prying sickly feel that left something behind. Still he moved, gaining the resolve needed for what was to come as he checked his watch, that light ‘Tick tock tick’ of old gears clacking away, writing out the time for him as he marched through the front door.
He was use to this by now, though in the early years it had been an unpleasant experience. Ignored by the world he worked so tirelessly to keep on track. The species he had devoted himself to preserving little more than shadows for the most part, except those rare few. He smiled though, passing men and women, the house truly seeming alive, it was good to see she wasn’t lonely anymore.
The man was silent as he entered the room, even the door so often prone to squeak and scrape held reverence in that moment as he stepped inside, both hands moving to cross behind his back before he announced himself. “Elizabeth, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” So often they forgot, though how could he blame them? What seemed a blink to his kind was a lifetime to these beautiful creatures. “You’re as lovely as ever-“ Tears, he was so poorly suited to deal with tears, it seemed a cruel joke of the cosmos to make him this way, and give him such a weakness.
“You came back?” Elizabeth stumbled over her words, her voice threatening to break as the tears in her eyes finally broke free, falling to announce their presence to everyone around.
“I told you I would, didn’t I? You should have more faith, little girl, I thought you would have grown but better than that.” He offered a laugh, weak, strained by the sight of something he held dear fading in front of him.
“I knew you were real.” The pride in that statement crushed his heart, that little girl he remembered so vividly had held on this long to the man who’d only spent an afternoon with her as a child. “I never told anyone, just like you said. But I knew you were real, and look at you as handsome as ever, do I at least get a name this time?” She smiled, those tears never seeming to falter as he moved in, turning himself to sit on the side of her bed.
“A name, huh.. I gotta say, that’s not a common request, Ms. Elizabeth. Though I guess I can manage it.” The pause was almost heavy, as he turned to smile. “For you at least.” Every word carried inflection to exude pride for what she’d become. “Michael.” He spoke softly, before reaching out and taking her hand. “Now if you will, I have a story I’d like to share with you, just like so many year’s ago.”
Hours passed before he stood again. Cheeks drenched in sorrow and happiness as he returned his gaze to his watch. ‘Tick tock tick’, that little sound ringing out in the silence of the room before that monitor, oh so far away, flickered and a little light bleeped out.
___________________________________________________________
First time writing in a long while, so any critique would be awesome.
Thanks for the prompt that got me going again. /u/Paynomind | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| “Why does he do that?” Adrian spoke, that ever present hint of annoyance tainting his words as he leaned back, checking the monitor, the array of lights seemed to stretch forever, tiny dots next to smaller numbers, all seamlessly taken in by the man behind the screen. “It’s a waste of resources. Hell, where’d he even get that planetary think at?” He barked again, his partner far too use to the rants offered little more than a shrug, too absorbed in his own work to care. “Give them a push when they’re kids. Flick the monkey’s in the right direction, that’s it. This sentimental garbage is why his quota is always so low, don’t get why the boss puts up with it.”
He reached up, fingers carefully tightening around the knot at his throat as he settled into the time line. It was always jarring coming back, those first seconds stepping onto solid ground before the world around him seemed to spin back up, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. He sighed, part of him happy, the chance to see an old friend was always sweet, but the bitterness was there as well, no point in denying it. At least it wasn’t a hospital this time, that much was comforting.
The first step was always the worst, moving from that point of landing was like pulling off a bandaid that had long overstayed it’s welcome, a prying sickly feel that left something behind. Still he moved, gaining the resolve needed for what was to come as he checked his watch, that light ‘Tick tock tick’ of old gears clacking away, writing out the time for him as he marched through the front door.
He was use to this by now, though in the early years it had been an unpleasant experience. Ignored by the world he worked so tirelessly to keep on track. The species he had devoted himself to preserving little more than shadows for the most part, except those rare few. He smiled though, passing men and women, the house truly seeming alive, it was good to see she wasn’t lonely anymore.
The man was silent as he entered the room, even the door so often prone to squeak and scrape held reverence in that moment as he stepped inside, both hands moving to cross behind his back before he announced himself. “Elizabeth, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” So often they forgot, though how could he blame them? What seemed a blink to his kind was a lifetime to these beautiful creatures. “You’re as lovely as ever-“ Tears, he was so poorly suited to deal with tears, it seemed a cruel joke of the cosmos to make him this way, and give him such a weakness.
“You came back?” Elizabeth stumbled over her words, her voice threatening to break as the tears in her eyes finally broke free, falling to announce their presence to everyone around.
“I told you I would, didn’t I? You should have more faith, little girl, I thought you would have grown but better than that.” He offered a laugh, weak, strained by the sight of something he held dear fading in front of him.
“I knew you were real.” The pride in that statement crushed his heart, that little girl he remembered so vividly had held on this long to the man who’d only spent an afternoon with her as a child. “I never told anyone, just like you said. But I knew you were real, and look at you as handsome as ever, do I at least get a name this time?” She smiled, those tears never seeming to falter as he moved in, turning himself to sit on the side of her bed.
“A name, huh.. I gotta say, that’s not a common request, Ms. Elizabeth. Though I guess I can manage it.” The pause was almost heavy, as he turned to smile. “For you at least.” Every word carried inflection to exude pride for what she’d become. “Michael.” He spoke softly, before reaching out and taking her hand. “Now if you will, I have a story I’d like to share with you, just like so many year’s ago.”
Hours passed before he stood again. Cheeks drenched in sorrow and happiness as he returned his gaze to his watch. ‘Tick tock tick’, that little sound ringing out in the silence of the room before that monitor, oh so far away, flickered and a little light bleeped out.
___________________________________________________________
First time writing in a long while, so any critique would be awesome.
Thanks for the prompt that got me going again. /u/Paynomind | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | “Why does he do that?” Adrian spoke, that ever present hint of annoyance tainting his words as he leaned back, checking the monitor, the array of lights seemed to stretch forever, tiny dots next to smaller numbers, all seamlessly taken in by the man behind the screen. “It’s a waste of resources. Hell, where’d he even get that planetary think at?” He barked again, his partner far too use to the rants offered little more than a shrug, too absorbed in his own work to care. “Give them a push when they’re kids. Flick the monkey’s in the right direction, that’s it. This sentimental garbage is why his quota is always so low, don’t get why the boss puts up with it.”
He reached up, fingers carefully tightening around the knot at his throat as he settled into the time line. It was always jarring coming back, those first seconds stepping onto solid ground before the world around him seemed to spin back up, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. He sighed, part of him happy, the chance to see an old friend was always sweet, but the bitterness was there as well, no point in denying it. At least it wasn’t a hospital this time, that much was comforting.
The first step was always the worst, moving from that point of landing was like pulling off a bandaid that had long overstayed it’s welcome, a prying sickly feel that left something behind. Still he moved, gaining the resolve needed for what was to come as he checked his watch, that light ‘Tick tock tick’ of old gears clacking away, writing out the time for him as he marched through the front door.
He was use to this by now, though in the early years it had been an unpleasant experience. Ignored by the world he worked so tirelessly to keep on track. The species he had devoted himself to preserving little more than shadows for the most part, except those rare few. He smiled though, passing men and women, the house truly seeming alive, it was good to see she wasn’t lonely anymore.
The man was silent as he entered the room, even the door so often prone to squeak and scrape held reverence in that moment as he stepped inside, both hands moving to cross behind his back before he announced himself. “Elizabeth, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” So often they forgot, though how could he blame them? What seemed a blink to his kind was a lifetime to these beautiful creatures. “You’re as lovely as ever-“ Tears, he was so poorly suited to deal with tears, it seemed a cruel joke of the cosmos to make him this way, and give him such a weakness.
“You came back?” Elizabeth stumbled over her words, her voice threatening to break as the tears in her eyes finally broke free, falling to announce their presence to everyone around.
“I told you I would, didn’t I? You should have more faith, little girl, I thought you would have grown but better than that.” He offered a laugh, weak, strained by the sight of something he held dear fading in front of him.
“I knew you were real.” The pride in that statement crushed his heart, that little girl he remembered so vividly had held on this long to the man who’d only spent an afternoon with her as a child. “I never told anyone, just like you said. But I knew you were real, and look at you as handsome as ever, do I at least get a name this time?” She smiled, those tears never seeming to falter as he moved in, turning himself to sit on the side of her bed.
“A name, huh.. I gotta say, that’s not a common request, Ms. Elizabeth. Though I guess I can manage it.” The pause was almost heavy, as he turned to smile. “For you at least.” Every word carried inflection to exude pride for what she’d become. “Michael.” He spoke softly, before reaching out and taking her hand. “Now if you will, I have a story I’d like to share with you, just like so many year’s ago.”
Hours passed before he stood again. Cheeks drenched in sorrow and happiness as he returned his gaze to his watch. ‘Tick tock tick’, that little sound ringing out in the silence of the room before that monitor, oh so far away, flickered and a little light bleeped out.
___________________________________________________________
First time writing in a long while, so any critique would be awesome.
Thanks for the prompt that got me going again. /u/Paynomind | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | “Why does he do that?” Adrian spoke, that ever present hint of annoyance tainting his words as he leaned back, checking the monitor, the array of lights seemed to stretch forever, tiny dots next to smaller numbers, all seamlessly taken in by the man behind the screen. “It’s a waste of resources. Hell, where’d he even get that planetary think at?” He barked again, his partner far too use to the rants offered little more than a shrug, too absorbed in his own work to care. “Give them a push when they’re kids. Flick the monkey’s in the right direction, that’s it. This sentimental garbage is why his quota is always so low, don’t get why the boss puts up with it.”
He reached up, fingers carefully tightening around the knot at his throat as he settled into the time line. It was always jarring coming back, those first seconds stepping onto solid ground before the world around him seemed to spin back up, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. He sighed, part of him happy, the chance to see an old friend was always sweet, but the bitterness was there as well, no point in denying it. At least it wasn’t a hospital this time, that much was comforting.
The first step was always the worst, moving from that point of landing was like pulling off a bandaid that had long overstayed it’s welcome, a prying sickly feel that left something behind. Still he moved, gaining the resolve needed for what was to come as he checked his watch, that light ‘Tick tock tick’ of old gears clacking away, writing out the time for him as he marched through the front door.
He was use to this by now, though in the early years it had been an unpleasant experience. Ignored by the world he worked so tirelessly to keep on track. The species he had devoted himself to preserving little more than shadows for the most part, except those rare few. He smiled though, passing men and women, the house truly seeming alive, it was good to see she wasn’t lonely anymore.
The man was silent as he entered the room, even the door so often prone to squeak and scrape held reverence in that moment as he stepped inside, both hands moving to cross behind his back before he announced himself. “Elizabeth, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” So often they forgot, though how could he blame them? What seemed a blink to his kind was a lifetime to these beautiful creatures. “You’re as lovely as ever-“ Tears, he was so poorly suited to deal with tears, it seemed a cruel joke of the cosmos to make him this way, and give him such a weakness.
“You came back?” Elizabeth stumbled over her words, her voice threatening to break as the tears in her eyes finally broke free, falling to announce their presence to everyone around.
“I told you I would, didn’t I? You should have more faith, little girl, I thought you would have grown but better than that.” He offered a laugh, weak, strained by the sight of something he held dear fading in front of him.
“I knew you were real.” The pride in that statement crushed his heart, that little girl he remembered so vividly had held on this long to the man who’d only spent an afternoon with her as a child. “I never told anyone, just like you said. But I knew you were real, and look at you as handsome as ever, do I at least get a name this time?” She smiled, those tears never seeming to falter as he moved in, turning himself to sit on the side of her bed.
“A name, huh.. I gotta say, that’s not a common request, Ms. Elizabeth. Though I guess I can manage it.” The pause was almost heavy, as he turned to smile. “For you at least.” Every word carried inflection to exude pride for what she’d become. “Michael.” He spoke softly, before reaching out and taking her hand. “Now if you will, I have a story I’d like to share with you, just like so many year’s ago.”
Hours passed before he stood again. Cheeks drenched in sorrow and happiness as he returned his gaze to his watch. ‘Tick tock tick’, that little sound ringing out in the silence of the room before that monitor, oh so far away, flickered and a little light bleeped out.
___________________________________________________________
First time writing in a long while, so any critique would be awesome.
Thanks for the prompt that got me going again. /u/Paynomind | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I sit alone in my room, like any other day, watching the old box television on my dresser until 8:30, then it's lights out, and will I fall asleep waiting for the next day of boring nothingness.
Then, there's a knock on my bedroom door.
"What the-? Who's there?" my old and tired voice yelled, awaiting a reply. I grab my glasses off of my bed-side table.
With no reply, I shout again "I said, 'Who's there?'"
The door opened, and a familiar voice spoke; "Hello, John. It's been a long time."
No, it couldn't be... "Y-You're the..."
"Yes." the man said, stepping forward into the room illuminated by *The Office.*
He looked exactly as I remember him; tall, long brown jacket, scarf covering his mouth and nose, large top hat... it was the man from the dream -- well, at least that's what the therapist told me.
"But... I..." I stammered. He started to interrupt, but I cut him off "You lied to me... I didn't become an engineer, I didn't work on Tesla's free energy shit, you lied to me!"
He looked down, and spoke softly.
"Yes... I made an error that can't be fixed. For decades I would go and visit those who shaped my time, gave us the power of teleportation, then time travel, *free energy*..." he said, looking at me. "...but I didn't consider the possibility of this. Altering the timeline so greatly that your parents took you into counseling and ruined your mind. You spoke of me... I have ruined my time, and your grandchild's future."
Confused with this whole mess, I looked out the window and back at him, "You... you used to talk about peace, what happened to th-" I said, being cut off "There is no peace anymore. I fucked it up, okay? God, I shouldn't have ever visited you, you would have figured it out on your own." His anger turned towards me. "Every other person I spoke with kept quiet about me, why couldn't you?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Your grandson... is gonna grow up with a terrible life."
Tears welt up in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
A burning pain started in my shoulder, I started to lose my breath. I can't talk. Oh god that burns. Is this a heart attack? He looks calmer. Is this a heart attack? This hurts so much. He's taking off his scarf and hat. I'm so scared.
"I think I owe you an apology... grandpa." | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | I stand in front of the portal, steeling myself for the conversation. I already visited him when he was 10 years old, but he was a very different person then. Interestingly enough, that conversation was only seconds ago from my perspective, but from his it has been 46 years. I remember begging HQ for a different assignment, but they refused and I needed this job. I take a deep breath. Finally, I step through the portal to 1945 Berlin and see a man with a gun to his head. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | I stand in front of the portal, steeling myself for the conversation. I already visited him when he was 10 years old, but he was a very different person then. Interestingly enough, that conversation was only seconds ago from my perspective, but from his it has been 46 years. I remember begging HQ for a different assignment, but they refused and I needed this job. I take a deep breath. Finally, I step through the portal to 1945 Berlin and see a man with a gun to his head. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| I stand in front of the portal, steeling myself for the conversation. I already visited him when he was 10 years old, but he was a very different person then. Interestingly enough, that conversation was only seconds ago from my perspective, but from his it has been 46 years. I remember begging HQ for a different assignment, but they refused and I needed this job. I take a deep breath. Finally, I step through the portal to 1945 Berlin and see a man with a gun to his head. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | I stand in front of the portal, steeling myself for the conversation. I already visited him when he was 10 years old, but he was a very different person then. Interestingly enough, that conversation was only seconds ago from my perspective, but from his it has been 46 years. I remember begging HQ for a different assignment, but they refused and I needed this job. I take a deep breath. Finally, I step through the portal to 1945 Berlin and see a man with a gun to his head. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | Plaster feel from the ceiling of the bunker as the Soviet artillery scored another near miss. The cyanide capsule felt weirdly heavy in my hand.
"It's a little late to be thinking of art school," said the stranger. | I stand in front of the portal, steeling myself for the conversation. I already visited him when he was 10 years old, but he was a very different person then. Interestingly enough, that conversation was only seconds ago from my perspective, but from his it has been 46 years. I remember begging HQ for a different assignment, but they refused and I needed this job. I take a deep breath. Finally, I step through the portal to 1945 Berlin and see a man with a gun to his head. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | I stand in front of the portal, steeling myself for the conversation. I already visited him when he was 10 years old, but he was a very different person then. Interestingly enough, that conversation was only seconds ago from my perspective, but from his it has been 46 years. I remember begging HQ for a different assignment, but they refused and I needed this job. I take a deep breath. Finally, I step through the portal to 1945 Berlin and see a man with a gun to his head. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | "I've never done both."
"What d'ya mean?"
I looked back at him, and god damn.
"I have a special job."
"Like a firefighter?" He asked.
I smiled, and looked down. "Sometimes," I said. "It's just like that, really."
He smiled, and I bent down. "I like firefighters," He said.
"I know you do, James." God damn.
"They save so many people."
"They really... They really do, don't they?" I've never done both. "Happy birthday, James. I came here to give you a gift this morning, before the rest of the people get here-"
"Who's coming?! Is my Grandma coming?? I haven't seen her in so long!"
"Yeah, bud. I think she'll be here too."
"That's awesome! What about Papa?" God damn.
"I think so, bud. But hey, could you sit down for just a minute, could'ya? I have to talk to you real quick."
"Okie dokie," He said. With a smile on his face.
"I've got to tell you about my job. I've got a special job -"
"You're a firefighter!"
"Sure bud, but listen. I get to meet all these great people -"
"And you save them, right?" God damn. "From fires?"
"Well, bud. Not always. Sometimes. Sometimes, I can't save them. But that's not the worst, always. Some times... Sometimes are harder than others."
"But you do your best, right?"
"I try, but listen. Today... Today isn't one of those days, James... I can't save you today. I can't save you." *God damn*. "Some things are easy, bud, and some things just aren't. This is one of those things. I've never had to do both..."
"What do you mean?" He looked down. "I'm scared."
"Hey, James, don't be scared. You're going to do great things. You're gonna do so many great things, James. You have so much left to give. There is an *entire nation* out there, just waiting for your... for your gift."
"I don't know what you're saying. I don't know what you mean. What do you mean?" He met my eyes now. "It's my birthday. You can't scare me on my birthday!"
"Hey, buddy, calm down, okay? Everything is gonna be alright. You're going to do great things, okay? I just wanted to tell you that, okay? You're going to do so many great things..."
"I'm gonna call for my dad! He won't like what you said!"
"Hey buddy, it's okay. I'll go, okay. I just wanted to tell you... before... I just wanted to tell you. Don't be scared, buddy. Don't be scared. Don't be scared -"
"Daddy! Daaaaad!" As he yelled, there was a crash in another room. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | "I've never done both."
"What d'ya mean?"
I looked back at him, and god damn.
"I have a special job."
"Like a firefighter?" He asked.
I smiled, and looked down. "Sometimes," I said. "It's just like that, really."
He smiled, and I bent down. "I like firefighters," He said.
"I know you do, James." God damn.
"They save so many people."
"They really... They really do, don't they?" I've never done both. "Happy birthday, James. I came here to give you a gift this morning, before the rest of the people get here-"
"Who's coming?! Is my Grandma coming?? I haven't seen her in so long!"
"Yeah, bud. I think she'll be here too."
"That's awesome! What about Papa?" God damn.
"I think so, bud. But hey, could you sit down for just a minute, could'ya? I have to talk to you real quick."
"Okie dokie," He said. With a smile on his face.
"I've got to tell you about my job. I've got a special job -"
"You're a firefighter!"
"Sure bud, but listen. I get to meet all these great people -"
"And you save them, right?" God damn. "From fires?"
"Well, bud. Not always. Sometimes. Sometimes, I can't save them. But that's not the worst, always. Some times... Sometimes are harder than others."
"But you do your best, right?"
"I try, but listen. Today... Today isn't one of those days, James... I can't save you today. I can't save you." *God damn*. "Some things are easy, bud, and some things just aren't. This is one of those things. I've never had to do both..."
"What do you mean?" He looked down. "I'm scared."
"Hey, James, don't be scared. You're going to do great things. You're gonna do so many great things, James. You have so much left to give. There is an *entire nation* out there, just waiting for your... for your gift."
"I don't know what you're saying. I don't know what you mean. What do you mean?" He met my eyes now. "It's my birthday. You can't scare me on my birthday!"
"Hey, buddy, calm down, okay? Everything is gonna be alright. You're going to do great things, okay? I just wanted to tell you that, okay? You're going to do so many great things..."
"I'm gonna call for my dad! He won't like what you said!"
"Hey buddy, it's okay. I'll go, okay. I just wanted to tell you... before... I just wanted to tell you. Don't be scared, buddy. Don't be scared. Don't be scared -"
"Daddy! Daaaaad!" As he yelled, there was a crash in another room. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| "I've never done both."
"What d'ya mean?"
I looked back at him, and god damn.
"I have a special job."
"Like a firefighter?" He asked.
I smiled, and looked down. "Sometimes," I said. "It's just like that, really."
He smiled, and I bent down. "I like firefighters," He said.
"I know you do, James." God damn.
"They save so many people."
"They really... They really do, don't they?" I've never done both. "Happy birthday, James. I came here to give you a gift this morning, before the rest of the people get here-"
"Who's coming?! Is my Grandma coming?? I haven't seen her in so long!"
"Yeah, bud. I think she'll be here too."
"That's awesome! What about Papa?" God damn.
"I think so, bud. But hey, could you sit down for just a minute, could'ya? I have to talk to you real quick."
"Okie dokie," He said. With a smile on his face.
"I've got to tell you about my job. I've got a special job -"
"You're a firefighter!"
"Sure bud, but listen. I get to meet all these great people -"
"And you save them, right?" God damn. "From fires?"
"Well, bud. Not always. Sometimes. Sometimes, I can't save them. But that's not the worst, always. Some times... Sometimes are harder than others."
"But you do your best, right?"
"I try, but listen. Today... Today isn't one of those days, James... I can't save you today. I can't save you." *God damn*. "Some things are easy, bud, and some things just aren't. This is one of those things. I've never had to do both..."
"What do you mean?" He looked down. "I'm scared."
"Hey, James, don't be scared. You're going to do great things. You're gonna do so many great things, James. You have so much left to give. There is an *entire nation* out there, just waiting for your... for your gift."
"I don't know what you're saying. I don't know what you mean. What do you mean?" He met my eyes now. "It's my birthday. You can't scare me on my birthday!"
"Hey, buddy, calm down, okay? Everything is gonna be alright. You're going to do great things, okay? I just wanted to tell you that, okay? You're going to do so many great things..."
"I'm gonna call for my dad! He won't like what you said!"
"Hey buddy, it's okay. I'll go, okay. I just wanted to tell you... before... I just wanted to tell you. Don't be scared, buddy. Don't be scared. Don't be scared -"
"Daddy! Daaaaad!" As he yelled, there was a crash in another room. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | "I've never done both."
"What d'ya mean?"
I looked back at him, and god damn.
"I have a special job."
"Like a firefighter?" He asked.
I smiled, and looked down. "Sometimes," I said. "It's just like that, really."
He smiled, and I bent down. "I like firefighters," He said.
"I know you do, James." God damn.
"They save so many people."
"They really... They really do, don't they?" I've never done both. "Happy birthday, James. I came here to give you a gift this morning, before the rest of the people get here-"
"Who's coming?! Is my Grandma coming?? I haven't seen her in so long!"
"Yeah, bud. I think she'll be here too."
"That's awesome! What about Papa?" God damn.
"I think so, bud. But hey, could you sit down for just a minute, could'ya? I have to talk to you real quick."
"Okie dokie," He said. With a smile on his face.
"I've got to tell you about my job. I've got a special job -"
"You're a firefighter!"
"Sure bud, but listen. I get to meet all these great people -"
"And you save them, right?" God damn. "From fires?"
"Well, bud. Not always. Sometimes. Sometimes, I can't save them. But that's not the worst, always. Some times... Sometimes are harder than others."
"But you do your best, right?"
"I try, but listen. Today... Today isn't one of those days, James... I can't save you today. I can't save you." *God damn*. "Some things are easy, bud, and some things just aren't. This is one of those things. I've never had to do both..."
"What do you mean?" He looked down. "I'm scared."
"Hey, James, don't be scared. You're going to do great things. You're gonna do so many great things, James. You have so much left to give. There is an *entire nation* out there, just waiting for your... for your gift."
"I don't know what you're saying. I don't know what you mean. What do you mean?" He met my eyes now. "It's my birthday. You can't scare me on my birthday!"
"Hey, buddy, calm down, okay? Everything is gonna be alright. You're going to do great things, okay? I just wanted to tell you that, okay? You're going to do so many great things..."
"I'm gonna call for my dad! He won't like what you said!"
"Hey buddy, it's okay. I'll go, okay. I just wanted to tell you... before... I just wanted to tell you. Don't be scared, buddy. Don't be scared. Don't be scared -"
"Daddy! Daaaaad!" As he yelled, there was a crash in another room. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | "I've never done both."
"What d'ya mean?"
I looked back at him, and god damn.
"I have a special job."
"Like a firefighter?" He asked.
I smiled, and looked down. "Sometimes," I said. "It's just like that, really."
He smiled, and I bent down. "I like firefighters," He said.
"I know you do, James." God damn.
"They save so many people."
"They really... They really do, don't they?" I've never done both. "Happy birthday, James. I came here to give you a gift this morning, before the rest of the people get here-"
"Who's coming?! Is my Grandma coming?? I haven't seen her in so long!"
"Yeah, bud. I think she'll be here too."
"That's awesome! What about Papa?" God damn.
"I think so, bud. But hey, could you sit down for just a minute, could'ya? I have to talk to you real quick."
"Okie dokie," He said. With a smile on his face.
"I've got to tell you about my job. I've got a special job -"
"You're a firefighter!"
"Sure bud, but listen. I get to meet all these great people -"
"And you save them, right?" God damn. "From fires?"
"Well, bud. Not always. Sometimes. Sometimes, I can't save them. But that's not the worst, always. Some times... Sometimes are harder than others."
"But you do your best, right?"
"I try, but listen. Today... Today isn't one of those days, James... I can't save you today. I can't save you." *God damn*. "Some things are easy, bud, and some things just aren't. This is one of those things. I've never had to do both..."
"What do you mean?" He looked down. "I'm scared."
"Hey, James, don't be scared. You're going to do great things. You're gonna do so many great things, James. You have so much left to give. There is an *entire nation* out there, just waiting for your... for your gift."
"I don't know what you're saying. I don't know what you mean. What do you mean?" He met my eyes now. "It's my birthday. You can't scare me on my birthday!"
"Hey, buddy, calm down, okay? Everything is gonna be alright. You're going to do great things, okay? I just wanted to tell you that, okay? You're going to do so many great things..."
"I'm gonna call for my dad! He won't like what you said!"
"Hey buddy, it's okay. I'll go, okay. I just wanted to tell you... before... I just wanted to tell you. Don't be scared, buddy. Don't be scared. Don't be scared -"
"Daddy! Daaaaad!" As he yelled, there was a crash in another room. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "No... No. No! You told me they killed her. You told me they'd kill more. You told me they would attack power structure after power structure, leaving the world to burn in their wake."
He smirked, "Listen, son, no one wants to be the bad guy, but for this whole thing to work, somebody has got to do it."
The faces started flying past - the screaming, the crying, the unspeakable. "I murdered them though. I killed them all... All because you told me that many more would die if i didn't."
How could he be so detached? He used me for this. "That's why we visit children, because they'll believe anything. And believers change the world."
"What am I..."
The smirk again, "Well in a few minutes, dead, thanks to those pills you took. And in a few weeks, when the media gets a hold of what the soldiers are finding, the most hated man in history."
They were all good people. Oh, God, I killed 6 million of them. And another 6 million more defenseless people. And how many more died at arms? Europe, Africa, the Pacific. The whole world burning... All those people, burning... "I'm a monster."
"You're the monster. You're the monster by which all others will be measured - that's your legacy. " He turned for the door.
The pain of it solidified and hit me all at once. All of their pain hit me at once. And for nothing. "Just let me die. Why couldn't you just let me die?"
His footsteps halted, and for a moment brief enough to be nothing, his shoulders bore the same weight as mine. "This... This is my legacy. Like I said, son, somebody has got to do it." The footsteps resumed, "Looks like your time's up."
Edit: added a bit. And then a word. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | Out of a brief flash of brilliant light the man appeared by his bedside, the boy was to frightened to move. "You will be a great artist and I your greatest fan, your works will appear in all the galleries of Europe, but you will only gain notoriety long after your death. I shall return before you die to tell you of your fame" and in a flash he was gone. The boy was horrified and screamed, only to summon his father, a tyrant truly worth fearing...
He sat ready, his wife dead beside him, the poison already taking effect, waiting. A flash and the dreaded moment came.
The apparition spoke "This is not the apartment in Vienna I was expecting, what have you done?"
With his final breath Adolf Hitler screamed "Die you wretched entity" and pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | I stared at my orders for hours outside the little house in Innsbruck.
*Contact: Adolf Hitler, 10*
*Level: Vague with inspiration*
All the history I knew about this kid prepared me horribly for this mission. I had to ensure one of the most ruthless dictators came to power. Because history was broken. And in our current time, Hitler died as a teen, beaten by a group of men in an alley way.
The Timelocks. A group of self-described 'wizards' who took it upon themselves to "correct history" and keep bad things from happening. And like good paradoxes, they created worse histories for everyone after.
Hitler died as a teen, meaning he couldn't get in the way of another dictator's ambitions for global dominance with Germany. A woman named Katja Steinberg, who had intimate connections with leaders in Berlin, Britain, Russia and America. Who helped bring about Germany's stronghold on nuclear weapons. Who issued a New World Order by wiping the European continent with bombings, leaving glass and cinders in their wake.
Hitler in normal history killed millions. Katja killed billions by the time she died. "Steinberg Kahn" she is known by.
Remembering this, remembering all the death and the nuclear winter lasting two centuries, I fold my orders and put them in my pocket. I climb into the young Hitler's bedroom, and shake him gently awake.
"Huh? What? Mommy?" he whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
"Shh, Adolf. Shh. It's ok," I coo. "I'm the doctor, and I'm giving you a check up."
"But it's night. I was sleeping."
"I know, Adolf. I know. But this is the only time I was free, and your mother has been worried about you," I say, holding back a shudder as I caressed his hair gently. "Can I tell you a secret, Adolf?"
"Yes," he says, and gets an excited look across his face. Kids and secrets.
I calm down when I realize he is a kid. This future killer is a kid, shaken in the middle of the night, with a strange man in his bedroom calling himself a doctor.
"Close your eyes, Adolf. Try to go back to sleep. I will tell you the secret as you rest."
"Ok, Herr Doctor," he says and lays back.
"Adolf, I can see the future. No, don't open your eyes, just breath and listen. I know what you're going to become, young man."
"What?"
"Shh, no talking. Just sleep. You are going to become the leader of Germany."
His breathing catches, but then smoothes and he relaxes. I think hard about how to tell him this information. I try to remember the little things that brought him to power.
"Eventually, I mean. But better, Adolf, " I say. "You are going to be a great painter."
He smiles and pulls his blanket to his chin. He loves painting. He loves art.
"You will be accepted by the greatest art school in Vienna. Just you wait."
His smile fades, and his head falls over. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "please avoid alleyways when you get older."
I smooth his hair and climb back out the window. When I hit the ground, I take out my temporal bender, and type in a new date: April 30, 1945. This is just a safeguard to make sure I did this right. I type in the coordinates for a bunker in Berlin, and pray it's the right place. And then hope I'm not too early or too late.
In a flash, I am in the bunker, nauseated, and looking at a woman slumped on the ground. An ironically good sign. A great sign. Eva died first. I look up and there is Hitler, aiming a gun at his head, crying as he tries to squeeze the trigger. He glances at me and turns the gun on me. His eyes are large.
"You..." he says.
"Hello, Adolf."
"Herr Doctor? Or will you give me a different name now?"
Hitler shakes, but his voice is calm. I have to give him credit for that. He is a stone even at his death.
"Yes. My name is Veryn Maxum. I am a time traveler. I've just come to check up on you."
He laughs, and puts the gun down. He is nearly manic.
"Well, take a look. I am locked in a bunker. My wife is dead. Cyanide. And I was just about to kill myself. How does it look to you?"
I take a breath. And sigh.
"It looks right."
"Right? What do you mean right? Everything is ruined. Every plan I had in place is foiled. There are still Jews in Europe. The Aryan race is not the master race. The god damned reds are in MY CITY," he rants. He continues for a bit, stomping around the room, grabbing the gun and waving it angrily at me. "And the worst part. Do you know the worst part?"
"What?"
"You lied to me. I failed the exams for the art school. My paintings were called mediocre. I was told to seek architecture studies instead. You lied to me!"
He fires a shot at me, missing me and shattering some wood behind me. I keep my composure.
"I'd like to say I am sorry, Adolf," I say. "But this is my job."
He doesn't even register what I say. He sits and hangs his head.
"What have I become?" he whimpers. "What have I done?"
"You've butchered people. You've destroyed countries. You've committed a style of genocide that will be remembered for centuries. You are one of history's most horrid monsters," I explain, point blank.
Hitler laughs and waves his hands around.
"Clearly. The entire world is coming to get me," he says and points the gun back at his temple.
A moment of pity strikes me.
"Adolf, wait...you can fix this," I say, reaching for the gun.
He steps up and back, the gun centered on his temple.
"Can I? Can I fix it? I will be hanged! I will be set aflame! What do you mean I can fix this?"
"Well, maybe not fix. But you can..."
I actually don't know what to say. My heartbeat slows down and my stomach clenches. My headaches. I have become too involved, and feel myself interrupting history. I recover, dust off my jacket, and type into my bender the coordinates and time for home. I am done here.
"Adolf Hitler," I say. "You're right. The Soviets will be here in hours. And they will torture you."
His face falls. He nods. He salutes me and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters across my face, and I hear his henchman open the sealed door to retrieve his body. I push the home button on my bender.
In a flash, I am home. And the sun is shining, and there is a green field full of flowers outside my office window. There's a note on my desk.
*Great job on Hitler. Come see me for your next mission. Truman. Hiroshima. Big deal.*
| This is gonna suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they'll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I don't think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he'll bring, I certainly don't expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid.
As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else's would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I'd wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save...
I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh's maybe? I'd certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work.
I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | When I spotted the kid, he was sweeping the sawdust out of his family’s workshop. He was a quiet kid, but the look in his eye let you know that he was smarter than he let on. The kid spotted me pretty quickly, as I wasn’t really dressed for the period, but he wasn’t so scared that he called out to anyone else.
Now, I’ve done this job for a long time. A *really* long time. But when I saw this case cross my desk, well, how do you explain all that to a kid, and from *way back then?* Forget it. So I did the best I could. Yeah, I was vague, and I used more metaphor than I should have, but I couldn’t just ramble on about kings and governments and the odd dictator or two, and he wouldn’t have understood about television programs or holiday movies.
In the end, I told him that he’d inspire a lot of people to be better to each other, and I left off the parts that a 10 year old couldn’t deal with. There’s a fine line between providing honest insight and divulging too much.
___
Two decades and some change later, I found him alone in a garden and so terrified he was shaking. He sat hunched over. I could hear him mumbling, and I realized that he was praying. One of my footfalls was louder than I intended, and his head snapped up, his gaze meeting mine. I could tell when he closed his eyes and shook his head that he recognized me and knew what my return meant.
The kid had had an interesting life. He tried to help people, to inspire them to be better to each other, but had drawn the attention of the wrong people, and the trap they had set up for him was about to slam shut. He knew it, too.
“Just tell me...will it be worth it? Will they remember me? Will they be better for it?” he said. This guy knew what was coming for him, and he wanted to know that he had mattered before he faced it.
“Well, Josh, nothing lasts forever. Every strong signal just becomes background noise eventually. But a lot of them will try to be better for a long time because they’ll think about you and what you’ve said.” It was all the comfort I could offer him. Nobody deserved to be lied to in a moment like that.
I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or just resigned, probably a lot of both. He nodded and looked down, and I heard the familiar mumble of his praying again. I walked away, making sure that no one saw me, and activated the recall device.
Most days on the job were easy. This wasn’t one of those days. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | “Hey little girl, how are you doing?”
“Uhm, fine, I guess?”
“What a beautiful summer day. What month is it, again?”
John liked the kids born in summer. He loved the warmth, and the optimism, smiling out of the young girls face. Children born in summer always seemed livelier. He could imagine her shouting, fighting until the very last moment, and, in doing so, truly inspiring millions if not billions of people. And, since he was sent to her, he knew that she would.
“June, Sir. The month is June.”
“Yes it is! But today isn’t just some day in June, right? Today is a special day, for a very special girl. Isn’t it, Anne?”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in interest.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
John already liked her. Other children were afraid, or even angry at the strange man, that appeared out of thin air, but she knew what she wanted. Answers. he spun around and gave her the brightest smile he could.
“Oh. So many questions! And I’m here to give you answers. But, please be prepared, not the answers you are looking for. I will give you answers to questions you never even thought about asking.”
“Like what?”
Now he had her interest. John always tried to make sure that every child he met remembered the conversation. He had a number of presentations and, depending on the character of the child involved, and what he or she would do with her life, he switched between happy, funny, serious or crazy in a matter of minutes. For this girl he had decided to use one of his more interesting shows, one of the funny ones. She certainly deserved every laugh she could get.
“Like… Well, I don’t know yet. What kind of questions would you ask a man, coming from the future, on your tenth birthday?”
“Are you from the future?”
She leaned back a bit, much like a trader that thought about whether or not this was a good offer. John had expected some more excitement, but he knew how to handle scepticism.
“Is that really the kind of question you would ask somebody from the future? I mean, he probably doesn’t have all the time in the world to answer questions. It is summer, after all, and I want to enjoy the antique city of Amsterdam!”
If he presented himself as completely normal she would believe him. They always did. Knowing a sentence, a correct answer for every mood, was one of the pros of doing the job for so long.
Now he had to go back to business.
“You know, If I were to meet somebody from the future, I would ask him about my future. What will I do in life? Will I achieve greatness? Will I dine with kings, or will I be a king myself? I can answer the last question: I won’t. I will become a time traveller, and go back to historical figures, to people that will become famous or change this world, for better or worse.”
He stopped every motion he had made to undermine his sentences and looked her straight into the, now wide opened, eyes.
“Now, Miss Anne, what will you ask me?”
“Do you mean that I will become famous?”
“Not the question I would have asked, but I will answer it non the less. Yes, you will. You will become a writer. You won’t write much, but one of your books will be the kind of book that children will read at school. It will be a truly inspiring story, about a girl, very much like yourself.”
These were the moments he loved and hated about his job. Loved, because he could see an innocent child realising that it would achieve greatness, hated because he never had enough time to go into the details. He was there to give them a tap into the right direction. Nothing more, nothing less.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t tell you more, my time with you is over.”
He turned around and walked three steps, before suddenly turning around once more.
“Almost over. In the future I will meet you again. Then I will tell you about your legacy. Until then, I must confess, you won’t see me. But, in the name of all the people from the future, please keep smiling, and if you have the chance, go play outside.”
Saying those words he disappeared into a white cloud which brought him back home. After every session of timetravel he felt a bit sick, but it wasn’t the sickness that brought him to his knees today.
“I don’t wanna. I don’t want to go back.”
He started the argument even though he knew every sentence that would be said. He could have held the conversation with himself. Instead a voice answered, through the speakers that allowed the supervisors to communicate with the sterile travelling chamber.
“You know that you have to. It’s your job.”
“You know that I hate it.”
It was a relief. He could tell himself that he had tried. He had tried not to go back. It wasn’t his fault.
“How can I go back to a person I just met, that I just told to be hopeful, for they will become famous and great, and then go back and announce “Sorry, I wasn’t all that precise!””
He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do when he had chosen this job, but he never thought that it would be this hard.
“It’s cruel. I can’t do it again.”
“You do the good you can. We all do. And, in the end, you always find the right words. You know that not telling her would be even crueler. Give her the hope she needs, tell her how we will remember her. She deserves it.”
He knew that the calm voice coming out of the walls was right. And, after all, he had promised her. Even though she was a complete strangers he knew that she would remember him.
“Okay. Im ready for the second jump. Where are we going?”
“Not that far away. Five and a half years later. Are you ready?”
He opened his eyes in a dark building. On one of the beds he saw what looked like an old woman. He wouldn’t have realised that that old woman was the girl that he had just talked to if he hadn’t known. He also wouldn’t have realised that the old woman was fifteen years old.
“Hello Ms. Frank. Im sorry that it had to end like this. Would you mind if, as promised, I told you of your legacy?”
-----
Of course,criticism is appreciated. | Plaster feel from the ceiling of the bunker as the Soviet artillery scored another near miss. The cyanide capsule felt weirdly heavy in my hand.
"It's a little late to be thinking of art school," said the stranger. | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "Clear the room" The wizened old man coughed as he struggled to rise and greet the visitor.
Soft cries of protest rose from his family. Dr. Leighton's eyebrow cocked slightly upwards.
Meeting the doctor's gaze with a renewed vigor, the old man nodded. The two men, friends since childhood and each other's most trusted confidants understood each other clearly.
"I believe it would be best if we left." Sweeping his right arm around the family, his left pointed towards the door with a tired, open, palm. He declared, "he will not leave us before the visitor has left, I promise."
Slowly, with furtive glances at their beloved, and the guest, so important as to drive them from his presence, they filed out of the room. Though each stole glances, often recriminating, at the newcomer, his gaze remained on the old man. Once the last had left the room, Dr. Leighton gave his friend a final nod, gazing at each other through the double oak doors as they closed before severing their connection with a muffled thump.
The old man, bowing his head, a shuddering breath pulled into his frame by lungs that hadn't the strength to pull much longer.
Finally, the breath was released. Words, softened as though age had taken as much from them as from their creator, fluttered into the air.
"I often wondered, just how our affair would come to an end." Years of thought piled into the old man's consciousness, straining for release against the dam that was his mouth. "You must have thought of it at least as much as I. So tell me, my oldest acquaintance, chronicler of the ages who has stared the devils and angels of history in the face. What apprehension did you confront when you came to me?"
The visitor, knew the weight that burdened the old man's mind all too well. In all of history they just might be the two people who best understood each other.
"From the first day, I knew that nothing would change." His voice resounded in the high ceiling of the chamber. "When history failed to unravel upon my first journey I knew that we were but swimmers in a vast current. I cannot disrupt the flow of time any more than a fish may stop a river. My role in history has only been to observe, and what came of those I observed was pre-ordained, I am merely the messenger of destiny."
"Does destiny mandate that you become a poet?" The old man smiled wryly.
"Death seems to have made a poet of you as well." The visitor replied.
"What expression is left to us but peotry?" The old man's gaze drifted past the walls, as if he could envision the destinations of his strange visitor just beyond their confines. "When faced with such perplexing situations as ours."
He paused a moment before speaking again.
"Tell me, do you greet all your hosts in the same manner? Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, how do you speak to those children of discoveries that surpass even the adult minds of their generation? Or were they left just as preplexed as I when you told me 'You will invent time travel.'?"
"What I tell them is irrelevant. Their discoveries predate my own appearance, I simply endeavoured to bring a little more self consciousness to the uncaring stream of time."
The old man gave a snort.
"Too often is nihilism mistaken for wisdom, even in this age. You do not believe that you are responsible for creating the drive, the passion, in any of those you visited? Your philosophy is far too pessimistic if you cannot allow yourself any modicum of significance."
"I cannot," The visitor replied, somehow dejected in his posture, "your case is sufficient proof of this. I rely on your invention to complete my work, if your drive to invent this device was only the product of my intervention then we form a damning paradox. Time travel would necessarily exist in order for time travel to be invented. Far simpler to imagine myself as a simple man who learned to swim, and occasionally placed pebbles along the riverbed."
"And so your dichotomy forces you to be either a common man or a being beyond human reason. Should a status of special consideration above mortals be so abhorrent?"
The visitor shook his head, slumping into a chair at the foot of the old man's bed.
"I have gazed upon the truly great figures of our race, as I have felt the sting of the most nefarious minds we could produce." his arms, gesticulating for emphasis, now fell hard upon the wooden armrests. " The minds I have communed with, the physique, the passion, the determination I have witnessed; I fall far short of these in all respects."
The old man turned, facing the visitor with pity on his face.
"Would not the one who stood before all greatness in human history be great in his own right? Few are those with experiences as vast as yours. Yet you exclude yourself from greatness, why? Simply because no one appeared before you, when you were a child to validate your existence?" The old man's speech became more urgent, as if death might cut him off before his final words were heard. "We must agree to disagree in this, for I believe that you are the only great figure of history who was not prompted to greatness by another's hand. You, are the origin of greatness."
The visitor sighed, overwhelmed, for the first time, by the presence of a host.
The old man smiled contentedly, resting back into his bed, drained of energy by his tirade. The silence ticked by in countless seconds. The old man's breath came ragged, his eyes closed as if the sheer wight of his eyelids was unbearable.
"That you have come to visit once more means my time is soon past." Said the old man, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I feel that in your flustered state all those years ago you may have let slip too much when faced with the prying of my ten year old self."
He paused to claw his breath from the air around him.
"An assurance of legacy sounds remarkably reassuring at first, but my gift is not one for civilization at large, is it? You alone monopolize this venue; And so my legacy shall be the greatest and most unknown of all time."
A short pause later the old man turned to the visitor, a final revelation dawning as his own consciousness slipped into the darkness.
"But perhaps there is another, greater, yet less recognized." | *Filing Cabinet 30J.Subject #1: [Boston, Massachusetts] (Aged 10)*
"So, listen up kiddo. This is all just standard procedure so... yadda yadda yadda. About Britain, you secede and declare independence from the Mother England with your incredibly eloquent diplomatic-writing skills or whatever."
"Dearest heavens. Who are you strange sir? Your manner of speech seem oddly vulgar in such a pious community-"
"Shut the fuck up, Benny."
"Good lord!"
"Now, you also get to invent some weird stuff like the lightning rod, some weird stove... Oh, and you also get to go to France as an ambassador for the colonies!"
"That... sounds quite enjoyable, actually."
"Damn straight. Now, your consultation time is up. So, just remember to go out there, have fun, do something with your life, and..."
"And, sir?"
"Old booty is worth thrice that of young booty."
"Wait, what?"
"Peace motherfucker!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 18.H Subject #37: [Ajaccio, Corsica] (Aged 10)*
"*How's it hanging you stupid, little French-illiterate pipsqueak?*"
"*Pipsqueak? What the hell does pipsqueak mean?*"
"*Right, eighteenth century... Anyway, listen up you shorty. You're in for a long, weird life ahead of you.*"
"*Pardon?*"
"*You take over half of Europe, become Emperor of France, grow to prominence in society, force almost everyone to your knee...*"
"*Sounds vaguely appropriate.*"
"*Oh, and you bring some kooky-ass civil code or whatever to the rest of the world and cause a shit-ton of weird uprisings in the name of nationalism, only for those same uprisings to be totally crushed by kings who will later proceed to kick your ass off into the Mediterranean.*"
"*Wait, which kings?!*"
"*All of them? Well, I'd argue English but I'm no goddamn historian. I don't even know what year this is... I mention Britain and Prussia screw you over hard?*"
"*What?!*"
"*Well, I'm off. Toodle-a-loo! Fish and tea! Crumpets and potatoes! La-dee-dah!*"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 15.C Subject #15: [Roma, Res publica Romana] (Aged 10)*
"*Hey, what's happening, little man?*"
"*Cassius, stay away from this strange man.*"
"*Wow, wow... Calm down, Julie. Can I call you that?*"
"*You may certainly not! Who are you to pop up from the sewers! Covered in shit and waving your arms around in strange clothes like some absurd madman! Back! Away from me, you water devil!*"
"*Listen, man. Just came by to tell you your future's all. No need to get all bitchy like your future wife... Gee. And I thought Mary was a annoying bitch.*"
"*Who's Mary?*"
"*Right, BC era. Huh, listen, kiddo. I just came here to tell you, descendant of Aeneas, son of the Roman goddess Venus, or some other whore, that you will do great things in the future years of adulthood.*"
"*Alright, you strange old fool. Tell me what it is that awaits me!*"
"*You become a wicked general in the army of this fair Republic. You and two others gain great power over the control of the land you see before you, and all its grain, horses, and citizens that will await you hand-and-foot. At your every command.*"
"*This one doesn't like sharing.*"
"*I said 'your', did I not?*"
"*... Well, technically, no?*"
"*Huh?*"
"*Well, if I said yes, that'd mean that you didn't say that, which is what you asked. So, to say that I did hear that would be to respond no, would it not?*"
"*Umm... no?*"
"*Wait, where are we going with this?*"
"*Oh for the love of sweet not-yet Jesus... You invade Britain and Gaul, kill your friends, and eventually you turn this whole stupid Republic into your own freaking Empire... That's all I think I'm allowed to give.*"
"*Wait! But does my Empire prosper?! What of the citizens of the Republic? Will this one make them strong too?*"
"*Dude, I don't know. I barely know shit about your childhood as is. You're a pretty boring guy that just happens to have a play about him.
"*Ugh... Well, mighty Caesar can live with that, he supposes.*"
"*No, don't start that third person shit with me... You know what? Just for that, you're getting stabbed. Yeah, you're gonna get stabbed in the middle of senate by a bunch of toga-wearing men. Don't fucking speak like that.*"
"*Emperor Caesar shall speaks how he want-*"
**THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!**
"IDES OF MARCH, BITCH! Man, I love punching ten year-olds."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Access to DeathBed files locked until access is to be granted by administrator. Error code: 420. Trying again in: XX Hours.] | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "Hello, Alexandros."
"Who are you?"
"Merely a friend, here to give you a little gift on your birthday."
"What is it?"
"Knowledge of a future, that may yet be yours."
"... Impossible."
"I have little time to prove it, child. In 6 years, a friend of mine, Aristotle, will teach you much. In 10 years time, you will succeed your father to the throne. In 20 years, you will embark on one of the biggest, most famous empires of history. You die, eventually, in Babylon, a place that was to be the crowning jewel of your empire. Cities bear your name the world over, and thousands upon thousands of years from now, people remember you as a legend on par with Heracleos or Achilles."
"Tell me more."
"I cannot. Do with this knowledge what you will. Know that, in at least one path of time, Alexandros will be known as 'the Great'"
___
When I returned, I was surprised to find Alexandros dying, barely aged a day.
"... What happened?"
"I... thought that... ugh... If I had such a destiny... It would be unlikely I die being hit by a cart. So I tested it. Appears you were wrong, sir."
"For all the stupid children in time... Argh! No. This is your fault, moron! Now I have to bloody well take your place, and I hate youth pills, they give me diarrhoea!" | *Filing Cabinet 30J.Subject #1: [Boston, Massachusetts] (Aged 10)*
"So, listen up kiddo. This is all just standard procedure so... yadda yadda yadda. About Britain, you secede and declare independence from the Mother England with your incredibly eloquent diplomatic-writing skills or whatever."
"Dearest heavens. Who are you strange sir? Your manner of speech seem oddly vulgar in such a pious community-"
"Shut the fuck up, Benny."
"Good lord!"
"Now, you also get to invent some weird stuff like the lightning rod, some weird stove... Oh, and you also get to go to France as an ambassador for the colonies!"
"That... sounds quite enjoyable, actually."
"Damn straight. Now, your consultation time is up. So, just remember to go out there, have fun, do something with your life, and..."
"And, sir?"
"Old booty is worth thrice that of young booty."
"Wait, what?"
"Peace motherfucker!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 18.H Subject #37: [Ajaccio, Corsica] (Aged 10)*
"*How's it hanging you stupid, little French-illiterate pipsqueak?*"
"*Pipsqueak? What the hell does pipsqueak mean?*"
"*Right, eighteenth century... Anyway, listen up you shorty. You're in for a long, weird life ahead of you.*"
"*Pardon?*"
"*You take over half of Europe, become Emperor of France, grow to prominence in society, force almost everyone to your knee...*"
"*Sounds vaguely appropriate.*"
"*Oh, and you bring some kooky-ass civil code or whatever to the rest of the world and cause a shit-ton of weird uprisings in the name of nationalism, only for those same uprisings to be totally crushed by kings who will later proceed to kick your ass off into the Mediterranean.*"
"*Wait, which kings?!*"
"*All of them? Well, I'd argue English but I'm no goddamn historian. I don't even know what year this is... I mention Britain and Prussia screw you over hard?*"
"*What?!*"
"*Well, I'm off. Toodle-a-loo! Fish and tea! Crumpets and potatoes! La-dee-dah!*"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 15.C Subject #15: [Roma, Res publica Romana] (Aged 10)*
"*Hey, what's happening, little man?*"
"*Cassius, stay away from this strange man.*"
"*Wow, wow... Calm down, Julie. Can I call you that?*"
"*You may certainly not! Who are you to pop up from the sewers! Covered in shit and waving your arms around in strange clothes like some absurd madman! Back! Away from me, you water devil!*"
"*Listen, man. Just came by to tell you your future's all. No need to get all bitchy like your future wife... Gee. And I thought Mary was a annoying bitch.*"
"*Who's Mary?*"
"*Right, BC era. Huh, listen, kiddo. I just came here to tell you, descendant of Aeneas, son of the Roman goddess Venus, or some other whore, that you will do great things in the future years of adulthood.*"
"*Alright, you strange old fool. Tell me what it is that awaits me!*"
"*You become a wicked general in the army of this fair Republic. You and two others gain great power over the control of the land you see before you, and all its grain, horses, and citizens that will await you hand-and-foot. At your every command.*"
"*This one doesn't like sharing.*"
"*I said 'your', did I not?*"
"*... Well, technically, no?*"
"*Huh?*"
"*Well, if I said yes, that'd mean that you didn't say that, which is what you asked. So, to say that I did hear that would be to respond no, would it not?*"
"*Umm... no?*"
"*Wait, where are we going with this?*"
"*Oh for the love of sweet not-yet Jesus... You invade Britain and Gaul, kill your friends, and eventually you turn this whole stupid Republic into your own freaking Empire... That's all I think I'm allowed to give.*"
"*Wait! But does my Empire prosper?! What of the citizens of the Republic? Will this one make them strong too?*"
"*Dude, I don't know. I barely know shit about your childhood as is. You're a pretty boring guy that just happens to have a play about him.
"*Ugh... Well, mighty Caesar can live with that, he supposes.*"
"*No, don't start that third person shit with me... You know what? Just for that, you're getting stabbed. Yeah, you're gonna get stabbed in the middle of senate by a bunch of toga-wearing men. Don't fucking speak like that.*"
"*Emperor Caesar shall speaks how he want-*"
**THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!**
"IDES OF MARCH, BITCH! Man, I love punching ten year-olds."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Access to DeathBed files locked until access is to be granted by administrator. Error code: 420. Trying again in: XX Hours.] | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | The little boy looked up, away from the holographic screen. A old man was stood there, his features concealed behind a leather greatcoat and a set of ancient pilot's goggles.
"You're the man! The man that visits the famous people! Am I going to be famous? Please tell me! Please sir!"
The old man smiled, kneeling down next to the boy.
"Yes, I am indeed that man. How did you know?"
The boy smiled, exited.
"We learned about you in school! Miss Clark told us about you. You're the man who tells famous people what they are going to do with their lives when they turn 10. Some people think you're a myth, but I always said you where real. And now I know! Are you going to tell me my future?"
The old man checked his watch.
"I don't think your quite 10 years old yet are you?"
The boy looked sheepishly at the floor.
"No sir, I'm only 9 and a half. Am I in trouble?"
The old man shook his head.
"Oh, no. You're not in trouble. Not with me anyway. I'm feeling a bit out of breath, I'm not used to this much talking in my old age. Would you mind if a lie down on your bed for a minute?"
The boy helped the man up, and he lay down on the bed.
"Tell me," said the old man, "did they say I was a good man?"
"Why yes," the boy replied, "you can even get your costume in the shops!"
The old man smiled, relieved.
"I think I'll be seeing you in a few months," he said, winking. "I'll just have a nap first." | *Filing Cabinet 30J.Subject #1: [Boston, Massachusetts] (Aged 10)*
"So, listen up kiddo. This is all just standard procedure so... yadda yadda yadda. About Britain, you secede and declare independence from the Mother England with your incredibly eloquent diplomatic-writing skills or whatever."
"Dearest heavens. Who are you strange sir? Your manner of speech seem oddly vulgar in such a pious community-"
"Shut the fuck up, Benny."
"Good lord!"
"Now, you also get to invent some weird stuff like the lightning rod, some weird stove... Oh, and you also get to go to France as an ambassador for the colonies!"
"That... sounds quite enjoyable, actually."
"Damn straight. Now, your consultation time is up. So, just remember to go out there, have fun, do something with your life, and..."
"And, sir?"
"Old booty is worth thrice that of young booty."
"Wait, what?"
"Peace motherfucker!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 18.H Subject #37: [Ajaccio, Corsica] (Aged 10)*
"*How's it hanging you stupid, little French-illiterate pipsqueak?*"
"*Pipsqueak? What the hell does pipsqueak mean?*"
"*Right, eighteenth century... Anyway, listen up you shorty. You're in for a long, weird life ahead of you.*"
"*Pardon?*"
"*You take over half of Europe, become Emperor of France, grow to prominence in society, force almost everyone to your knee...*"
"*Sounds vaguely appropriate.*"
"*Oh, and you bring some kooky-ass civil code or whatever to the rest of the world and cause a shit-ton of weird uprisings in the name of nationalism, only for those same uprisings to be totally crushed by kings who will later proceed to kick your ass off into the Mediterranean.*"
"*Wait, which kings?!*"
"*All of them? Well, I'd argue English but I'm no goddamn historian. I don't even know what year this is... I mention Britain and Prussia screw you over hard?*"
"*What?!*"
"*Well, I'm off. Toodle-a-loo! Fish and tea! Crumpets and potatoes! La-dee-dah!*"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 15.C Subject #15: [Roma, Res publica Romana] (Aged 10)*
"*Hey, what's happening, little man?*"
"*Cassius, stay away from this strange man.*"
"*Wow, wow... Calm down, Julie. Can I call you that?*"
"*You may certainly not! Who are you to pop up from the sewers! Covered in shit and waving your arms around in strange clothes like some absurd madman! Back! Away from me, you water devil!*"
"*Listen, man. Just came by to tell you your future's all. No need to get all bitchy like your future wife... Gee. And I thought Mary was a annoying bitch.*"
"*Who's Mary?*"
"*Right, BC era. Huh, listen, kiddo. I just came here to tell you, descendant of Aeneas, son of the Roman goddess Venus, or some other whore, that you will do great things in the future years of adulthood.*"
"*Alright, you strange old fool. Tell me what it is that awaits me!*"
"*You become a wicked general in the army of this fair Republic. You and two others gain great power over the control of the land you see before you, and all its grain, horses, and citizens that will await you hand-and-foot. At your every command.*"
"*This one doesn't like sharing.*"
"*I said 'your', did I not?*"
"*... Well, technically, no?*"
"*Huh?*"
"*Well, if I said yes, that'd mean that you didn't say that, which is what you asked. So, to say that I did hear that would be to respond no, would it not?*"
"*Umm... no?*"
"*Wait, where are we going with this?*"
"*Oh for the love of sweet not-yet Jesus... You invade Britain and Gaul, kill your friends, and eventually you turn this whole stupid Republic into your own freaking Empire... That's all I think I'm allowed to give.*"
"*Wait! But does my Empire prosper?! What of the citizens of the Republic? Will this one make them strong too?*"
"*Dude, I don't know. I barely know shit about your childhood as is. You're a pretty boring guy that just happens to have a play about him.
"*Ugh... Well, mighty Caesar can live with that, he supposes.*"
"*No, don't start that third person shit with me... You know what? Just for that, you're getting stabbed. Yeah, you're gonna get stabbed in the middle of senate by a bunch of toga-wearing men. Don't fucking speak like that.*"
"*Emperor Caesar shall speaks how he want-*"
**THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!**
"IDES OF MARCH, BITCH! Man, I love punching ten year-olds."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Access to DeathBed files locked until access is to be granted by administrator. Error code: 420. Trying again in: XX Hours.] | |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered. | "Hello, Alexandros."
"Who are you?"
"Merely a friend, here to give you a little gift on your birthday."
"What is it?"
"Knowledge of a future, that may yet be yours."
"... Impossible."
"I have little time to prove it, child. In 6 years, a friend of mine, Aristotle, will teach you much. In 10 years time, you will succeed your father to the throne. In 20 years, you will embark on one of the biggest, most famous empires of history. You die, eventually, in Babylon, a place that was to be the crowning jewel of your empire. Cities bear your name the world over, and thousands upon thousands of years from now, people remember you as a legend on par with Heracleos or Achilles."
"Tell me more."
"I cannot. Do with this knowledge what you will. Know that, in at least one path of time, Alexandros will be known as 'the Great'"
___
When I returned, I was surprised to find Alexandros dying, barely aged a day.
"... What happened?"
"I... thought that... ugh... If I had such a destiny... It would be unlikely I die being hit by a cart. So I tested it. Appears you were wrong, sir."
"For all the stupid children in time... Argh! No. This is your fault, moron! Now I have to bloody well take your place, and I hate youth pills, they give me diarrhoea!" | "Clear the room" The wizened old man coughed as he struggled to rise and greet the visitor.
Soft cries of protest rose from his family. Dr. Leighton's eyebrow cocked slightly upwards.
Meeting the doctor's gaze with a renewed vigor, the old man nodded. The two men, friends since childhood and each other's most trusted confidants understood each other clearly.
"I believe it would be best if we left." Sweeping his right arm around the family, his left pointed towards the door with a tired, open, palm. He declared, "he will not leave us before the visitor has left, I promise."
Slowly, with furtive glances at their beloved, and the guest, so important as to drive them from his presence, they filed out of the room. Though each stole glances, often recriminating, at the newcomer, his gaze remained on the old man. Once the last had left the room, Dr. Leighton gave his friend a final nod, gazing at each other through the double oak doors as they closed before severing their connection with a muffled thump.
The old man, bowing his head, a shuddering breath pulled into his frame by lungs that hadn't the strength to pull much longer.
Finally, the breath was released. Words, softened as though age had taken as much from them as from their creator, fluttered into the air.
"I often wondered, just how our affair would come to an end." Years of thought piled into the old man's consciousness, straining for release against the dam that was his mouth. "You must have thought of it at least as much as I. So tell me, my oldest acquaintance, chronicler of the ages who has stared the devils and angels of history in the face. What apprehension did you confront when you came to me?"
The visitor, knew the weight that burdened the old man's mind all too well. In all of history they just might be the two people who best understood each other.
"From the first day, I knew that nothing would change." His voice resounded in the high ceiling of the chamber. "When history failed to unravel upon my first journey I knew that we were but swimmers in a vast current. I cannot disrupt the flow of time any more than a fish may stop a river. My role in history has only been to observe, and what came of those I observed was pre-ordained, I am merely the messenger of destiny."
"Does destiny mandate that you become a poet?" The old man smiled wryly.
"Death seems to have made a poet of you as well." The visitor replied.
"What expression is left to us but peotry?" The old man's gaze drifted past the walls, as if he could envision the destinations of his strange visitor just beyond their confines. "When faced with such perplexing situations as ours."
He paused a moment before speaking again.
"Tell me, do you greet all your hosts in the same manner? Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, how do you speak to those children of discoveries that surpass even the adult minds of their generation? Or were they left just as preplexed as I when you told me 'You will invent time travel.'?"
"What I tell them is irrelevant. Their discoveries predate my own appearance, I simply endeavoured to bring a little more self consciousness to the uncaring stream of time."
The old man gave a snort.
"Too often is nihilism mistaken for wisdom, even in this age. You do not believe that you are responsible for creating the drive, the passion, in any of those you visited? Your philosophy is far too pessimistic if you cannot allow yourself any modicum of significance."
"I cannot," The visitor replied, somehow dejected in his posture, "your case is sufficient proof of this. I rely on your invention to complete my work, if your drive to invent this device was only the product of my intervention then we form a damning paradox. Time travel would necessarily exist in order for time travel to be invented. Far simpler to imagine myself as a simple man who learned to swim, and occasionally placed pebbles along the riverbed."
"And so your dichotomy forces you to be either a common man or a being beyond human reason. Should a status of special consideration above mortals be so abhorrent?"
The visitor shook his head, slumping into a chair at the foot of the old man's bed.
"I have gazed upon the truly great figures of our race, as I have felt the sting of the most nefarious minds we could produce." his arms, gesticulating for emphasis, now fell hard upon the wooden armrests. " The minds I have communed with, the physique, the passion, the determination I have witnessed; I fall far short of these in all respects."
The old man turned, facing the visitor with pity on his face.
"Would not the one who stood before all greatness in human history be great in his own right? Few are those with experiences as vast as yours. Yet you exclude yourself from greatness, why? Simply because no one appeared before you, when you were a child to validate your existence?" The old man's speech became more urgent, as if death might cut him off before his final words were heard. "We must agree to disagree in this, for I believe that you are the only great figure of history who was not prompted to greatness by another's hand. You, are the origin of greatness."
The visitor sighed, overwhelmed, for the first time, by the presence of a host.
The old man smiled contentedly, resting back into his bed, drained of energy by his tirade. The silence ticked by in countless seconds. The old man's breath came ragged, his eyes closed as if the sheer wight of his eyelids was unbearable.
"That you have come to visit once more means my time is soon past." Said the old man, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I feel that in your flustered state all those years ago you may have let slip too much when faced with the prying of my ten year old self."
He paused to claw his breath from the air around him.
"An assurance of legacy sounds remarkably reassuring at first, but my gift is not one for civilization at large, is it? You alone monopolize this venue; And so my legacy shall be the greatest and most unknown of all time."
A short pause later the old man turned to the visitor, a final revelation dawning as his own consciousness slipped into the darkness.
"But perhaps there is another, greater, yet less recognized." | |
[WP] Your coworker has incredible flushy white hair and always insists on having a green salad for lunch. One day, you notice he's actually a sheep. | "And in short, that is why jet fuel simply cannot melt steel beams" I said, with a sigh of resignation at the ignorance of Dave, my co-worker.
"You sure about that mate? I just don't think the government would lie about something like that" he replied, muffled through a mouthful of the salad he insisted on having for lunch every day, despite my repeated warnings about the dangers of GMO's.
"What is wrong with you? Are you some kind of sheeperson?" I exclaimed, perhaps too forcefully. I expected a snort of derision, or even outright anger at this, but I didn't expect what really happened. Dave jumped with a start, a look of nervousness crossing his face.
"What are you t-talking about R-Rick?" stuttered Dave, running his hand through his fluffy white hair as he talked.
"You've known me for years. How could I be a sheep?" At first I thought the vaccinations must have addled his brain, but something more seemed to be at work here. Now that I focused a bit, I could see that the bumps on his head that he assured everyone were football injuries looked an awful lot like horns. And his height! I always though the fact he was half a metre tall was a result of chemtrails, but now I could see that that couldn't be the case. The hair all over his body, that he claimed to be from repeated steroid use, just couldn't have grown that thick on a human, even on a 'roided up douchebag. There was only one possible conclusion. He was a sheep! I opened my mouth, intending to accuse him of this, when I felt a *crack* on the side of my head. Falling to the ground, I looked up to see the sheep, a baton in his hand. As I began drifting out of consciousness, I heard him say,
"You know too much Rick. We'll be taking care of that now."
| Today was like any other Monday at the office. I came in twenty minutes late with a mild hangover, sat at my desk, and felt like spending more time on reddit than actually working.
Matthew, at the desk next to mine was (as usual) working diligently, wearing his headphones and listening to his weird Scottish music.
I set my coffee mug down with a thud to let him know I had walked into our shared office.
"Have a good weekend Matt?"
"Naaah", he replied with an odd sort of coarseness to his voice.
Never liked to talk much that guy. All I really know about him is that he has curly white hair and that he's a vegan. He never talked much and if you asked him a question he would almost always respond with only one word. Hell, you were lucky if it was more than one syllable.
I sat at my desk and rummaged through the drawer for my Tylenol 3's. I thought to myself, "I hate fuckin' Mondays", and took a handful.
The one good thing about Monday is the boss always comes in later than me. So I decided to lay my head on my desk for a little bit while I wait for my headache to go away.
Fifteen minutes later I awake to a smell that can only be one thing... fresh shit. I pick my head up off my desk and turn in my chair to see Matthew, naked, his body covered in curly white hair, shitting all over the floor while eating the memo that had been on my desk. This is the moment I realize that not only is he a sheep, but that sheep is also a better employee than me.
Edit: Formatting
Edit2: Sorry its so short, I'm supposed to be working... | |
[WP] Your coworker has incredible flushy white hair and always insists on having a green salad for lunch. One day, you notice he's actually a sheep. | "Harry," Linda asked, her tone completely serious, "Don't you think George has very flushy hair?"
"...Flushy? He has white hair." Harry punctuated his reply with a matter-of-fact arm-fold. "It's not reddish at all."
"What?" Linda rolled her eyes. "No, not some Oxford Dictionary definition of flushy. I mean flushy, like, you know, fluffy and plushy. So, flushy."
"That doesn't make any sense. At all."
Linda ignored her coworker's objections and stared openly at George, who was eating his usual arugula salad. Harry, hating gossip in the same way that Linda loved it, turned back to his computer, hopeful that she was done bothering him with her boredom.
"You know, I think I've got it."
"Got what?"
"George is a sheep," Linda declared, supremely satisfied with herself.
"Oh, knock it off, Linda." It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes, and he did, in as exaggerated a manner as he could manage. "He's not *that* timid."
"No, not sheep-*ish*. I mean, George is actually a *sheep*."
"Are you off your rocker?" Harry asked bluntly. She had gone too far off the deep end.
"No, seriously! He's definitely a sheep! He eats nothing but greens. He has flushy, woolly hair all over. He even makes sheep noises!"
Harry was fed up with her nonsense. "Hey, George!" he called, "Are you a sheep?"
"Naaaaaah," answered George.
Harry turned to Linda with a smug smile. "See? Not sheep."
Harry and Linda left work that day both completely certain the other was an immense troll. George, for his part, vomited a bit of arugula near Linda's desk in protest of her obvious racism. | Today was like any other Monday at the office. I came in twenty minutes late with a mild hangover, sat at my desk, and felt like spending more time on reddit than actually working.
Matthew, at the desk next to mine was (as usual) working diligently, wearing his headphones and listening to his weird Scottish music.
I set my coffee mug down with a thud to let him know I had walked into our shared office.
"Have a good weekend Matt?"
"Naaah", he replied with an odd sort of coarseness to his voice.
Never liked to talk much that guy. All I really know about him is that he has curly white hair and that he's a vegan. He never talked much and if you asked him a question he would almost always respond with only one word. Hell, you were lucky if it was more than one syllable.
I sat at my desk and rummaged through the drawer for my Tylenol 3's. I thought to myself, "I hate fuckin' Mondays", and took a handful.
The one good thing about Monday is the boss always comes in later than me. So I decided to lay my head on my desk for a little bit while I wait for my headache to go away.
Fifteen minutes later I awake to a smell that can only be one thing... fresh shit. I pick my head up off my desk and turn in my chair to see Matthew, naked, his body covered in curly white hair, shitting all over the floor while eating the memo that had been on my desk. This is the moment I realize that not only is he a sheep, but that sheep is also a better employee than me.
Edit: Formatting
Edit2: Sorry its so short, I'm supposed to be working... | |
[WP] A couple's divorce told from the perspective of their Roomba. | Hey, I never got a chance to say sorry for ruining your rug. I should have gotten out of the way...it's just...you seemed so upset. I felt like I had to help, even though I just made it worse.
I guess it's ok though. You have a new rug now. And a new place. I like the new place. It's...cozier? It's definitely less to clean, which is nice.
Hey, we should have a party here soon to make it official, seeing as how you're all settled in now.
Remember that New Year's Eve party we had a couple years ago? Man...that was a good party. Sarah got so drunk! Remember how she kept popping those poppers all over the place? Glitter was everywhere! It was weeks before I stopped finding it in the carpet everytime I vacuumed. Good times.
How is Sarah, anyway? Did you two smooth things out?
I guess she's busy with her new job, I've hardly seen her since you moved. Is she liking it?
I miss having her around during the day. It was nice having someone to interact with. My days are so lonely now.
Oh hey, that reminds me. I have her ring. That night with the rug...you guys were arguing about something. It fell down in front of me while I was under the couch. I guess it slipped off her finger or something? I know she had been losing weight... Anyway, I meant to say something to her, but then things got loud and she dropped the wine and...well...you remember.
When you see her, will you give it to her? And tell her I said hi? | I had heard the horror stories. The new craze of splitting all your possessions in half during a messy divorce. I shuddered off the though it wasn't true was it. Was it. The door slid open and I quickly rushed back to work cleaning the floors. It was a pretty dry job cleaning floors all day but I got my charger each night and a place to stay, it was a hard but an honest living. Screaming begun at the usual time just at the start of night and the slamming of car doors rung the end of it. It wasn't my issue though let humans be humans. I heard the garage crank open and I headed down the hall to investigate. He was inside with a chainsaw odd I though its night time outside why would he need it. I watched as he revved it up and he begun to walk towards his couch. NOO I beeped Harold a great friend of mine. He had been one of my best since I bumped into him 6 months ago, I turned around I couldn't watch this monstrosity happen. I heard the screaming and tearing as it ripped though poor Harold's flesh. I began to think though, my nightmare was real I had to hide but were. I rushed under the bed praying to the circuit gods he wouldn't find me. It was hours of sawing and screaming around the house and I sat their scared dustless. It stopped at long last and i breathed a sigh of relief he had basically sawed every thing in the whole house in half even the bed I was hiding under, but foot steps came towards me, I held my breath and the bed was lifted up. It was her. "your mine" she screamed. I was lifted from my hiding spot and begun to be carried down the stairs. Their he stood, chainsaw in hands. "My lawyers going to rip you to shreds" she cried "but first you might as well finish the job" and she lay me down. NOOOOOO i cried as the saw touched my metal skin I was to new to die.
Sorry first time ever posting/writing on writing prompt. I'm pretty sure this isn't exactly what you wanted but it made not to bad of a story i think. perhaps. | |
[WP] A year ago, to the day, Tim gave the million dollar lottery prize he had won to charity, in order to pursue his dream of being a self-made man. Write about his day. | With that scratch card Tim could have been set for life, but he wasn't brought up that way. His mother spent a lifetime picking up unrecognised treasures, while his father tirelessly found buyers to make fruits of his wife's labour. Nothing ever came easy. And that had been the issue with the lucky ticket: his parents had shown him that you should work for your winnings, and anything else seemed wrong.
Instead, he'd donated it to a charity who worked to dig wells in African villages, and provided basic plumbing to most of these. They saved the lives of many children. To Tim it was an easy decision to make; children would live to experience life because of him. And anyway, he had a little idea bubbling away in the back of his mind; something to fall back on. But regardless of this, it'd be a cold heart that placed its own comfort before these desperate children - let alone given the situation that Tim found himself in.
Immediately after the donation, Tim had become a hero, a media darling. 'Here is the ultimate philanthropist,' the papers had bellowed; 'A matchless humanitarian'; 'A selfless saint.' It had all been rather flattering. With all the positive publicity, Tim had been offered a permanent post working with the charity in the African savannah. This was precisely what he'd been hoping for. He would be travelling between villages, and aiding in the implementation and construction of new wells, plumbing, and sanitation.
Of course he had accepted. It had provided the perfect opportunity to bring his little idea to fruition. He'd always loved hunting, and here he was, being flown as a hero, in to the heart of the greatest game territory on earth. Tim had packed his full arsenal of hunting gear, and once the initial media storm had settled, he'd been left quite alone. It's amazing how easy life can be made by GPS tracking and an infrared scope. And he had of course had plenty of help. He was invited to all the humanitarian and conservationist dinners. He was part of the 'good guy collective'. All he'd needed to do was make sympathetic conversation with some doughy eyed lady called 'Felicity' or the like, ask how the rhinos were doing, and they'd positively spew out useful information. Where they'd been seen, what kind of rhino, how many there were, who else had been poaching them, what types of preventative measures were in place. It really was quite simple.
And tonight, one year on, he's in eastern Niger on the unwitting advice of some dreadlocked man in a hemp shirt. With a crooked smile, and a custom fitting pair of fifteen-hundred dollar alligator skin boots, Tim leans over the bonnet of his Jeep. A hundred metres away there stands a bull elephant. It has an albino appearance through the scope. Tim's finger tightens on the trigger, and a polished bullet, dizzied by the rifle's spiral, is born from the gun and hurtles into the velvet night. An instant later, and a small smoky puff jumps from the elephant's skull. It slumps immediately... The miracle of armour piercing rounds.
Tim places the rifle back into its case, and slides it beneath the passenger seat. From the seat cushion, he picks up a bonesaw, and turns back towards the giant creature. He has thirty kilogrammes of ivory before him - it's going to be profitable night. His phone vibrates, and he raises it to his ear:
"Hello? Yeah, its Tim... No, not busy... Right... In aid of the lions? Endangered now aren't they?... Yes, yes of course... And how much are they selling them for nowadays?... That much? My goodness... Oh yes, *awful* I know... Yes, I would be honoured... No that will be fine... Thank you... Great, I will see you tomorrow then... Yeah. Bye." An invitation to a charity dinner. 'Save the lions'. He will have to work quickly. After all, he'll need his sleep; these dinners are not to be missed. It pays to keep up appearances. | Tim, was once the most loved man. It didn't feel that long ago since he was a hot topic across all social networks. The man that gave all he had to charity.
Tim, the man who turned down a million because he didn't earn it himself, resonated across all nations and cultures. He grew a follower base who watched as he coined phrases like, "It's just not me", "Earning it makes it worth" and re-tweeted him, trying to preserve his sentiment. His face could be seen on bumper stickers and his name sprayed across walls.
This all lasted about a month and it turned against him swiftly. The memories cause Tim to shift in his overly comfortable, luxury car. It was a dark day when he was asked what charity he donated too. Everybody was surprised this wasn't asked earlier.
Nobody prepared themselves for the truth, that Tim had donated to a charity, he created for himself. | |
[WP] A year ago, to the day, Tim gave the million dollar lottery prize he had won to charity, in order to pursue his dream of being a self-made man. Write about his day. | With that scratch card Tim could have been set for life, but he wasn't brought up that way. His mother spent a lifetime picking up unrecognised treasures, while his father tirelessly found buyers to make fruits of his wife's labour. Nothing ever came easy. And that had been the issue with the lucky ticket: his parents had shown him that you should work for your winnings, and anything else seemed wrong.
Instead, he'd donated it to a charity who worked to dig wells in African villages, and provided basic plumbing to most of these. They saved the lives of many children. To Tim it was an easy decision to make; children would live to experience life because of him. And anyway, he had a little idea bubbling away in the back of his mind; something to fall back on. But regardless of this, it'd be a cold heart that placed its own comfort before these desperate children - let alone given the situation that Tim found himself in.
Immediately after the donation, Tim had become a hero, a media darling. 'Here is the ultimate philanthropist,' the papers had bellowed; 'A matchless humanitarian'; 'A selfless saint.' It had all been rather flattering. With all the positive publicity, Tim had been offered a permanent post working with the charity in the African savannah. This was precisely what he'd been hoping for. He would be travelling between villages, and aiding in the implementation and construction of new wells, plumbing, and sanitation.
Of course he had accepted. It had provided the perfect opportunity to bring his little idea to fruition. He'd always loved hunting, and here he was, being flown as a hero, in to the heart of the greatest game territory on earth. Tim had packed his full arsenal of hunting gear, and once the initial media storm had settled, he'd been left quite alone. It's amazing how easy life can be made by GPS tracking and an infrared scope. And he had of course had plenty of help. He was invited to all the humanitarian and conservationist dinners. He was part of the 'good guy collective'. All he'd needed to do was make sympathetic conversation with some doughy eyed lady called 'Felicity' or the like, ask how the rhinos were doing, and they'd positively spew out useful information. Where they'd been seen, what kind of rhino, how many there were, who else had been poaching them, what types of preventative measures were in place. It really was quite simple.
And tonight, one year on, he's in eastern Niger on the unwitting advice of some dreadlocked man in a hemp shirt. With a crooked smile, and a custom fitting pair of fifteen-hundred dollar alligator skin boots, Tim leans over the bonnet of his Jeep. A hundred metres away there stands a bull elephant. It has an albino appearance through the scope. Tim's finger tightens on the trigger, and a polished bullet, dizzied by the rifle's spiral, is born from the gun and hurtles into the velvet night. An instant later, and a small smoky puff jumps from the elephant's skull. It slumps immediately... The miracle of armour piercing rounds.
Tim places the rifle back into its case, and slides it beneath the passenger seat. From the seat cushion, he picks up a bonesaw, and turns back towards the giant creature. He has thirty kilogrammes of ivory before him - it's going to be profitable night. His phone vibrates, and he raises it to his ear:
"Hello? Yeah, its Tim... No, not busy... Right... In aid of the lions? Endangered now aren't they?... Yes, yes of course... And how much are they selling them for nowadays?... That much? My goodness... Oh yes, *awful* I know... Yes, I would be honoured... No that will be fine... Thank you... Great, I will see you tomorrow then... Yeah. Bye." An invitation to a charity dinner. 'Save the lions'. He will have to work quickly. After all, he'll need his sleep; these dinners are not to be missed. It pays to keep up appearances. | Tim sat on the sidewalk wrapped in his orange sleeping bag. The tiny rocks on the ground shuffled and crunched under the heels of his torn shoes, and his mutilated jeans were still wrapped around his legs. It was impossible for him not to think of that day when he gave away his only chance. At the time it had seemed like such a noble thing, he'd felt like a hero. But the words: "I won't take the money!" still reverberated around in Tim's head like a curse. | |
Tell me how is it like | [WP]You die and you go to Valhalla... the map in Halo 3. Turns out after life is an endless Halo online match of Capture the Flag. | "Hey," he said.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"You ever wonder why we're here?"
"It's one of life's greatest mysteries, isn't it? Why are we here?" I rambled, looking up towards the sky. "Are we the product of some cosmic coincidence or...is there really a god watching over us? Ya know, with like a plan for us and stuff. I don't know, man, but it keeps me up at night."
He stared at me. It was hard to tell what he was thinking behind that helmet of his. Then again, we all wore helmets, so it definitely fell true in reverse too. When I noticed he wasn't saying anything, I looked back down at him. We stared at each other for a good four seconds before he spoke again.
"What? I mean what are we doing out here--in the middle of this Halo game?"
"Oh... right..."
"What was all that stuff about God?"
"Hm? Nothing," I said, trying to hide my embarrassment.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
This shit right here is exactly why I have no friends. | As Charles Raukker stared across the room at the clock, he noticed that it was the only thing moving in the room. He and five guards all had their eyes fixed on the, which would tick to midnight within the minute. The *Freeport Flayer* kept his jaw tight and his eyes angry. The side of his mouth *Fuck yourself.* Still, he sweat.
He'd enjoyed the murders and wished he'd done more. There was no sorrow, no remorse. The black would come and that would be that.
*There is no heaven.*
The clock ticked to midnight and the head guard threw the switch. Every muscle contracted and his vision lost focus before everything went dark, silent, and numb. All went black.
...
He didn't know how much time had passed as he woke up in the grass. He pushed his elbows to sit up. As he blinked hard to adjust to the sunlight, he noted the dream from which he'd woken.Not just the chair, but the murders, the arrest, the years in the cage. These were *memories*.
*Heaven? Are you fucking kidding me?* In his fearful moments he had worried that there was a hell, but heaven!
He never saw the rocket hit him, and barely felt its impact. He only saw grass leave him as he flew into the air. All went black.
...
And again he woke up. He saw the same grass, the same sky, the same cliff wall ahead. Fifty yards ahead a man dressed in blue.. armor? ran away him with a flag as two men in red followed. He looked down to finally notice he was wearing red, himself. *Fuck it*.
He took aim and fired, surprised of the recoil against his shoulder. Whatever this waking dream, he was armed and death didn't end him. But he saw people to kill.
*Could this be heaven?*
A dome of light glistened around the blue man's armor, but he didn't slow. They were all getting closer anyway. He continued to fire, seeing the armor flash and disappear. Drowned in the gunfire was the sound of the vehicle - *a tank? a truck?* - as it ran into him. All went black.
...
He awoke again, of clearer mind than before. Clear memories. He saw the vehicle ahead now. A driver and a man standing at a giant gun. They drove in circles and the gunner shot at nothing. He looked behind around and saw a man in the red armor.
The man squatted and ran in a circle and jumped. He then ran in place against a rock, his face pressed against it.
"What the hell are you doing? What the hell is this? That blue man has our flag!"
*Our flag? How do I know this? Why do I care? But I do!*
The red man stopped running in circles and looked at him.
"Ha, sup nube." *What language is this?* "Look at the score." he said, looking at the button on Charles's left hand. "Be are bee," he said. *Again, WHAT?*
Charles pushed the button and saw blue and red numbers appear at the top of his field of vision.
Blue: 632,235,654,464
Red: 17
Before he could make sense of this, the man in red - his ally? - raised a shotgun and fired. Before all went black again, the man walked over his body, stood above the bleeding head of Charles Raukker - *the Freeport Flayer* - and squatted repeatedly.
*This isn't heaven.*
All went black. |
Tell me how is it like | [WP]You die and you go to Valhalla... the map in Halo 3. Turns out after life is an endless Halo online match of Capture the Flag. | "So how long have you been here?" I asked.
The woman in battered crimson armour looked at me with weary eyes,
"I don't know. Ten thousand matches? Maybe more?" She gestured with her gauntlet to the sky;
"Sun never sets ya see? Got no idea how long it's really been. Every day it's the same; we fight, die and we win or lose."
A grenade *plinked* over the rock we were using as cover - flinders of purple-pink needler crystals rained down over as she scrambled for the grenade and kicked it it away.
"Cover me," she snarled.
Popping up over the feature, I sprayed bullets in a wide arc. The enemy took cover and returned fire.
One by one their guns went silent as the scarlet commando flanked them. A bullet clipped my shield, then several more. It flickered and died. My rifle was empty now so I switched to the pistol and cracked off a few hopeless shots before one of the enemy appeared from my left and thundered a series of double-tap shots into my torso.
Pain washed through me and I gasped at the intensity.
Then my team mate was back beside me, the flag in one hand and her own pistol cracking as she took down my killed.
"Looks bad kid," she said.
"What will happen? When I die?" I managed, pink froth bubbling between my lips.
"You'll respawn at the base. Have some fresh ammo waiting for me - we'll be heading out again as soon as I deliver this home" she hoisted the flag again and sprinted off, firing blind shots off behind her with startling accuracy.
I slipped away into oblivion as she left my line of sight.
 
"Why is it so quiet?" I whispered.
"Break time. We get about 2 minutes between games."
"Do we... do we eat or sleep here?"
She shook her head, visor up for now.
"Nope. Don't get tired either, not *body* tired anyway."
"Don't you get sick of this?"
One of the other soldiers in our team laughed, hollowly,
"Fucken' new kids. All the same."
The scarlet commando slapped her rifle across her knees and fixed me with her steely, uncompromising stare,
"Here's the deal. This is it for eternity. We fight and we die. We tried calling ceasefires and surrenders with the enemy, but then we all get instakilled over and over" her mouth twisted into an ugly, hard line, "and you don't want to die every ten seconds. It's brutal and it's fucking painful."
The soldier in the orange armour who had laughed earlier look haunted, then he growled,
"There was a guy who refused to fight and they killed him and killed him and killed him. Eventually he lost his shit. Section eight material."
"Where is he?" I breathed,
"GAME ON!" yelled Scarlet and they charged out into the white sunlight.
 
Fight, capture and die. That became my mantra.
I grew close to my team mates and in those precious few minutes between each game, we traded stories and commiserated on our fate.
Theories were put forward too, as to why we were there.
"When we Peak, we will be released into the Halls of the Allfather, ready for the final battle," Karl had said.
Others thought that we were instead in Hell and this was our eternal punishment.
Scarlet was more pragmatic.
"I don't care why we're here, I don't care whether it lasts for eternity or for a hundred years; this is our life now and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be *the best* at whatever I do. I will capture that fucking flag and I will *never* give in!"
The others shouted their approval and smacked the butts of the rifles into the concrete of the bunker.
Scarlet was our Valkyrie, our mother. Without her we were lost.
And then the game was on again.
 
I saw it happen as I respawned, the pain of the multiple gut wounds still fresh and angry in my mind. Scarlet ran across the flag base and then... vanished.
Our team fell in disarray. Without her leadership the enemy quickly walked all over us and the game was over.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know!"
"Jess saw her vanish, didn't you Jess?"
Everyone's eyes turned on me.
"Yeah... she ran across the plate and then..."
"Then what?"
"Gone."
We fought through the next hundred or thousand games woodenly and defensively. Not only were we down our leader, we were missing a squad member.
Backed up against an escarpment, I started barking orders to the others, trying to organise an attack.
At that moment a new player phased into existence beside me.
She looked down at her rifle, then up at me, confused and disoriented.
A grenade *plinked* over the rocks and without even thinking, I booted it away.
"Cover me!" I snarled, then leaped over the escarpment and charged.
Behind me I heard her rifle chatter into life. It was only then that I noticed my armour had changed from maroon to a brilliant, blood red. | I remember it pretty clearly, actually. About 78 matches ago, now... before I came here. Before I died. I was driving down I-80 headed east; coming back from YNP where I had just did a summer seasonal gig. Great place to visit, fuckin' horrible place to work. Anyway, I was cruisin' along, windows down, stereo blasting "Turn up the Radio" by Autograph. The chorus came on, and I glanced down at the stereo to oblige the lyric's instructions, and that's when it happened. "I need the music, give me some mo-" **BAM** The front right tire shredded, and my truck instantly veered to the right... straight through the thin concrete barrier separating the bridge from open air. I don't really remember much from then; I think I hit my head on the window when the truck pulled. I remember the water rushing up to meet me, the roar of the engine, and Autograph insisting they needed a minute of play for every minute of work.
When I came to, I was back in the drivers seat, upright, and breathing normally. The tune of Autograph's hit single was stuck in my head, but what actually came to my ears was the distinctly identifiable sound of gunfire and what sounded like a fighter jet idling. Suddenly aware of the peculiarity of my surroundings, I spun around quickly in my seat. *I've been here before,* I thought. *A long time ago. But that was...* My eyes were widening in disbelief. *That was in a vide-* At that moment, the distinct screech of a Banshee flew over head, blue flames erupting from its right wing. It slammed into a tall spire, exploding, and sent debris careening everywhere. I heard a thud and muffled grunt from in front of me, and snapped around to see a pair of strange foot prints in the grass in front of my vehicle, but no one who could have made them. A heat distortion prevented me from seeing very far into the distance, but I could make out the shape of a similar tower, and a battle going on there. I looked up in the sky, and sure enough, saw the curved surface of a miniature dyson ring stretching up into the sky. *Halo.* I thought. I shoved the throttle on the Warthog all the way forward, and the truck rocketed forward towards the red flag. *Time to put all that practice to good use...* I thought. The Warthog jerked violently as it drove across some rough terrain, and settled back down onto the rolling hills of the map. Behind me, a dead red sangheili uncloaked as his armor ran out energy, with the unmistakable pattern of Puma tires imprinted on his face. |
[WP] God decides to destroy the world, but humans are now advanced enough to fight back | “Are we absolutely sure they will land here?”
“Yes general, the information the defectors gave us all points here .”
“Does it correspond with the other intelligence?”
The colonel held up the reports for the general to read. He did not care to read it, all the information in the world did not mean anything, not really, not against this adversary.
“Tell HQ to ready the weapon in case our lines get overrun,” the general said whispering, so no one else could hear.
The colonel watched his commander in disbelief, for about three months now he had been telling his men they could win this war, now he seemed uncertain. He saluted his general and left to find a radioman, to relay the order. While the tent flaps clapped in the wind the army leader closed his notebook, the time for studying maps and planning defenses had come and gone. He knew his men were as prepared as they were ever going to be. In a matter of hours, the human race could be either extinct or free to govern themselves.
In the past months many probing attacks had taken place, all over the world, man against angel. Many had died but the invaders hadn't been able to setup a bridgehead. During the fourth night of fighting when his own positions in Europe were almost overrun, five of the enemies fighters shot down from the sky. They started killing their brothers without a second thought. The sound of clashing swords sounded throughout the night and the next morning. Afterwards their leader approached him.
“We have come to join your war,” they told him, “we believe the human race has a greater part to play in this universe. We will help you fight our lord even if it means his demise.”
They told him many things about the one we call god. They called him Eloha, he was one of a great and ancient race of creators. They made and shaped many planets across the galaxy and watched them from afar. The angels, as we call them, were taken from many different planets and given amazing powers by the creators. In turn they would do whatever the creators demanded of them. When the angels came down to help them, they still wore their beautiful armor. The metal was engraved with languages from all planets in the universe, decorated with materials that the human race had never seen before. The armor was fitted exactly to their bodies, muscular and tall as they were, it shone even when there was no light to reflect. The metal stopped conventional bullets with ease, but our new plasma weapons tore through them like they weren't even wearing it. Their longswords held an edge like no material on earth could, they would cut through anything and refused to be broken. The swords were so light that even humans could wield them without trouble. They did not have wings but fly they did, with the small thrusters on their wrists and ankles, they could propel themselves to dizzying speeds, ripping through the enemy ranks like a blazing ball of fire, shining bright as the sun. It so happened that the five were part of an elite force within Eloha's army. Most of the others were not such formidable fighters, which is not to say that they did not make the humans pay a terrible price for every small victory.
Looking over the fields from their positions on top of Tel Megiddo, the humans were anxiously waiting for the arrival of the real attack. The sky had become dark, as night had settled in, when the first sounds of war were heard. A thunderclap in the sky, followed by a blinding white light, woke everybody on top of the tel to the imminence of battle. Plasma weapons were spooled up, artillery batteries broke out their ready rounds and swords were unsheathed, with the scraping sound of metal on metal.
When the light had disappeared one angel was standing on the plane, a monstrous looking silver horn in his hands. When he blew all of his air through the horn the sound made everything and everyone that could hear it shake or crumble. The sounds echoed through the valley as a low warning call for whomever might think it to be a good idea to defy the will of Eloha. When the sound had died out he blew the horn for a second blast. As he did this the blinding light reappeared in the sky together with the thunderclap that preceded it. This time however it was not just one, clap and a flash, they followed each other with such a ferocity as if the earth had split open and had started to fall apart, back into the dust that it once was. Soldiers crawled back into their holes, officers trembled with the knowledge that many of their men would die this night and even a general felt a hint of fear.
It had been like this before every attack, the sound and sight of the armies of heaven arriving on the battlefield was the most terrifying thing the general had ever seen, he could not seem to get used to it. When the onslaught finally stopped, the army that had assembled on the field below them was larger than any of the ones that had come before. It would seem that that army outnumbered theirs significantly but how many angels had assembled down there the general could not tell. They did not wait for anything, thousands of Eloha's angels took to the sky. Plasma rifles looked for targets and artillery batteries started raining hellfire on the enemy.
The eyes of the comos were now fixed on this one place. The apocalypse of the universe started that day at Tel Megiddo. The human race, small as it may be, set in motion a chain of events there that would echo throughout time and space. | The foolishness of man was to set of a Tsar sized bomb in the first heaven, but he did not know what God knew. In a few moments in which for the denizens of the universe felt like aeons, there was a loud voice for all to hear bellowing like the thunder in clouds and the roar of a thousand harleys. "Think you can fuck with me?" Said the omnipotent speech, and with a flash of light *BOOM*, the day of judgement has arrived and time has ended, the end. | |
[WP] God decides to destroy the world, but humans are now advanced enough to fight back | After the Maker left the mortal realm behind, waiting for the right time to return triumphantly, man forgot his Maker. He turned to the earth, the thunder and the sun for guidance. He turned to metal and stone for strength, forgetting the prayers and songs given to his ancient ancestors. He turned his back to his Maker, working with a heart of steel, a body of iron and a mind of brass clockwork. He slowly threw aside the ideas of spirituality and humble worship, what he was made to do. Man grew, became more than what he was constructed to do, he forgot sacrifices, he forgot humility and he forgot even the words of God, and without such, man grew proud. And with this pride, came power. With power, came the Deceiver, hoping to turn man to his side to spite the Maker. Yet when the Deceiver came to men, they cast him aside. He offered them all the kingdoms upon the Earth, and they refused. He tried to turn them, yet in the end they cast him down, and unlike the Maker, they gave no mercy. And upon the rocks of Golgotha, the Deceiver was put upon a cross. Next to him, a gentle preacher had been taken as well. While the preacher wanted peace, the Deceiver tried to use this man, as the last vestige of vengeance for his Maker and the weak men, yet it was for naught, for the preacher upon the cross forgave the Deceiver at the end. And together they died.
Mankind rose through the years, casting aside spirits and ancestors for the worship of the One Maker, the true creator. Yet their worship was not in weak humility, it was in anger, wrath, sloth, gluttony, envy, lust and pride. They called for the Maker on the battlefield as they tore each other asunder. And the Maker looked in disbelief at his creations, as they created works of art greater than any of his, they made beauty unlike his. They grew, in all scopes. Their numbers were legion, and their curious nature left no boundaries uncrossed, no idea unexplored. And as the 20th century after the death of the Deceiver and the Preacher came to begin, they unleashed their full potential, twice. In two massive wars, wars that left more dead than the time where God himself had destroyed the first cities of sinners, Sodom and Gomorrah, mankind destroyed more than the first War in Heaven had, and left men cynical and angry. They raged against God, against the ideas of creators. Their blasphemies were so apparent that great temples and monuments were built, not to the glory of the Maker, but the power of man. They created their own gods, made their own lives and led the world into relentless ambition, greed and hedonism. While the Maker was angered, mankind was pleased. Upon alters to themselves they laid down their works, they lived longer, loved more, were happier than ever before. They even left their destined home for another object, even if it was their own Moon, the Maker could not believe their hubris. They were meant to farm, breed and worship him, and all his glory.
The Maker had enough, and he unleashed his divine armies upon the mortal world. The Angels had swords of fire, arrows of piercing light, blessed bows that always struck true. And when they landed in the city of fallen angels, where the ocean meets the sand, they slaughtered the inhabitants, sending mortal men on the run. That, was until birds of metal rained down destruction upon them. Until legion upon legion of men, armed with thunder and fire in their hands, met them. The perfect beings, Cherubim, Seraphs, the Archangels, the Virtues, Powers and other undefined angelic beings of light, were butchered in the streets, swords of flame and chariots of iron were little use against the thunder of guns and tanks of steel. The heavenly host, was shattered. And with their blood spilled upon the Earth, the Maker let lose the hordes of Hell to turn the world to ash.
And when mankind were met with demons, imps, incubi and succubi, horned devils and the princes of Hell, they simple kept fighting. Even when the heavenly host reformed to strike with the demons, mankind kept advancing, sluaghtering dragons, angels and demons alike. The Great Dragon and the Beast came forth in London, and were brought down. The Four Horsemen rode to Rome, with the dead of former wars to strike down the holy city. The Swiss Guard and the Italian army conquered Conquest, ended Famine, defeated War and taught the world that even Death itself may die. Every strike that the Maker sent against mankind was defeated, and at last the Maker himself came to fight, and he did to Beijing what had been done to ancient Sodom and old Gomorrah. That was when mankind, found who was behind the constant attacks upon their world.
Of course mankind decided to do the right thing. They did the same to him. He had unleashed his most devastating strike upon the human race, and he had neglected to attempt to comprehend their force, their sheer curiosity and capacity for destruction. In a bunker, somewhere in the Yunnan province of China, a red button was pushed. And a missile was launched. The spear of destiny, the greatest weapon mankind had ever made. Something that could kill the world. A missile carrying a thermonuclear warhead, flying with great precision towards a single target. A weapon, carrying both the collective hopes and fears of mankind. Only used twice, only used because of absolute necessity. Once more, mankind would destroy something with nuclear annihilation. And when the Maker, the self-styled god, saw that tiny hunk of metal and uranium hurdling towards him in the distance, thought little of it. He couldn't be harmed by mortal weaponry, not by any as he was the Maker. Yet when it struck him, it did not crumple into a crushed missile as he had expected. Indeed he felt something that he had never felt before, a odd, unpleasant burning, utter and severe pain. He had never understood pain, never experienced it. He felt weak, for the first time since he had shaped the puny planet to be his, he felt utterly weak. He ran, retreated into heaven, where he would be able to find out where the weapons of mankind had come from. Who had supplied them? As he looked out from the skies, mankind aimed. And fired once more. And this time, not a single missile. But every missile.
A being that could cause such devastation by force of will was unbearable for man, who saw himself as the epitome of creation. So they fired every last one they could, dug out old and decrepit ones from storage, unfroze some forgotten ones from the inner Siberia and Greenland. And sent them into the eye in the sky. Into heaven itself. The Maker, the god that had made man, could not believe his own eyes, as he saw more of those spears coming for him. He tried to run, yet as he had been defeated once by the hill-dwellers with their iron-chariots, so was he defeated by pure nuclear devastation. His body was split, on an atomic level he was turned to dust. His mind, ever immortal, could but scream as he realized his fate, forever drifting in space as conscious dust, with no mouth, no eyes and no way to interact with the outside world. He had wanted servants and worshipers, god-slayers was what he had gained.
And on the Earth, mankind were victorious. With the mighty Maker gone, the angels all fell from grace, becoming mortal, even human like. While some escaped capture awkwardly integrating with humans in isolated areas of the world, most were brought to prison, many were executed and even others were deemed inhuman and condemned to experimentation, fit only to further mankind's understanding. Hell was conquered, the local demons nearly driven to extinction before the onslaught of mankind was brought to a close. While the gates to hell remained, and the dead inside were simply put in prison with the demons if their crimes had been severe enough, set free if simply pagans or others sent to hell, the place was industrialized quickly. Mankind saw potential for the nether-realm, and used it and its nearly untapped resources to advance the technology and industry of the human world. Heaven, was no more. Nothing remained, a drone sent into the only open portal revealed but a land of burned nuclear glass, with no remnants of its fabled beauty. | The foolishness of man was to set of a Tsar sized bomb in the first heaven, but he did not know what God knew. In a few moments in which for the denizens of the universe felt like aeons, there was a loud voice for all to hear bellowing like the thunder in clouds and the roar of a thousand harleys. "Think you can fuck with me?" Said the omnipotent speech, and with a flash of light *BOOM*, the day of judgement has arrived and time has ended, the end. | |
[WP] God decides to destroy the world, but humans are now advanced enough to fight back | After the Maker left the mortal realm behind, waiting for the right time to return triumphantly, man forgot his Maker. He turned to the earth, the thunder and the sun for guidance. He turned to metal and stone for strength, forgetting the prayers and songs given to his ancient ancestors. He turned his back to his Maker, working with a heart of steel, a body of iron and a mind of brass clockwork. He slowly threw aside the ideas of spirituality and humble worship, what he was made to do. Man grew, became more than what he was constructed to do, he forgot sacrifices, he forgot humility and he forgot even the words of God, and without such, man grew proud. And with this pride, came power. With power, came the Deceiver, hoping to turn man to his side to spite the Maker. Yet when the Deceiver came to men, they cast him aside. He offered them all the kingdoms upon the Earth, and they refused. He tried to turn them, yet in the end they cast him down, and unlike the Maker, they gave no mercy. And upon the rocks of Golgotha, the Deceiver was put upon a cross. Next to him, a gentle preacher had been taken as well. While the preacher wanted peace, the Deceiver tried to use this man, as the last vestige of vengeance for his Maker and the weak men, yet it was for naught, for the preacher upon the cross forgave the Deceiver at the end. And together they died.
Mankind rose through the years, casting aside spirits and ancestors for the worship of the One Maker, the true creator. Yet their worship was not in weak humility, it was in anger, wrath, sloth, gluttony, envy, lust and pride. They called for the Maker on the battlefield as they tore each other asunder. And the Maker looked in disbelief at his creations, as they created works of art greater than any of his, they made beauty unlike his. They grew, in all scopes. Their numbers were legion, and their curious nature left no boundaries uncrossed, no idea unexplored. And as the 20th century after the death of the Deceiver and the Preacher came to begin, they unleashed their full potential, twice. In two massive wars, wars that left more dead than the time where God himself had destroyed the first cities of sinners, Sodom and Gomorrah, mankind destroyed more than the first War in Heaven had, and left men cynical and angry. They raged against God, against the ideas of creators. Their blasphemies were so apparent that great temples and monuments were built, not to the glory of the Maker, but the power of man. They created their own gods, made their own lives and led the world into relentless ambition, greed and hedonism. While the Maker was angered, mankind was pleased. Upon alters to themselves they laid down their works, they lived longer, loved more, were happier than ever before. They even left their destined home for another object, even if it was their own Moon, the Maker could not believe their hubris. They were meant to farm, breed and worship him, and all his glory.
The Maker had enough, and he unleashed his divine armies upon the mortal world. The Angels had swords of fire, arrows of piercing light, blessed bows that always struck true. And when they landed in the city of fallen angels, where the ocean meets the sand, they slaughtered the inhabitants, sending mortal men on the run. That, was until birds of metal rained down destruction upon them. Until legion upon legion of men, armed with thunder and fire in their hands, met them. The perfect beings, Cherubim, Seraphs, the Archangels, the Virtues, Powers and other undefined angelic beings of light, were butchered in the streets, swords of flame and chariots of iron were little use against the thunder of guns and tanks of steel. The heavenly host, was shattered. And with their blood spilled upon the Earth, the Maker let lose the hordes of Hell to turn the world to ash.
And when mankind were met with demons, imps, incubi and succubi, horned devils and the princes of Hell, they simple kept fighting. Even when the heavenly host reformed to strike with the demons, mankind kept advancing, sluaghtering dragons, angels and demons alike. The Great Dragon and the Beast came forth in London, and were brought down. The Four Horsemen rode to Rome, with the dead of former wars to strike down the holy city. The Swiss Guard and the Italian army conquered Conquest, ended Famine, defeated War and taught the world that even Death itself may die. Every strike that the Maker sent against mankind was defeated, and at last the Maker himself came to fight, and he did to Beijing what had been done to ancient Sodom and old Gomorrah. That was when mankind, found who was behind the constant attacks upon their world.
Of course mankind decided to do the right thing. They did the same to him. He had unleashed his most devastating strike upon the human race, and he had neglected to attempt to comprehend their force, their sheer curiosity and capacity for destruction. In a bunker, somewhere in the Yunnan province of China, a red button was pushed. And a missile was launched. The spear of destiny, the greatest weapon mankind had ever made. Something that could kill the world. A missile carrying a thermonuclear warhead, flying with great precision towards a single target. A weapon, carrying both the collective hopes and fears of mankind. Only used twice, only used because of absolute necessity. Once more, mankind would destroy something with nuclear annihilation. And when the Maker, the self-styled god, saw that tiny hunk of metal and uranium hurdling towards him in the distance, thought little of it. He couldn't be harmed by mortal weaponry, not by any as he was the Maker. Yet when it struck him, it did not crumple into a crushed missile as he had expected. Indeed he felt something that he had never felt before, a odd, unpleasant burning, utter and severe pain. He had never understood pain, never experienced it. He felt weak, for the first time since he had shaped the puny planet to be his, he felt utterly weak. He ran, retreated into heaven, where he would be able to find out where the weapons of mankind had come from. Who had supplied them? As he looked out from the skies, mankind aimed. And fired once more. And this time, not a single missile. But every missile.
A being that could cause such devastation by force of will was unbearable for man, who saw himself as the epitome of creation. So they fired every last one they could, dug out old and decrepit ones from storage, unfroze some forgotten ones from the inner Siberia and Greenland. And sent them into the eye in the sky. Into heaven itself. The Maker, the god that had made man, could not believe his own eyes, as he saw more of those spears coming for him. He tried to run, yet as he had been defeated once by the hill-dwellers with their iron-chariots, so was he defeated by pure nuclear devastation. His body was split, on an atomic level he was turned to dust. His mind, ever immortal, could but scream as he realized his fate, forever drifting in space as conscious dust, with no mouth, no eyes and no way to interact with the outside world. He had wanted servants and worshipers, god-slayers was what he had gained.
And on the Earth, mankind were victorious. With the mighty Maker gone, the angels all fell from grace, becoming mortal, even human like. While some escaped capture awkwardly integrating with humans in isolated areas of the world, most were brought to prison, many were executed and even others were deemed inhuman and condemned to experimentation, fit only to further mankind's understanding. Hell was conquered, the local demons nearly driven to extinction before the onslaught of mankind was brought to a close. While the gates to hell remained, and the dead inside were simply put in prison with the demons if their crimes had been severe enough, set free if simply pagans or others sent to hell, the place was industrialized quickly. Mankind saw potential for the nether-realm, and used it and its nearly untapped resources to advance the technology and industry of the human world. Heaven, was no more. Nothing remained, a drone sent into the only open portal revealed but a land of burned nuclear glass, with no remnants of its fabled beauty. | I silently gazed at the never-ending battlefield, full of ruined and destroyed ancient structures, utterly torched down terrain, and only a broken golden gate in the back indicating this place's identity. My robotic endoskeleton constantly scanned the surroundings, just in case one of the Angels were to try and sneak up on me, while I was having a closer look on the skirmish. And it was a sight to be hold. The winged and armed men, once believed to be completely unstoppable, now swinging their holy blades in fury, frustration and helplessness, trying to overcme the orderly, planned out and devastating strikes from our forces. And in the center of it all, an elderly figure was constantly waving his arms around, trying to do *something*. But his attempts were fruitless, as we prepared for the bastard's omnipotent capabilities. We were beyond him.
Thousands of years ago, men and women feared this man. With the slightest twitch of his finger - with the mildest sickness or loss in harvest, they would fall down on their knees and bend to the supposed savior. We gave him the only thing we had - our free will. And he enjoyed the praise. But as he gluttonously sat in his patriarchical and oppressive throne, we prepared for our comeback. When he discovered what we were capable of, it was too late.
As I was deep in these thoughts, a young female warrior, who stood in the back as a reserve, approached me and said:
"Commander, I... I don't understand. This man is all-powerful, and he created us... How could we overpower him?"
The last Angel was falling, and vanished into the white fog that surrounded everything her. God was now cornered, defenseless, and powerless. I smiled at the turning of events. Ten years ago,he almost wiped out our entire population - we had to rise from the dark and turn the tide with seemingly nothing. "It is very simple - unlike God, the man has no bounds. It can start out weak, but it always strives for perfection. It never stays put. Throughout the millions of years if human history, we went from barely intelligent apes to a multiversal civilization, with the powers to warp reality and slay gods."
"But... omnipotence..."
"Omnipotence is worthless when you don't use it for progress." I stopped for a moment, then exclaimed:
"And may this be a lesson to everything in our plane of existence! The man never sleeps! The man never stops! The man only progresses, and overcomes the challenges that the Universe throws at him! And by now, nothing, I say *nothing*, can stop the man in his tracks!" | |
[WP] God decides to destroy the world, but humans are now advanced enough to fight back | After the Maker left the mortal realm behind, waiting for the right time to return triumphantly, man forgot his Maker. He turned to the earth, the thunder and the sun for guidance. He turned to metal and stone for strength, forgetting the prayers and songs given to his ancient ancestors. He turned his back to his Maker, working with a heart of steel, a body of iron and a mind of brass clockwork. He slowly threw aside the ideas of spirituality and humble worship, what he was made to do. Man grew, became more than what he was constructed to do, he forgot sacrifices, he forgot humility and he forgot even the words of God, and without such, man grew proud. And with this pride, came power. With power, came the Deceiver, hoping to turn man to his side to spite the Maker. Yet when the Deceiver came to men, they cast him aside. He offered them all the kingdoms upon the Earth, and they refused. He tried to turn them, yet in the end they cast him down, and unlike the Maker, they gave no mercy. And upon the rocks of Golgotha, the Deceiver was put upon a cross. Next to him, a gentle preacher had been taken as well. While the preacher wanted peace, the Deceiver tried to use this man, as the last vestige of vengeance for his Maker and the weak men, yet it was for naught, for the preacher upon the cross forgave the Deceiver at the end. And together they died.
Mankind rose through the years, casting aside spirits and ancestors for the worship of the One Maker, the true creator. Yet their worship was not in weak humility, it was in anger, wrath, sloth, gluttony, envy, lust and pride. They called for the Maker on the battlefield as they tore each other asunder. And the Maker looked in disbelief at his creations, as they created works of art greater than any of his, they made beauty unlike his. They grew, in all scopes. Their numbers were legion, and their curious nature left no boundaries uncrossed, no idea unexplored. And as the 20th century after the death of the Deceiver and the Preacher came to begin, they unleashed their full potential, twice. In two massive wars, wars that left more dead than the time where God himself had destroyed the first cities of sinners, Sodom and Gomorrah, mankind destroyed more than the first War in Heaven had, and left men cynical and angry. They raged against God, against the ideas of creators. Their blasphemies were so apparent that great temples and monuments were built, not to the glory of the Maker, but the power of man. They created their own gods, made their own lives and led the world into relentless ambition, greed and hedonism. While the Maker was angered, mankind was pleased. Upon alters to themselves they laid down their works, they lived longer, loved more, were happier than ever before. They even left their destined home for another object, even if it was their own Moon, the Maker could not believe their hubris. They were meant to farm, breed and worship him, and all his glory.
The Maker had enough, and he unleashed his divine armies upon the mortal world. The Angels had swords of fire, arrows of piercing light, blessed bows that always struck true. And when they landed in the city of fallen angels, where the ocean meets the sand, they slaughtered the inhabitants, sending mortal men on the run. That, was until birds of metal rained down destruction upon them. Until legion upon legion of men, armed with thunder and fire in their hands, met them. The perfect beings, Cherubim, Seraphs, the Archangels, the Virtues, Powers and other undefined angelic beings of light, were butchered in the streets, swords of flame and chariots of iron were little use against the thunder of guns and tanks of steel. The heavenly host, was shattered. And with their blood spilled upon the Earth, the Maker let lose the hordes of Hell to turn the world to ash.
And when mankind were met with demons, imps, incubi and succubi, horned devils and the princes of Hell, they simple kept fighting. Even when the heavenly host reformed to strike with the demons, mankind kept advancing, sluaghtering dragons, angels and demons alike. The Great Dragon and the Beast came forth in London, and were brought down. The Four Horsemen rode to Rome, with the dead of former wars to strike down the holy city. The Swiss Guard and the Italian army conquered Conquest, ended Famine, defeated War and taught the world that even Death itself may die. Every strike that the Maker sent against mankind was defeated, and at last the Maker himself came to fight, and he did to Beijing what had been done to ancient Sodom and old Gomorrah. That was when mankind, found who was behind the constant attacks upon their world.
Of course mankind decided to do the right thing. They did the same to him. He had unleashed his most devastating strike upon the human race, and he had neglected to attempt to comprehend their force, their sheer curiosity and capacity for destruction. In a bunker, somewhere in the Yunnan province of China, a red button was pushed. And a missile was launched. The spear of destiny, the greatest weapon mankind had ever made. Something that could kill the world. A missile carrying a thermonuclear warhead, flying with great precision towards a single target. A weapon, carrying both the collective hopes and fears of mankind. Only used twice, only used because of absolute necessity. Once more, mankind would destroy something with nuclear annihilation. And when the Maker, the self-styled god, saw that tiny hunk of metal and uranium hurdling towards him in the distance, thought little of it. He couldn't be harmed by mortal weaponry, not by any as he was the Maker. Yet when it struck him, it did not crumple into a crushed missile as he had expected. Indeed he felt something that he had never felt before, a odd, unpleasant burning, utter and severe pain. He had never understood pain, never experienced it. He felt weak, for the first time since he had shaped the puny planet to be his, he felt utterly weak. He ran, retreated into heaven, where he would be able to find out where the weapons of mankind had come from. Who had supplied them? As he looked out from the skies, mankind aimed. And fired once more. And this time, not a single missile. But every missile.
A being that could cause such devastation by force of will was unbearable for man, who saw himself as the epitome of creation. So they fired every last one they could, dug out old and decrepit ones from storage, unfroze some forgotten ones from the inner Siberia and Greenland. And sent them into the eye in the sky. Into heaven itself. The Maker, the god that had made man, could not believe his own eyes, as he saw more of those spears coming for him. He tried to run, yet as he had been defeated once by the hill-dwellers with their iron-chariots, so was he defeated by pure nuclear devastation. His body was split, on an atomic level he was turned to dust. His mind, ever immortal, could but scream as he realized his fate, forever drifting in space as conscious dust, with no mouth, no eyes and no way to interact with the outside world. He had wanted servants and worshipers, god-slayers was what he had gained.
And on the Earth, mankind were victorious. With the mighty Maker gone, the angels all fell from grace, becoming mortal, even human like. While some escaped capture awkwardly integrating with humans in isolated areas of the world, most were brought to prison, many were executed and even others were deemed inhuman and condemned to experimentation, fit only to further mankind's understanding. Hell was conquered, the local demons nearly driven to extinction before the onslaught of mankind was brought to a close. While the gates to hell remained, and the dead inside were simply put in prison with the demons if their crimes had been severe enough, set free if simply pagans or others sent to hell, the place was industrialized quickly. Mankind saw potential for the nether-realm, and used it and its nearly untapped resources to advance the technology and industry of the human world. Heaven, was no more. Nothing remained, a drone sent into the only open portal revealed but a land of burned nuclear glass, with no remnants of its fabled beauty. | God had made a judgement call, a call that the day of judgement had come.
He sat back in his silken throne for a moment and pondered the implications of his decision. It tore him to think of all of the lost opportunities, lost experiences, lost emotions of his creations. But they had grown too powerful, powerful beyond measure, powerful beyond God. And while others may exist in God's image, he himself was the only image he needed to see, he would not be crossed again.
With a tearing of his being, his essence, and his value, he betrayed himself, he snapped his fingers - it was over.
Never once did he consider the moral fortitude that his creations had held.
God was the weaker man. | |
[WP] God decides to destroy the world, but humans are now advanced enough to fight back | After the Maker left the mortal realm behind, waiting for the right time to return triumphantly, man forgot his Maker. He turned to the earth, the thunder and the sun for guidance. He turned to metal and stone for strength, forgetting the prayers and songs given to his ancient ancestors. He turned his back to his Maker, working with a heart of steel, a body of iron and a mind of brass clockwork. He slowly threw aside the ideas of spirituality and humble worship, what he was made to do. Man grew, became more than what he was constructed to do, he forgot sacrifices, he forgot humility and he forgot even the words of God, and without such, man grew proud. And with this pride, came power. With power, came the Deceiver, hoping to turn man to his side to spite the Maker. Yet when the Deceiver came to men, they cast him aside. He offered them all the kingdoms upon the Earth, and they refused. He tried to turn them, yet in the end they cast him down, and unlike the Maker, they gave no mercy. And upon the rocks of Golgotha, the Deceiver was put upon a cross. Next to him, a gentle preacher had been taken as well. While the preacher wanted peace, the Deceiver tried to use this man, as the last vestige of vengeance for his Maker and the weak men, yet it was for naught, for the preacher upon the cross forgave the Deceiver at the end. And together they died.
Mankind rose through the years, casting aside spirits and ancestors for the worship of the One Maker, the true creator. Yet their worship was not in weak humility, it was in anger, wrath, sloth, gluttony, envy, lust and pride. They called for the Maker on the battlefield as they tore each other asunder. And the Maker looked in disbelief at his creations, as they created works of art greater than any of his, they made beauty unlike his. They grew, in all scopes. Their numbers were legion, and their curious nature left no boundaries uncrossed, no idea unexplored. And as the 20th century after the death of the Deceiver and the Preacher came to begin, they unleashed their full potential, twice. In two massive wars, wars that left more dead than the time where God himself had destroyed the first cities of sinners, Sodom and Gomorrah, mankind destroyed more than the first War in Heaven had, and left men cynical and angry. They raged against God, against the ideas of creators. Their blasphemies were so apparent that great temples and monuments were built, not to the glory of the Maker, but the power of man. They created their own gods, made their own lives and led the world into relentless ambition, greed and hedonism. While the Maker was angered, mankind was pleased. Upon alters to themselves they laid down their works, they lived longer, loved more, were happier than ever before. They even left their destined home for another object, even if it was their own Moon, the Maker could not believe their hubris. They were meant to farm, breed and worship him, and all his glory.
The Maker had enough, and he unleashed his divine armies upon the mortal world. The Angels had swords of fire, arrows of piercing light, blessed bows that always struck true. And when they landed in the city of fallen angels, where the ocean meets the sand, they slaughtered the inhabitants, sending mortal men on the run. That, was until birds of metal rained down destruction upon them. Until legion upon legion of men, armed with thunder and fire in their hands, met them. The perfect beings, Cherubim, Seraphs, the Archangels, the Virtues, Powers and other undefined angelic beings of light, were butchered in the streets, swords of flame and chariots of iron were little use against the thunder of guns and tanks of steel. The heavenly host, was shattered. And with their blood spilled upon the Earth, the Maker let lose the hordes of Hell to turn the world to ash.
And when mankind were met with demons, imps, incubi and succubi, horned devils and the princes of Hell, they simple kept fighting. Even when the heavenly host reformed to strike with the demons, mankind kept advancing, sluaghtering dragons, angels and demons alike. The Great Dragon and the Beast came forth in London, and were brought down. The Four Horsemen rode to Rome, with the dead of former wars to strike down the holy city. The Swiss Guard and the Italian army conquered Conquest, ended Famine, defeated War and taught the world that even Death itself may die. Every strike that the Maker sent against mankind was defeated, and at last the Maker himself came to fight, and he did to Beijing what had been done to ancient Sodom and old Gomorrah. That was when mankind, found who was behind the constant attacks upon their world.
Of course mankind decided to do the right thing. They did the same to him. He had unleashed his most devastating strike upon the human race, and he had neglected to attempt to comprehend their force, their sheer curiosity and capacity for destruction. In a bunker, somewhere in the Yunnan province of China, a red button was pushed. And a missile was launched. The spear of destiny, the greatest weapon mankind had ever made. Something that could kill the world. A missile carrying a thermonuclear warhead, flying with great precision towards a single target. A weapon, carrying both the collective hopes and fears of mankind. Only used twice, only used because of absolute necessity. Once more, mankind would destroy something with nuclear annihilation. And when the Maker, the self-styled god, saw that tiny hunk of metal and uranium hurdling towards him in the distance, thought little of it. He couldn't be harmed by mortal weaponry, not by any as he was the Maker. Yet when it struck him, it did not crumple into a crushed missile as he had expected. Indeed he felt something that he had never felt before, a odd, unpleasant burning, utter and severe pain. He had never understood pain, never experienced it. He felt weak, for the first time since he had shaped the puny planet to be his, he felt utterly weak. He ran, retreated into heaven, where he would be able to find out where the weapons of mankind had come from. Who had supplied them? As he looked out from the skies, mankind aimed. And fired once more. And this time, not a single missile. But every missile.
A being that could cause such devastation by force of will was unbearable for man, who saw himself as the epitome of creation. So they fired every last one they could, dug out old and decrepit ones from storage, unfroze some forgotten ones from the inner Siberia and Greenland. And sent them into the eye in the sky. Into heaven itself. The Maker, the god that had made man, could not believe his own eyes, as he saw more of those spears coming for him. He tried to run, yet as he had been defeated once by the hill-dwellers with their iron-chariots, so was he defeated by pure nuclear devastation. His body was split, on an atomic level he was turned to dust. His mind, ever immortal, could but scream as he realized his fate, forever drifting in space as conscious dust, with no mouth, no eyes and no way to interact with the outside world. He had wanted servants and worshipers, god-slayers was what he had gained.
And on the Earth, mankind were victorious. With the mighty Maker gone, the angels all fell from grace, becoming mortal, even human like. While some escaped capture awkwardly integrating with humans in isolated areas of the world, most were brought to prison, many were executed and even others were deemed inhuman and condemned to experimentation, fit only to further mankind's understanding. Hell was conquered, the local demons nearly driven to extinction before the onslaught of mankind was brought to a close. While the gates to hell remained, and the dead inside were simply put in prison with the demons if their crimes had been severe enough, set free if simply pagans or others sent to hell, the place was industrialized quickly. Mankind saw potential for the nether-realm, and used it and its nearly untapped resources to advance the technology and industry of the human world. Heaven, was no more. Nothing remained, a drone sent into the only open portal revealed but a land of burned nuclear glass, with no remnants of its fabled beauty. | One minute, the Earth was there.
The next minute, it was not.
It had never been. And so it was.
In his infinite wisdom, He had understood that in their current state, the Children of Man would have usurped him. So it was that they were to be undone. Indeed, they were to have never been done at all.
And so it was that he razed their past and consumed their future. Man had never existed. Neither had the Children of Man. Indeed, the entire Earth was nothing more than a glimmer in His eye.
She was displeased by it. The Children of Man had been Her fourth favorite children. So She recreated it. And He was displeased.
And the Children of Man watched from below. They had always watched. Earth had always been.
And so it was. | |
Sorry if I did something wrong. It's my first time. ^^Be ^^gentle... | [WP] At the age of 27, after being observed and analyzed your whole life, a computer algorithm matches you with a partner who is perfectly suited to you. It is 93% accurate. What you do with the information is up to you. | 93.
Blue eyes. A soft smile that hides the teeth. Dark lipstick to draw away from the eyebrows. Detroit suburb. Easy find.
She walks home on Thursdays. She stops at the gas station to pick up cigarettes, but doesn't smoke them on the way home. She's lying to someone.
I parked the car on 142nd. I can see her when she leaves the shop. She leaves smiling every time, as if she's happy to go home. She's lying to herself.
Today she bought a sandwich. She's going to stop at the corner before the townhouses; I know it.
This is it.
----------
She isn't talking as much as I'd hoped. She doesn't even seem to be interested in conversation. She keeps complaining about how the cuffs are too tight and that the rope is chaffing her neck. She hasn't even noticed that it's her favorite color yet. *Our* favorite color.
She won't look at me anymore. I know she feels the same way I do. She has to. She's my 93.
----------
89.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, and a crooked smile. Easily visible when he yells at the TV during a FIFA match. He's seen me twice, but he doesn't seem to care.
Maybe he'll last longer than 93. Maybe he'll be the one. | I always knew my childhood friend would end up being my statistical match. Being a believer in the almighty powers of the ubiquitous bioanalysis mating system, he knew deep down that it had to be the right choice. Our long and secretly lustful history together gave him no reason to think otherwise. Everything was lining up just as I had planned out since the day we met.
Today, only a day after his 27th birthday, it was official. He called early in the morning, and spoke of his decision. He told me that he'd arrive on Saturday to move into our new home, just south of the city. Presently, I am preparing myself for what must be done.
The fate of the 27 club awaits my dear friend. As for myself, I have not yet decided. |
Sorry if I did something wrong. It's my first time. ^^Be ^^gentle... | [WP] At the age of 27, after being observed and analyzed your whole life, a computer algorithm matches you with a partner who is perfectly suited to you. It is 93% accurate. What you do with the information is up to you. | 93.
Blue eyes. A soft smile that hides the teeth. Dark lipstick to draw away from the eyebrows. Detroit suburb. Easy find.
She walks home on Thursdays. She stops at the gas station to pick up cigarettes, but doesn't smoke them on the way home. She's lying to someone.
I parked the car on 142nd. I can see her when she leaves the shop. She leaves smiling every time, as if she's happy to go home. She's lying to herself.
Today she bought a sandwich. She's going to stop at the corner before the townhouses; I know it.
This is it.
----------
She isn't talking as much as I'd hoped. She doesn't even seem to be interested in conversation. She keeps complaining about how the cuffs are too tight and that the rope is chaffing her neck. She hasn't even noticed that it's her favorite color yet. *Our* favorite color.
She won't look at me anymore. I know she feels the same way I do. She has to. She's my 93.
----------
89.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, and a crooked smile. Easily visible when he yells at the TV during a FIFA match. He's seen me twice, but he doesn't seem to care.
Maybe he'll last longer than 93. Maybe he'll be the one. | "No No no no.."
God damn it again - 93%. It's like this stupid machine hates me. Everyone I know has been paired with 100% accuracy, which makes sense considering this machine
is built to perfectly match you with a partner.So now, me, out of everyone I'm the one who gets to doubt the person that I'm "supposed" to be with.
- The machine crackles and spits, a new piece of paper it spat out.
"Erro - './<Vo^d>"
"What? I don't understand there's got to be a mistake, well clearly there's a mistake."
The technician stares at me blankly and then smiles.
"Well there's something you don't see every day."
- The machine slowly comes to a stop, the small LED's one flashing and the humming of the enormous computer end.
-There is silence.
We stand there confused for a while until the technician lets out a laugh not out of any one emotion but simply because the situation is so ridiculous there is no other way for him to react.
...
"okay, one sec I'll reboot it"
-The slow humming begins once again and as it reboots and one final message is spit out.
"VOID: NO PARTNERS"
"How could this be? I don't understand there is someone for everyone."
Unless...
The technician gives me a blank look which slowly becomes a soft,sad and concerned look.
"I'm sorry."
He, as I, have realise what has happened.
-I'm the last one, the only one... *There's nobody left to match but me.* |
edit: Wow, my first front page prompt! | [WP] "I may be evil, but I'm not a dick." | "Hey do I know you from somewhere?"
"I don't think so."
"I'm almost sure I know you from somewhere. Do you hunt and kill people for living?"
"Pfft, I wish. It's really just a hobby."
"That's where I know you from, you're Bill's kid aren't you?"
"No, my Dad's name is Louis."
"You have the same twirly mustache as his kid."
"Just cause we have similar facial hair and interests doesn't make us the same guy."
"What was his name, let me think a second."
"How should I know I'm not him!"
"It was like Randy, Richy or like Rondy."
"You... think I'm Bill's son Rondy."
"No, wait, it was... Ricky or Rick."
"I'm going to leave now.
"Wait, wait, wait, you just go by Richard right. Susan calls you evil Richard cause you hunt people and stuff."
"Look I'm going to say this for the last time. I don't care you think I am. Sure, I may be evil, but I'm not a Dick or a Richard or a Ricky or a Richy or a Rondy for christsake!"
"Evil Dick that's what it was!"
"It's not. I'm not. Leave me alone."
| James pushed aside the leafy branches and proudly walked over towards Yorin. "You barely put up a fight!" yelled a hollowed voice that echoed through the knight's red and yellow clad-armour. He then began to walk towards his very distraught and mangled foe, who could do nothing but fight for his breath.
"Now!" The knight drew his dagger and bent over to imbibe the absolute defeat that was painted on his Yorin's face. Any last words before I gut you like a pig!?"
A faint voice crawled out of the dying man's throat "I... I want you to..." Yorin let out a deathly cough as spittle began to run down his face. He then attempted to lean up against a nearby tree trunk. James unstrapped his helmet to reveal a slight smirk that had stretched over his pale and somewhat emotionless face.
He then sheathed his dagger and propped Yorin against the Willow. "Now... Your final words?" James said in a rather soft tone. Yorin found the task of speaking to be a little more bearable now.
"I've always thought that the Richards household were weak... But it seems that I've been proven otherwise..." There was then a slight pause that was then broken with a maniacal laugh from James. "I belong to no household, my friend..."
"But you're wearing the armour of House Richards!" exclaimed Yorin. "I took it from one of their bannermen." James explained as he slowly unsheathed his dagger and rested it again Yorin's exposed stomach. "I may be evil, but I'm not a dick." |
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