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Post by winddance on Aug 6, 2023 20:29:45 GMT -5
be welcome to take up my story where it ends and take it where it leads you. let's see where the story goes.............
not going to pay big money for a trip into outer space certainly not deep under water glub glub but I'd spend a small fortune for a time machine ride back to a slower past
The actual ride was a disappointment. a naseous sleep interrupted by a bad dream. like that last acid trip where everyone's faces got real ugly. but after the uglies I woke refreshed and the woods are all around me. it's morning here and the forest is just as it was,, alder and fir with an occasional maple. the smell of spring is so familiar, I must be near home. Must check my pockets and make sure my equipment, such as it is, came through with me. candles and lantern, check, pocket knife, flint and tinder, jerky and flour and my stash of gold nuggets, all secure. my clothes are homemade and shoes are leather, check. now a walk to see where I am. soon the track along a small creek gets larger and I can see the impressions of wheels in the deeper ruts. what year is this? behind me on the track I hear a sound.........
now you...
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Post by luvleerenee on Aug 16, 2023 22:57:45 GMT -5
a crack, the snapping of twigs in the underbrush. I slip silently into the sheltering cover of vegetation, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting in trepidation for who or what will emerge. Listening, straining to hear more movement but hearing nothing, I feel myself relax slowly, my white knuckled fists unfurl.
I step closer to the stream, marveling at how crystal clear it is and I see numerous small fish darting to and fro among the rocks.
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Post by sasha on Aug 17, 2023 14:53:38 GMT -5
...Occasionally they rise up from below to snatch insects that have had the misfortune to become trapped on the surface - and It's all so familiar, so like those faraway days as a youngster spent roaming the woods and fields of home that for just a moment I forget where - and when - I am. Or supposed to be.
An unwelcome notion elbows its way into my mind: what if ChronoCruises Ltd. is just a scam? Fifteen hundred bucks just to get doped up, driven a few dozen miles out into the boonies, & drumped? Bona fides can't be that hard to fake, not with A.I. behind the wheel. I'm getting a little panicky, and more than a little pissed, and I'm starting to imagine what I'd like to do to that arrogant little prick who sold me the package when I hear the sound again, closer this time. I turn to get a look....
Disbelief and Confusion toss a coin for possession of my soul.....
(...to be continued !)
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Post by winddance on Aug 17, 2023 15:43:47 GMT -5
looking past a small clump of bushes I catch sight of a small creature standing rigid with fear. I try to back away but in a flash it turns and sees me. As it jumps into the undergrowth I realize it was only a rabbit. Still no idea when it is. I must find humans.
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Post by luvleerenee on Aug 18, 2023 8:07:36 GMT -5
Still slightly uneasy and not 100 percent certain that I haven't been duped by Chronic & gang, I decide to trek along the creek, following the ruts left by the wheels. They must lead to people eventually. The ruts are narrow and left no tread imprints so I am assuming wagon wheels? All I know is I want to follow the creek and head the direction it is flowing, west, since the morning sun is at my back now.
Looking up through a break in the forest canopy, I see beautiful blue sky, un-marred with contrails. "No chem trails either!", I think, and a nervous chuckle escapes my throat.
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Post by sasha on Aug 19, 2023 9:38:27 GMT -5
I hope they didn't send me back to 9/12, 2001, I think. It would explain the empty skies - but I just can't get nostalgic about that time. An idiot in the White House, war on the horizon, & cracks in society that widened into the yawning divisions of 20 years later. I had something more Eisenhowerish in mind when I signed the papers. You know, Dinah Shore & Patti Page on the radio, 6" TV screens showing Ozzie & Harriet, 'burbs made up of little 2-bedroom houses filled with June & Ward Cleavers gingerly coming to terms with their newfound prosperity... A time when kids "went outside to play" - when girls skipped rope, and boys wore cowboy hats & coonskin caps, while Dad went off to work each day, and Mom stayed home to tend the hearth. When a new car cost $2000, and the gasoline to feed it ran 20 cents a gallon. Tail fins, hula hoops, white picket fences. The best of times... at least if your skin was pink, and your last name was reassuringly Anglo-Saxon....
I follow the rutted track up a slight rise and at the top make my first discovery - a power line. Sort of. A wooden pole at the edge of the road, smaller than any I'm used to, carrying just a single wire. There's something primitively TVA about it. The feed seems to emerge from the woods, suggesting the trunk lies somewhere beyond. Anyway, they don't string these things out in the bush for the hell of it. It's got to be here for a reason. So I figure following it is going to tell me a lot about the destination ChronoCruise has chosen for me.
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Post by winddance on Aug 19, 2023 10:18:34 GMT -5
my hunger is getting stronger than my curiosity so instead of following the wire along the road I head into the woods. there's bound to be some edible berries or mushrooms to supplement my jerky. keeping the wire in sight I wander until some huckleberries come in view. gathering a hat full I set my back against a wire pole and enjoy the first meal in my new time. the crash of a large tree falling brings me to my feet.
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Post by sasha on Aug 24, 2023 13:21:33 GMT -5
Still clutching my stash of fruit, I rise and stand perfectly motionless peering off towards the sound. The crash is followed by the panicked fluttering of birds, and a rhythmic series of lesser crashes as something, a deer probably, runs through the woods. But then silence. And the understory around me is too thick to see anything beyond. Stillness, to Eyes and Ears alike. I'm about to sit back down and resume munching when Ears pick up another sound - a little like that of the bolting deer, but different - softer, steadier, stealthier, as if deliberately so. And did Eyes just catch a glimpse of motion? Not a clear outline of anything, but a subtle change in the background beyond the veil of nearby foliage? As if something large enough to eclipse the light shining through had shifted position enough to momentarily block it? And there it is again...
I'm suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable, and want to return to the track I'd been following - but I'm concerned about what the inevitable noise such retreat could betray my presence to, and remain frozen by uncertainty.
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Post by sasha on Sept 10, 2023 16:52:09 GMT -5
(Well, it's been 2+ weeks since the last addition, so I've taken it upon myself to tie up this loose end. I was kind of trying to steer it in this direction anyway - didn't end up quite where I'd imagined, but they never seem to. PLEASE feel free to pick up from my previous entry & take it someplace else - apropos of alternate timelines....)
Finally, just to break my cycle of dithering, I resolve to resume my exploration of the road. But these peripheral images I'm getting are making me a little jittery, so I make a deal with muscles reluctant to move - ("I'll leave as quietly as I can if you do as you're told.") Not sure what the point would be if these vague impressions of something lurking beyond in the undergrowth turn out to be something lurking beyond in the undergrowth - but sometimes you've gotta play these mind games with yourself.
So I look down to work out where to place my feet - ("left over to that clump, then shift my weight over to it so I can get my right up against that tree...") And I manage to execute this maneuver pretty quietly, when -
"Too sorry - can you instruct us?"
I'm so startled I jerk, launching the rest of the huckleberries up out of the hat and onto the ground all around me, like a show-off amateur chef unsuccessfully flipping a fried egg. I stop and twist my head to look back over my shoulder. "What?" is all I manage to say, more by reflex than intent. I stabilize my footing, and turn back towards where the voice had come from.
A slightly built woman is parting the branches and peering out from behind them. She might be in her 50s, pleasantly plain, with short, tousled dark hair generously flecked with gray. Someone stands behind her, a man, maybe the same age, with glasses and thin, wispy hair of uncertain color. He's trying to peer through the window she has opened in the foliage, but can't decide whether to look over her shoulder, or under her arm. He doesn't seem much more robustly built than she. Both are nondescriptly clad in pullovers and long pants that seem more suited for the office than the woods.
She gingerly steps out towards me, releasing the parted branch, which recoils and slaps him in the face. "Too sorry," she says again, to me, not to him. "We interrupt you - our sin. Mine. But our try is find someone who knows the ways, someone who can show us how. To be here."
What the living train wreck is this, I think. Where the hell - I mean when - have they sent me? My mouth tries to formulate some kind of reply, but my brain is still pulling its pants on. "Uhh" is all it can manage until it buttons & zips; and even then, the best it can come up with is "What... who are you guys?"
The man has managed to extricate himself from the brush and stands beside his companion. They briefly glance at one another exchanging A Look, and after half a beat, both start to answer at once. They stop, glance at one another again, and both resume speaking. The third time this happens she makes a curious gesture towards him, raising an open palm level to her shoulder and quickly closing it into a fist. He glares at her, opens his mouth, then exhales heavily, pointedly looking away. She, apparently, has told him to Shut the Fuck Up.
"Who we are travel," she says. Not much explanation, out here in the woods with no idea of when or where I am. And what's with that accent? I have a bit of an ear for dialect, but can't place hers. The syllables themselves weren't too foreign, but the usage was off the map. It made no sense. I figure if I keep her talking, maybe I can get a few more data points, so I say, "Yeah, me too. I was following the power line thinking it might lead to a house or something, but stepped off the road for a break."
Now it was their turn to stare in confusion. They looked at each other and started talking, but not like before, when they were tongue-wrestling for the lead - it sounded more like the kind of verbal shorthand we all use with colleagues or family when ping-ponging ideas back & forth. And I tell you, it made no frickin' sense. I mean, it was English - I think - I recognized words and phonemes - but it made NO FRICKIN' SENSE. It was gibberish. English, for sure - no "j'ene sai qua", no "ich sehen nicht", no "ya ne znayu gde" - no sinuous extended vowels; no consonants coughed from the back of the throat; no umlauts or Slavic consonant strings that would sprain the tongue of anyone born west of the Urals... It was English for sure. Or had been. Or will be. If Shakespeare were to be reincarnated as James Joyce or William Burroughs, it might sound like that.
After they've gone back & forth a bit, she speaks again: "President Julia Krieger...?"
My brain's pants fall down again. What relevance could this possibly have? Might as well blurt out "Mostly nitrogen atmosphere." Come to think of it, how could anyone from my distant past name the sitting United States president? Who ARE these people? Brain seems to be having trouble with the zipper again. So I just shrug. Follow her lead maybe? "Vice President Michael Donovan..."
This utterance has an effect way out of proportion to its banality - it sets them on fire, him especially. Well, a vigorous smolder, maybe. More animated chatter back & forth, then she very carefully says, "Pink Aubergine?"
Not sure what a pop band has to do with anything - and their music is a little cold for my taste. Something the kids are into, I guess, but I kinda like the old acoustic sounds seasoned with traditional electronics. Like Dylan Fernwood's stuff. So I shake my head & reply: "Dylan Fernwood."
She turns to the man who nods vigorously. "Yes, yes! Dylan Fernwood!" Then he tentatively ventures, "Duke Ellington?", though it comes out more like "Dukay Aillingtone".
I can't deny being intrigued. I nod and carefully enunciate, "Yes, DUKE ELLINGTON." Then I add (slowly) "Miles Davis. John Coltrane."
He's beaming now, and she's watching our interactions like it was a tennis match. He says a few more things I can't quite make out, so she comes in with an assist: "Mick Jagger... Boris Johnson... O.J. Simpson... Beyonce..."
I'm beginning to think that this trivia parlor game is some kind of Rosetta Stone, so once again try cutting to the chase. "Yeah, yeah - Princess Diana, COVID-19, Taylor Swift, Tik-Tok, Hunger Games. Who are you?"
This time their consultation is mostly non-verbal. They look to one another, he gives her a little nod, and gestures for her to speak. So she does.
"We assumed once that you were... born here," she began, only a trace of their patois accenting her speech. "But now we think you are a traveler - like us."
"A traveler," I repeat, trying unsuccessfully not to look blank. "You mean..."
"We are not from this time," she says. "We are fairly certain - now - that you aren't either."
I consider this. I'd chosen my attire to blend into earlier times, and except for a few pocket items, I carried none of the more advanced tech of my era. "So what gave me away?"
She smiles. "Your speech patterns. Very typical of late 20th- early 21st century. I am a linguist." She gestures to her travel companion. "And he is an historian specializing in that period of time - between the two nuclear wars. We are here on a cultural archaeology dig. Your presence here poses a bit of a problem for us."
"What sort of problem?" I ask. "And what makes you think I'm not here on a research mission too?"
"Because chronological tourism was outlawed in 2137 - it poses too much risk to the timeline. And it took another 25 years before fail-safe measures could be put in place for licensed expeditions to resume. So unless you're here illegally, you must have departed before then; but of course no earlier than 2033, when time travel was perfected. And since your speech is clearly typical of that time, that's my best guess."
"2041," I said. "I was aiming for a time just after WW II, but I have no idea how close I've come. I was looking for clues when we ran into one another."
She shook her head. "Those early cruise lines didn't have a very good record for accuracy," she said. "As near as we can tell, the year is 1931. You overshot by over a decade."
Bloody hell. They sent me back into the middle of the worst economic depression in history. In mine, anyway.
"In any event," she says, "you can't stay. We're required by law to either detain you or send you back - to our time. We can't have you contaminating this time or yours with premature insights into what is to come. But we don't have the resources - or desire - to become your caretakers. So..."
I can only imagine what kind of shirt pocket weaponry they might possess, and have no desire to find out empirically. "So... it's back to the future for me?"
"Regretfully so," she says. At least rueful facial expressions don't seem to have changed much in the interval between my time and theirs.
So there it is. I'd set out to homestead in an earlier, simpler time, and landed in one no better - and possibly even worse - than the one I'd left. The powers that Will Be won't let me stay here anyway - nor will they send me back to the shithole I'd escaped. They'd alluded to two nuclear wars, the first of which was probably the one that ended with Hiroshima & Nagasaki - and the second was also in their distant past. And if they had - will have? -the resources to devote to perfecting time travel, then maybe they - or their ancestors - were/will be able to get nuclear war and this climate change stuff under control somehow. Might not be such a bad thing to go Forward, rather than Back - gotta be better than 2041, right?
I look from one to the other. "Okay," I say. "I'm game. Tell me - what year did you say you were from?"
She smiles. "We didn't," she says. "But since you're headed there, you might as well find out now: 2206."
"2206," I repeat. "A nice round number. When do we leave?"
"We need to set out a few more data transponders first," she says. "But we should be done well before dark. Sooner if you'd like to assist. But what's your hurry?" She smiles & gives me a little wink. "After all - you've got plenty of time."
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Post by winddance on Sept 11, 2023 22:07:32 GMT -5
bravo, good ending
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Post by sasha on Sept 12, 2023 10:57:51 GMT -5
thanks, wd (and judih, for the up-vote)) - I was a little concerned you might take issue with my hijacking the thread, but after 2-1/2 wks with no vitals, I thought I'd take my chances. I like the notion of a collaborative story, where everyone takes a turn making part of it up - a virtual campfire game. But everyone seemed to have retired to their tents, leaving me poking sticks into the fire by myself - so I took it to where I felt it should go.... Or in that direction, anyway. Once I'd created the characters, they sort of took over and steered it someplace else. And seriously, keep it going if that feels right - either from where I left off, or from where I started.
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