Submitted to: Contest #285

Return of the Time Traveler

Written in response to: "Write a story in which someone time-travels 25 years or more into the past."

Fantasy Fiction

"One cannot choose but wonder. Will he ever return?"

— H. G. Wells, The Time Machine, An Invention, 1895

•───────•∞•Ж•∞•───────•


Chief Minister Cloe Martin stood at a floor to ceiling window in a conference room six floors up from the streets of London. Her spine tingled with a newfound fear that had struck her days before. She was overwelmed with gnawing thoughts telling her she was over her head; she couldn't sleep. The twisting grip deep in her stomach hadn’t waned. From this same window, on what had started as a city workday as any other, she had witnessed a scene like some B-rated Godzilla movie.

People on the street below had pointed at the sky in panic, cars had snarled, traffic had grid locked. She remembered looking up to see a contrail tracing a knife-edged line, much like a rocket’s vapor. But this had been no jet. It was like God had taken a scalpel and sliced the firmament—from heaven’s side. And through the fissured split a machine had emerged carrying one man. The next day, the London Standard splashed Time Traveler Arrives! across the front page. Bloggers were spouting about zombies, the living dead. The stock market was in a perpetual fall. 

And now Cloe watched protesters marching up Portland Place. Some carried signs saying, THE END IS NEAR. Others, REPENT! So far, Cloe thought, NSA has, for once, ignored the internal squabbling and jumped on the rumors and misinformation. EMS has controlled the panic, ordering a full-on police presence. But for how long can we hold? This is not fake news. The heavens did open up, but was this Christ? With one breath at a time, she collected her thoughts. She felt only the man she was meeting with had the answers. If London, and the world, were going to return to normal, the secret was in his hands. You’re a leader, aren’t you? And cooler heads prevail, don’t they? Let Emergency Services handle the street. You girl, keep your shit together. But then the other voice said, 'You're way out of your league. You need to resign'.

Returning to the conference table, she took her place at the head. Exhausted, it had been a long three days, and she’d been meeting all day. She had to focus. Around her were eight members of The United Kingdom’s National Security Committee, and they were in the situation room in downtown London. At the other end of the table from Cloe, slumped in a chair, sat a man no more than forty, wearing a black cloak across his shoulders. He was strikingly handsome, tall, with curling black hair, and he claimed he was a Time Traveler.

Sitting to Cloe’s right, a thick, heavyset man wearing a scarlet cassock with Roman sleeves stood up. He put his hands on the table’s white marble slate, palms down, as if to leap. “Christ,” he swore under his breath, glaring at one of the six wall monitors. BBC News was interviewing a lady in Richmond. She was asking if this was the War of the Worlds.

The priest looks like an angry argyle, Cloe thought, smiling to herself.

The Cardinal turned to the Time Traveler. “Citizens are calling you the son of God. Are you the second coming? People, as people do, assume, no, pray, for the second coming of the Lord. If you’re the second coming, you’ll need to prove it, don’t you think?”

The people pietists are heralding the second coming of Christ, thought Cloe, chuckling in her head at the phrase she’d just made up. I don’t believe this man is Jesus. And yet, who is he? He has emerged, and emerged from what? A man who has fallen through a cut and bleeding sky (Lord help us), and calling himself not God, but a simple time traveler? And he looks bored, checking his nails, like he’s done this before. If he’s a time traveler, maybe he HAS done this before.

The Time Traveler rose to stand. “We’ve talked for some time now about how you’re alarmed. I know you’re alarmed," and with a tight smirk winked at Cloe. Or maybe he didn’t. She wasn’t sure.

He’s had this same conversation before! Cloe thought, her skin crawling. He did wink though, I swear it. But why?

“It’s understandable to fear the unknown,” he went on, “but in time everyone will see they have nothing to fear.” He fidgeted in his chair. “Does anyone have a cigarette? This particular century has wonderful tobacco. Can’t get it later you know. Extinct.”

The Doctor tapped the table in front of him. “You were talking about how we have nothing to fear?”

“Oh yes. Sorry. I’m your first contact, but they’ll be others.” The Time Traveler leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. He stared at the ceiling. He spoke to the ceiling in a monotone, a sing-song rhythm, like a spoiled child to his parents. “I’m not the son of God to save you, and not as some killing machine from Mars. I’m not even a robot from Alpha Centauri to rule you with AI, although that does happen. No. I’m a mortal man just like yourselves.”

He’s English, thought Cloe. The Time Traveler is bloody English.

“Are you from another planet?” asked the Cardinal.

“Another planet? I’m sad to say the only intelligent life we've ever found, if you can call it that, is on earth. No. I come from this very world, our world, and as a messenger of peace. Peace from the future, don’t you see?”

Peace my ass, Cloe thought. I’m a politician, a good one. And every sense I have is telling me; this, my dear, is trouble.

“I’m the first of many,” the Time Traveler explained in a soft voice. “The future has given us unheard of capabilities; the inevitable decline due to age no longer exists.” The Time Traveler laughed out loud but to himself. “I guess not a good time to be a plastic surgeon, would you say? The truth is, you, meaning you people of this time, would solve the dilemma of age on your own, but now there’s no need for scientific discoveries. We can transport you through the fourth dimension to the year 802,701 AD. Think, eight hundred periods, a thousand years each. Why if you calculate—”

“Hogwash!” interrupted the Cardinal. “Are you claiming immortality?”

The Time Traveler spoke distinctly, warmly. “No, it’s true we can die, and I know it’s hard to understand. Think of the world as two dimensions for a moment. Flat on a piece of paper. There is no “up”. But then take an apple, cut it, and place it on the paper." He reminds me of a spoiled child speaking to a parent who doesn't understand the new age, thought Cloe. Like my children. "The apple is the third dimension, but all you’d see or feel is the surface of the apple that touches the paper. No “up” remember? But the apple is so much more than the surface you see and feel, just as time is so much more than the linear dimension you’re stuck in. There is an “up” of course, the third dimension. Time is the fourth dimension.”

Dr. Hillyer, an eminent physicist with the look to match, boney shouldered, thin as a penciled stroke, peered above his glasses at the Time Traveler. He placed his right elbow on the table, his fist supporting his chin, a proud and protruding chin. “So if I understand it correctly, you’re saying there’s no need to invent time travel because you’ve brought the technology back to us? Is this right?”

“Precisely, Doctor,” said the Time Traveler.

Just like Hillyer, Cloe observed, taking in the Doctor. Ever the scientist. He’s thin though, too thin. How’s his wife doing? I need to ask him. Cloe turned to the Time Traveler. “If we go, what will we find?”

“In the future, we have achieved a balance of egoless power, a peace. There is no war, no poverty, no unhappiness amongst us.”

The meeting went on for an hour or more, the Doctor and the Time Traveler bogged down in quantum theory and black holes.

As dusk approached outside The Cardinal abruptly stood up, a tickle in his ear. He strode quickly to the window. My god, what's been going on while they talk science. The collapse has been much faster than I ever would have guessed. The day was turning a deeper blue to black, pink in the distance. Six floors below, rioters spread fires down a wide avenue, many buildings had flames spilling from windows and storefronts. It's just the beginning, he thought. As he looked down, twenty men smashed the windows of Harrods. They slammed at the double doors with rolling dumpsters. “Barbarians at the gate,” he whispered. A group of men beat a woman to the sidewalk. They gathered around her, obscuring his view. He could only imagine, and as he did, he prayed for her protection from the heathen hordes, and felt perhaps, from his thumping heart, there’d only be silence in return. It’s coming apart. The city, and soon the world, will unravel in the loss of time’s direction. If there is no time, does God exist? He shuddered and turned to the Committee. “Come see this! It’s worse, far worse!” The Committee members rushed to the window. He turned to the Time Traveler now standing behind the group. “By nightfall, the streets will be anarchy. That’s your peace.”

The Time Traveler laughed. “Have faith, Cardinal.”

The priest’s face grimaced and flushed, a faith-filled argyle once again. He sputtered. “Are you making fun? They call you Jesus, others call you Satan. I think I’ll choose Satan.”

“I’m neither,” replied the Time Traveler, while tossing to the Cardinal his limp hand, like ordering breakfast. He looked at Cloe. “And you, Weena, what do you say?”

“Weena? You can call me Madam Chief Minister, Time Traveler.”

The Time Traveler elegantly bowed to Cloe and held her hand, looking up to her. “I don’t mean to offend you, dear beautiful child,” he said. He kissed her hand, stepped back, and thrust his black cloak to the side, a verdant emerald belt exposed, shimmering. “You only remind me of someone else a long time ago. Someone who died in a fire, an Eloi lover I visit often in her past.”

The Cardinal’s wide face was sweating. “And when will we travel to this heaven you describe?”

The Time Traveler nodded to the beckoning sky, a blood wept hue. “When it’s dark. Only when it’s dark. Which is soon.”

Dr. Hillyer put his hand on the Cardinals' forearm. “The big picture, Cardinal. I know it’s bad now, but imagine what we’ll learn, the scientific breakthroughs. All leaps in science have been frightening. Why, we could, we could maybe see those who’ve died?”

The Cardinal yanked his arm away. “That’s not just frightening, Doctor. It’s heresy.”

"If we can do it, we will," muttered the Doctor.

Out the window, the early evening waned. A strip of clouds turned a red-orange vermillion. The city skyline seemed to dance in shadows from the flames, and like a drowning sun gasping from the sea, a flare eclipsed the welkin’s curve, the very edge of the horizon. Light slipped the earth, and died.

The doctor put his palms high against the glass. “What are those, meteors?” he asked. Dozens of pinpoints in purple beams streaked the atmosphere, dispersed, then slowed as they neared the ground. A few approached and settled on the street below.

“No Doctor, not meteors, but time machines. They carry Morlocks.”

“Morlocks?” asked Cloe.

“Earth evolves, Madam Chief Minister. Time is like the sea with infinite layers. The motion dips one layer into another, each a separate destiny. When my Time Machine took me in 1895 to the future, hundreds of thousands of years from your now, I found blind Morlocks living underground. They cared for those living on the earth’s surface, the Eloi, a timid race enjoying endless idleness, becoming as children. At night the Morlocks, sightless, rose to harvest Eloi, necessary for the Morlocks to live. For the Eloi, this was the price of peace, and utopia. And so it is for you and yours, my dear madam.”

Screams drifted from the streets below. Morlocks were chaining people, beating them with clubs, herding them into pods.

Cloe’s phone was ringing in her hand. She fumbled to answer it. She couldn’t think, her ears locked in a roaring static, her chest burning. So many people depending on me. She closed her eyes, her white knuckles clenching the phone. She paused as if stuck in time, but as if time sped up, her shoulders slowly relaxed. The twisting grip in her stomach, the tingling in her spine, stopped. She put the phone to her ear. "This is the Chief Minister. I'm here."

Each Morlock was naked in molted flesh, gray and slick like rotting fish. Their heads were featureless masks, without eyes, bubbling white muscle where the eyes and face would be. As each pod filled with half a dozen people, the machines began vibrating, a silver fluttering in the air, and simply disappeared.

The Time Traveler stood behind the group, his lips curled in a wry twist. “You see, we’re out of Eloi people to harvest. We solved our aging long ago, but each day, for hundreds of thousands of years, we go back one day further and reap a harvest. The sustenance of Eloi, surface people like yourselves, is the only way the Morlocks can survive.

“Meat, you mean meat!” screamed the Cardinal. “You slaughtered the Eloi one day at a time, starting by traveling back in time a day, returning with your HARVEST, then traveling one day further back! Now it’s finally our turn!” The Cardinal leaped for the Time Traveler, his hands gripping his neck. They both fell to the floor under the Cardinal's weight. He clenched the the Time Traveler's throat, his hands like claws of hell tightening with all his strength, his face scarlet red. “I’ll harvest you, you, you…”

The Time Traveler’s clothing flickered as if an electrical charge ran though him. “Enough priest?” he squeaked. 

The Cardinal yelled as the charge wrapped him, white sparks flickered around his body, crackling like a live wire. He was tossed violently away, like a negative charge against the positive. He lay on the floor as if he'd just been electrocuted, his face an ashen white, sweating. “What the hell are you?”

The Time Traveler stood up. He straightened his cloak, brushed his shoulders. “Imagine no old age," he said to the group. "But also think about the risk of even walking across the street. What you see in front of you is an avatar, as you call us in this time. A solid and breathing hologram, for lack of a better explanation. The real me is ages away."

"Avoiding death," the Doctor whispered to everyone.

"Yes, Doctor, Avoiding death, as you say, with all its repercussions. As the ages meander through thousands of years, I think most of them are frankly bad.” He smiled patiently. “We’ll leave today, and we’ll be back, yes, but it will be yesterday. Now, about that cigarette?”

The Committee was drawn back to the window. The sky flared against the black void, taunting the fleeting sun.



Posted Jan 12, 2025
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16 likes 21 comments

06:10 Jan 26, 2025

Now this was interesting. In some ways it was quite similar to K.W.Jeter's Morlock Night. I knew little about that novel other than it was about the Morlocks jacking the Time Machine (after killing the Time Traveler on his return to 802,701 A.D.) and invading Victorian London of 1892.

Happily (though I love Steampunk) yours might qualify as a more original (and chilling) take on Wells' classic. Harvesting Eloi. We already knew about that. What we didn't guess was that the Traveler might have decided to get on the band wagon. Perhaps he was secretly a devotee of Swift's A Modest Proposal. I would have liked some hint of why the Traveler turned out like that. As a matter of fact, I think you've got potential material here for an expanded version.

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Jack Kimball
16:04 Jan 26, 2025

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and comment Haakon. I appreciate it. And I didn't know about K.W. Jeter's Morlock Night. I'll check it out.

I think there is a seed of an idea here to expand. I took it to https://www.scribophile.com/authors/jack-kimball
and the critiques eviserated it... But I like Scribophile as there is no holding back.

There's a lot of holes to plug and the prose vastly improved, but hey, one day at a time...

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21:07 Jan 26, 2025

One day at a time, indeed.
If you're referring to a possible expansion of your idea, I'm curious how the critiques (or is that critics giving a critique?) eviscerated it. From what angle did they come? "This is the worst idea we have ever read!" or "Well, this works okay (and just barely okay) but only as a short story. We trust you will arrive at the same conclusion Cavor arrived at in The First Men in the Moon, 'I was MAD to let the Grand Lunar know!'"
Or perhaps (hopefully!) it was only pointing out what you've mentioned, holes to plug and a vast improvement of prose necessary.
I'm suspicious of critics in general (though I do try to consider criticism as objectively, as I hope they are being in their criticism). Too often I fear they are coming from hidden agendas.
I remember a story told of Alexandre Dumas. He had submitted his first play to a critic who, after reading his work asked him if he had any other form of employment. he replied that he was a clerk. The critic responded with, "Go back to your desk, young man. Go back to your desk." Good thing he didn't listen.

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Jack Kimball
01:57 Jan 27, 2025

Well, I think you can see the critique at: https://www.scribophile.com/authors/jack-kimball
which is extensive, but the summary is below:
****
Let's discuss what you're doing well first. I always like to praise authors. First, your story is a really great way to draw the reader in. There's so much you want to know after this, and it's a good hook. Second, you've got a really great pension for space imagery. Your descriptions of the objects in the heavens are really well done and use poetic language that I couldn't dream of including in my writing. Third, the Time Traveler seems like a really intriguing and interesting character. I want to know all about him, and I'm so curious about his origins. Very good job characterizing him.

Now for the not-so-fun part. Let's talk about where you can improve. It's not fun, but I just want to help.

First, make sure you introduce your characters properly. I am still not sure who "The Doctor" is. This has made some of the scenes rather messy and difficult to follow because I don't know who is who.

Second, the dialogue seems a little unnatural. People are saying things that I don't think they'd say. The Cardinal in particular has a couple of lines that seem like a stretch for him.

Third, this is a really gruesome and revolting scene. Men raping women in the streets in broad daylight, fires and destruction littering the streets of London, then Morlocks coming in, beating people, and then hauling them off to be eaten. This is a scene that is so horrible it makes me a little nervous even thinking about it. Yet everyone in the committee seems to be very nonchalant about it all. No one seems to be reacting like I'd expect regular people to react to scenes like this. I'd work on that a little more. Develop the scene and make these people more relatable. I can't relate to any of them because they aren't doing what I would be doing. They aren't saying what I would be saying. They aren't thinking what I would think in this scenario.

Fourth, make sure to keep things cohesive. There's some continuity errors in your writing. Try your best to clean those up so that everything stays together. I make mistakes like this all the time, so it just takes practice and editing. But all the same, now that you know to work on it, hopefully you'll be able to notice it and fix it a little easier!

You're doing a wonderful job! I really hope you keep writing, and I look forward to reading more of this story should you choose to put more of it on here

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06:29 Jan 28, 2025

I thought it was interesting the almost automatic assumption that the Time Traveler might be Jesus, slicing through the sky like that.
Everybody will see they have nothing to fear. But, since the Traveler was the vanguard for the Morlock invasion—everybody did have something to fear. So basically, he was lying (like any good politician. Cloe knew what's up).
“We can transport you to the wonderful world of 802,701 A.D.” Sounds like the Kanemits from To Serve From Man offering free rides to their home planet.
The Cardinal's unthinking fanaticism is portrayed well. Wells had little use for the type, as I think he brought out in the person of the Curate in The War of the Worlds.
The Traveler's momentarily mistaking Cloe for Weena could suggest more subtle indications of the Traveler's personality. There's not enough room in 3-thou to make the best use of this. It needs time for the subtle hint to build to the “Oh my gosh—I should have seen that coming!” moment.
“Welkin.” Almost an obsolete word, glad you used it, though.
“Out the window, the early evening waned. A strip of clouds turned a red-orange vermillion. The city skyline seemed to dance in shadows from the flames, and like a drowning sun gasping from the sea, a flare eclipsed the welkin’s curve, the very edge of the horizon. Light slipped the earth, and died.” good imagery with that! REAL good!
We don't know when your story is taking place, but for the sake of simplicity say it's in the year 2,701. This would mean exactly 800,000 years separated them. And if they're traveling back one day at a time, that means they're done this 292,200,000 times.

Now personally, I don't agree with a number of the critic's evaluations.
[1] I think you've given enough description of Doctor Hillyer. To paraphrase Tolkien, “Now you know enough to go on with.”
[2] Maybe I'm not the greatest judge of verisimilitude in language, but the speech patterns of the people involved seemed natural enough to me. The Cardinal, for instance speaks as a pompous representative of the church, and one who takes himself way more seriously than he ought. Doctor Hillyer is more laid back, the phlegmatic representative of cool, rationality. The characters say things the critic doesn't think they'd say. Perhaps he or she could give an example of how they think these people would talk. Has the critic ever been in the presence of a Chief Minister before? How many physicists have they spoken with? Cardinals?
[3] I don't think your critic has read your story very carefully. Had they done so they wouldn't have written “Men raping women in the streets in broad daylight.” It was dusk—not broad daylight. Moreover, the woman, though attacked, it is not absolutely clear she was being raped. This is assumption, only.
The critic calls this a really gruesome and revolting scene. How do they expect people who believe the world might be about to end, to behave? Why are they so shocked? There's stuff like that going on in Britain right now, I've heard. Yes, and there are Morlocks coming in, and they are even worse. I ask this critic—how do you expect the Morlocks to behave? They're not politely asking if they can come to tea? Is that it?
The Cardinal isn't acting nonchalant about it at all. He seems to be the first one to realize what's going on six floors below.

As far as I'm concerned this critic is in the wrong business. They're a little nervous thinking about what you wrote? That they're nervous shows you did a damn good job. You touched a chord that they don't seem to have the stomach for. Maybe they don't think you should upset the reader. What you should do is tell your story—no matter who it upsets.
Your critic says your characters don't react like they'd expect regular people to react. How many real people has this critic seen? How do they know how real people would react to the scenes you describe? And as far as nonchalance goes, these folks are all part of the United Kingdom National Security Committee. They're six stories above all the chaos. They're insulated, to some degree. Cloe is taking it very seriously, so much so that she has serious doubts about herself.

This statement of the critic's—“I can't relate to any of them because they aren't doing what I would be doing. They aren't saying what I would be saying. They aren't thinking what I would think in this scenario,” is utterly ridiculous. If the critic was actually faced with such a scenario, I can tell you one thing for sure—they wouldn't be doing what they thought they would have been doing. They wouldn't be saying what they think they would have been saying, And they sure wouldn't be thinking what they think they would have been thinking. For the simple reason they've never faced anything even remotely like the scenario in your story.
And this critic has the gall to say, “Now that you know to work on it,” as if they've given you some kind of holy proclamation!

Hopefully it doesn't sound like my nostrils are flaring as my hooves repeatedly strike the ground as I ready myself to charge the Matador! But this critic really annoys me. I submitted a story to the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction once. The only reason the editor gave for rejecting it was that “it didn't go where they thought it was going to go.” Not even the tiniest hint of how they expected it to go, nor what I could do to make it more what she was looking for.
Your critic has at least given you some suggestions and encouragement. They criticize, but give little “this is good—but this is how you could make it better.”

The main problem I see with the story, as it is (and this is only in the 3 Thou length)—is that the Time Traveler is a completely different man than in Wells' novel. The Traveler was fighting the Morlocks and championing the Eloi. Now he seems to be in charge of fattening up the human race for the Morlocks. I can see a lot of potential in this character, potential which can't be reached under this word limit.
You may not choose to expand it. But I will tell you certain plot points that occur to me. The Traveler returns to the 8028th Century, attempting to save the Eloi and destroy the Morlocks. There's a lot that could be done with that. Perhaps the Traveler arrives a day earlier and Weena, not having been killed at this point remains with him in happier circumstance.
The Traveler might explore previous centuries, slowly gathering knowledge as to why the human race eventually diverged into Eloi and Morlocks. Some of the denizens of these earlier times might attempt to get a hold of the Time Machine. The Traveler might even be forced to build duplicate machines. The concept of alternate time-lines could be explored.
But in the end, the Traveler might run out of options. The world of the future might indeed run out of Eloi to harvest. What exactly mental and spiritual evolutions might the Traveler go through to make him become the rather ghoulish individual he becomes in your story.

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Jack Kimball
16:17 Jan 28, 2025

Haakon,
Sometimes I think of bagging this writing thing, and then I get a comment or critique from someone like yourself. Thank you. Bigtime.

“The Time Traveler Returns” is probably a story worth re-writing and expanding. If I do, your ideas should be explored. I love the, ‘forced to build duplicate machines', and also, 'slowly gathering knowledge as to why the human race eventually diverged into Eloi and Morlocks', but also exploring the repercussions of mastering age, for some (which is relevant today).

The challenge, of course, is to write well, and well enough to publish, which I don't think I do. So, improving craft becomes tantamount, and Reedsy is a great community to both write many stories, read stories from others who are much better, and build on craft. Bradbury said, 'Write a story a week for a year (and not a novel). Then another year, then another. Maybe one will be good. ' Zen in the Art of Writing’. Note the ‘ten years’ below.

“The Lake”, a story this reviewer writes, is ‘a work of beauty—a short story of the highest order. It elevates the reader, transporting him to a golden place. It’s about your first love—your first death. It’s a Mona Lisa, set to words. Everyone should read this story.’

“The Lake” was written by Ray Bradbury in 1944. It’s semi-autobiographical, based on an encounter that Bradbury had as a child. He later said that “The Lake” was a pivotal work – the story that made him realize he was a great writer. The story that gave him the confidence to continue. Bradbury (at 2:25 of the video): “When I finished the short story, I burst into tears. I realized that after ten years of writing, I’d finally written something beautiful.”

(https://majorstyles.wordpress.com/2017/04/23/short-story-review-the-lake-by-ray-bradbury/)

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Helen A Howard
10:59 Jan 20, 2025

Hi Jack,

Basically, WOW!!

Many great descriptions here including “the twisting grip deep in her stomach” -

Politicians facing impossible problems
while the pandemonium in the sky quickly spreads to the ground.

Priest looked like an angry argyle. Should that be gargoyle?

I love the notion of the bored time traveler longing for a cigarette before tobacco goes extinct. You have a great cast including a cardinal losing faith while all these “experts” gather trying to understand and pick the time traveller’s brain while he listens and looks on with an exasperating nonchalance. Meanwhile the Cardinal is blowing his gasket!

Then the appearance of the dreaded Morlocks with their terrifying pods. A unique if somewhat unpalatable way to hold off death by the harvesting of others.

An epic piece with fantastic concepts. What’s not to like?

So well done.

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Jack Kimball
20:36 Jan 20, 2025

Thank you Helen for reading, commenting, and liking. Too late to change "argoyle" so I think the Cardinal must look like pair of socks!

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Helen A Howard
21:22 Jan 20, 2025

That could work too. 😩

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Aidan Romo
21:23 Jan 18, 2025

Jack, this has to be my absolute favorite story of yours from a pure writing standpoint. So many stunning eye-catching nuggets here throughout!

"It was like God had taken a scalpel and sliced the firmament—from heaven’s side"

"A man who has fallen through a cut and bleeding sky"

"If there is no time, does God exist?"

"The Time Traveler nodded to the beckoning sky, a blood wept hue."

"Time is like the sea with infinite layers. The motion dips one layer into another, each a separate destiny."

"The sky flared against the black void, taunting the fleeting sun."

You have such amazing descriptions here, it's almost poetic in how it depicts an end to the sane world. The core discussion with the Time Traveler, Priest, Doctor, and Cloe is captivating. It's interesting seeing the perspectives each take on the idea of this time bending individual and the notion that they can seemingly reap all the benefits from the evolution of the future. It feels incredibly true to life in the way they go over it.

Also, what a fascinating character you made with this Time Traveler. You made him feel almost like a force of nature. Someone that we can't understand, and maybe, shouldn't. I mean this as the highest compliment, but it feels like he and this story were ripped straight from the original Twilight Zone.

A great exploration into the conception of time as a construct, and our maddening desire to control/comprehend it. Definitely up there among your work for me, Jack.

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Jack Kimball
18:41 Jan 19, 2025

Hi Aidan,
I did work on this one. The inspiration came from H.G. Wells, "The Time Machine", written in 1895 (I've never seen the movie). The scene was inspired by the story "Nightfall" by Isaac Asimov. Both are gems in SciFi. I think Bradbury also had something similar.

Like you, I imagine, I struggle with poetic prose as I worry the turns of the phrase might bring the reader out of the story. For me though, and you obviously, the turn of phrase is appreciated parallel to the story.

I appreciate your kind words.

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Trudy Jas
22:11 Jan 16, 2025

The sequel! The logical, horrifying conclusion to the movie. Well done.

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Jack Kimball
01:21 Jan 17, 2025

Thank you Trudy.

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Alexis Araneta
16:42 Jan 13, 2025

Ooh, the twist at the end! Splendid work !

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Jack Kimball
21:51 Jan 15, 2025

Thank you Alexis! I'm happy you enjoyed it.

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Lily Finch
04:11 Jan 15, 2025

This story showcases several strengths that contribute to its intrigue and depth:

1. Atmospheric World-Building: The narrative creates a vivid atmosphere, particularly with the imagery of the contrasting serene sky and the chaotic scenes below. Describing the contrail and the pods adds an otherworldly element that captures the reader's imagination.

2. Engaging Premise: The introduction of a time traveller arriving amidst chaos offers a compelling hook. The concept of time travel intertwined with a present-day crisis raises intriguing questions about morality, progress, and the human condition.

3. Complex Characters: The characters are well-defined, each bringing unique perspectives. From Chief Minister Cloe Martin’s skepticism to the enigmatic time traveller and the fervent Cardinal, their interactions create tension and a dynamic sense of conflict.

4. Thought-Provoking Themes: The story touches on significant themes such as the nature of power, humanity's potential to evolve, and the implications of seeking salvation or guidance from external figures. It prompts readers to consider the consequences of their actions and the nature of time itself.

5. Tension and Conflict: There is a palpable sense of urgency and tension throughout, heightened by the outside riots. This external chaos reflects the internal conflicts faced by the characters, particularly Cloe and her blend of skepticism and political acumen.

6. Humor and Irony: Cloe’s internal thoughts often inject humour and irony into the narrative, balancing the situation's intensity. Her witty reflections allow readers to connect with her perspective while adding layers to the unfolding drama.

7. Philosophical Exploration: The time traveller’s explanation of dimensions invites readers to engage with complex ideas about time and reality. This philosophical underpinning enriches the narrative and challenges the characters (and readers) to think beyond conventional understandings.

8. Suspense and Uncertainty: The ambiguity surrounding the time traveller’s true nature and intentions keeps readers on edge. Is he a saviour or a harbinger of doom? This uncertainty propels the story forward and encourages speculation.

These elements combine to create a compelling story that resonates on multiple levels. It prompts readers to reflect on their understanding of time, society, and the choices people make in times of crisis.

Thanks for sharing Jack.

LF6

Reply

Jack Kimball
21:49 Jan 15, 2025

Hi Lilly,
I read in one of the comments your input is AI generated. Is this true? (I guess Uncle AI likes the story though...) I thought the response was interesting though. What AI are you using?

As to the story, this is a nod to H.G. Wells after recently reading his novella, The Time Machine, written in 1895. Morlocks, Eloi, and Weena are all in the novella. The prompt made me question what would happen if the Time Traveler returned in our time, the repurcussions, and especially how this might effect religion. The scene is inspired by the story "Nightfall" by Isaac Asimov, written in 1941 (when he was 21).

Reply

Story Time
22:20 Jan 15, 2025

Hi Jack, I've had Lily review my work before and never use AI, but her last comment on my story was definitely AI generated as is this one. I ran it through another AI program just to be sure and it came back as a match for AI content. It's very sad.

Reply

Jack Kimball
00:09 Jan 16, 2025

Yes, I agree, but I can't believe how far AI has come in two short years. On to the "singularity". I'm sure there'll be many lessons to learn in using it. The problem, of course, is Lily may have simply copied and pasted into something like "Hyperwrite". Who knows if SHE read the story herself.

Reply

Lily Finch
01:46 Jan 16, 2025

I was hacked.

Reply

Jack Kimball
03:59 Jan 16, 2025

I thought it was something like that. Going back and forth with you for some time now, it seemed out of character.

Reply

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