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 Not Exactly in the Right Order (but you get my point)

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Kaelynisfree
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PostSubject: Not Exactly in the Right Order (but you get my point)   Tue Nov 30, 2010 3:35 am

Prologue - About Time Travel and its Existence
July 12th, 2010


Time Travel.

I’ve never done it, but I would think that throwing the human body into a hole in time and space would be extremely shocking. And I’m not just talking about mentally trying to wrap my brain around being in one time and then suddenly being in the past. I’m talking about physically, how extreme and painful time travel would be. It gives me more respect to those who actually do it.

Now, I’ve told you I’ve never had the pleasure (or pain) of traveling through time, but there are so many who believe time travel is nothing but science fiction. Yeah, I suppose the notion that one can rip a hole through time and jump through it to get to another point in the past is pretty unbelievable, and I do admit that for the first 25 years of my life I didn’t believe in either. But things change.

I met someone.

Totally cliché, I know. But hear me out, brahs and homies. There’s a reason why it’s a cliché, and that’s because change doesn’t happen without a little push - it happens when you meet people, or new things suddenly pop up into daily life; like for me and this person. A time traveler, well, not quite but I’m going to get ahead of myself I don’t stop now.

Anyway. You probably want to know how this all started, right? I just want to let you know, this isn’t some epic love story, he doesn’t die at end, and I don’t end up a changed woman (well, for the most part). And he is definitely not a alien from Galifrey. I should know, I asked. So seriously, don’t expect too much. We’re only human.

And you know, sometimes time travel is just time travel.

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Kaelynisfree
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PostSubject: Re: Not Exactly in the Right Order (but you get my point)   Tue Nov 30, 2010 3:36 am

Chapter 1 – One Last Jenga Night – June 29th, 2010
It was summer, a bright glaring season, too hot to venture outside; I preferred to spend my afternoons inside my apartment with my roommate, Popcorn. It was after work, and we were both chilling, eating cheetos while trying our best to keep the electric oranges dust from out intense game of Jenga. It was that type of game where everything was silent, besides the occasional partaking of a cheeto. It had to be a fair game because if I cheated, I could screw myself over as well. The only victory was in the win. Of course, there would be no victory for either of us that night.
Popcorn leaned into the unstable wooden tower when the table began to shake, it was slight, but as a biweekly Jenga player, I knew that any sort of movement could topple the tower over and render the game done.

“Stop moving,” Popcorn whispered harshly, as if he could knock over the wooden blocks by moving. His thumb and index finger hovered over a block.

“I’m not,” I whispered back, barely moving my lips.

The table began to shake more violent, the whole room was. Suddenly, the tower came tumbling down and Popcorn dove in my direction, covering my body with his. He yelled something about an earthquake and dragged me over to a doorframe where I covered my head with my arms (you didn’t live in California without knowing your earthquake safety.)
After a few seconds, the movement died down and Porcorn and I dissolved into a nervous fit of laughter.

“Get the phone, call Tyler to see if he felt that,” my voice was shaking from being a bit frightened and also a bit giddy from the surge of adrenaline in my body.

Popcorn laughed, slowly going into the kitchen. He was still trying to regain his balance. That “earthquake” was probably the most excitement we’d had in near to a year. I admit, we had calmed down from our college years and were at that point, trying to survive the job sector.

“I doubt Tyler is even awake. That kid is still on college time.”
It was true, our friend Tyler was still attending school (for the sixth year) and had never kicked the habit of sleeping the day away. I would think his life was pretty lonely, seeing that all his friends, including Popcorn and me, had jobs and therefore had to sleep at night, but Tyler didn’t seem to mind lonely nights and faded days.

“Tyler… is Mr. Cruz here?”

Both Popcorn and I stopped in our tracks. That was not the voice of either of us. The accent was too succinct, and the voice was deeper than a quote from Ghandi. Plus, Popcorn and I were staring at one another and had seen no lip movement.

Pivoting on our feet, we turned to face our living room, where a man in a long coat and fedora stood, his eyes giving us a quizzical look.

“I would think Mr. Cruz is still asleep. His is notorious for sleeping the day away.”

First of all, no one used the word notorious anymore except for those people on “America’s Most Wanted,” we were all too lazy to even think about the word notorious. Second of all, and probably most importantly, this man with the deep voice approached us like he wasn’t barging into are home, acting like a stalker.

He smiled at us and tipped his hat, not noticing the looks of absolute horror on our faces as he greeted us. “Miss Davis, Mr. Berk. It’s a pleasure.”
Popcorn backed into the kitchen, I didn’t notice what he was doing really because I was too shocked.

“…the hell?” I looked behind me; Popcorn held one of the bigger knives from our kitchen, pointing it out towards the strange man in the beige duster coat and brown fedora. In retrospect, I probably should have tried to take the knife away while he was still too confused to think, but hell, I couldn’t think either.

“Mr. Berk, I know you’re upset with me because of what happened, but there’s no need for threats.”

I stood there like a statue, an unblinking statue staring at the face of what could have been my death. I didn’t know what to do. It was surreal. Popcorn’s hand squeezed around the cutlery, I’m sure he didn’t want to drop it.

“Dude, I don’t know you! How the hell to did you get inside?!”

Something clicked in the man’s eyes, they turned from one of polite recognition to one of “oh shit, this can’t be happening.”

“Ah.”

That was all he said. “Ah.” To another man holding a knife.

“I’m not gonna ask you again…” Popcorn said, the threat thick in his voice. Usually, Popcorn was what I described as docile. This new side of him, demanding and reactive, was quite refreshing, although, it didn’t mean that every time we got in danger I was going to curl up like some little comic book floozy and hide behind him, but it was nice to know I was safe from some predators in my own home.

“Mr. Berk, if you put that knife down, I can explain why I’m here and why it appears that I know you. I swear to you I mean no harm.”

That was enough for me to call down. I was all for letting this guy explain himself and his ridiculous costume. How bad could he be, we lived in Marin, California for god’s sake, the worst we ever got were stalkers trying to break into celebrity summer homes and unless Harrison Ford recently bought a house out here, I’m pretty sure this guy was telling the truth.
Popcorn still shook, I could tell he wasn’t going to be able to hold onto the knife much longer before he dropped it.

“How do you know my name?” He demanded, moving around the man to the front of the house to check the door. Popcorn used his free hand to check the lock.

It wasn’t open.

The man cleared his throat, backing away cautiously. “Mr. Berk… Brian. Please, let me explain. I’m sure you’ll understand once I do… I don’t have any weapons. I’m not here to hurt you…” The man opened his coat up and showed us a nicely tailored suit, not a suit that someone carrying weapons would wear.

Popcorn was still staring at the door. “Tina… the door’s still locked…”

I took a deep breath, getting tired of this nonsense. I mean, come on, I know this guy was breaking into our home, but he was sort of polite so I owed him at least one chance. “No shit, Sherlock. Now put the knife down and let him explain. Comprende?”

I stared at him until (well, glared) with my harshest gaze. After a few moments, he finally placed the knife down and a wave of relief washed over the room.

“Thank you, Miss Davis, you always were the brightest under pressure,” Mr. “I’m breaking into an apartment” said while we were still measuring the threat level.

“I’m still on red,” I said sharply as I turned to face him. “So you better get talking or you’re gonna regret ever trying to pop in here after an earthquake.”

He raised his index finger up in acknowledgement before moving to the far side of the room. I wasn’t half convinced, but he seemed docile enough. After situating himself on the couch, he took off his hat and placed it on the table. I gave him my best “I’m waiting” look, impatiently tapping my foot.
“I’d just like to say that what you experienced prior to my arrival was in fact not an earthquake, but a spatio-temporal anomaly.”

He said it like that was the sort of thing we heard every day, but it definitely was not.

“A spatio-temporal anomaly?” I asked, hoping he’d clarify before I began to rethink Popcorn’s knife wielding plan.

“Yes, it was caused by my nanotempocirco-displacement device.”

I don’t think we could even process that word or whatever he was talking about, for Popcorn and I were done.

“Enough with the techno-babble. Tell us how you got into our apartment or we’re calling the cops.”

The man cleared his throat and looked me in the eyes. He had scary green eyes, the color of… well, I didn’t know anything that was naturally electric green.

“Miss Davis, Mr. Berk, the reason it seems to you that I already know you both is because I do.”

Popcorn snorted and said something inane and unproductive. I leaned in with moderate interest, trying my best to ignore my roommate.

“You see, I’m a scientist. I'm callled Gerald Manfield and recently I’ve been testing out my time displacement device.”

I urged him to keep talking through my glare that was getting so ever hard to hold.

“It’s essentially a time machine.”

Crickets didn’t even chirp, that is how stupid this guy sounded.

“You got here because of a time machine.” It even felt weird to say it. “Popcorn, call the cops so we can get this nut job out of here. “

Popcorn finally moved away from the door back to the kitchen where the phone was, but the Fedora man popped up, waving his hands in the air to stop.

“Please, don’t do that I’m telling you the truth. It’s hard to believe, but I’ve met you before and you’ve helped me out on many occasions. But this time it’s important that you trust me at this very moment for the world could be in danger.”

The sense of urgency in his voice stopped us both. Popcorn even gasped.
“They know where you live. We need to get out now before they find you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled a piece of paper out from it, handing it towards me.

I stared at it. I was doing a lot of that; staring. He couldn’t be serious… but judging by the look on his face, I knew he was. I didn’t know how I knew, I just did. I suppose that is what got me into the whole mess. I snatched up the piece of paper and glanced at it. It was my handwriting. It was Tyler’s number.

“How’d you get this?” I said, trying to keep calm. It was true, I was terrible at it keeping my cool at times, but it was the thought that counted and kept me from freaking out.

He chose his next words very carefully. “You gave it to me.” He motioned for me to flip it over. I did. In my handwriting, it said “believe him, or you’re fucked,” and then it had one of Popcorn’s little smiley faced popcorn pieces on the side.

Next, I said something along the lines of “pretend for a moment, that I believe this message and I believe you. What happens next?”
Fedora man smiled. “I believe this is where Mr. Berks pipes up and says ‘The same thing always do, Pinky-”

“Try and take over the world.” Popcorn had reentered the room. “I’ll drive,” he said, jingling the keys in his hand. Fedora man headed towards the door and Popcorn followed close behind. I stayed back a bit.

“Just to clarify, we aren’t actually going to try to take over the world, right?”

I swear the next thing I heard was malicious laughter from both Fedora man and Popcorn, but hey, it may have been my imagination, right? … right?

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