Science Fiction
Many have opined that this topic belongs properly to Fantasy, but following convention, we too classify it as science fiction. From trite paradoxes to tachyonic effusions of phoenix-like prebirth, there's a lot to work with here. We hope you enjoy.
Mike pushed through the door, closing it carefully behind him. It was cold outside.
"Evening, Joe," he said.
Name: Marcus Nills
That field wasn't so tough to fill out. Marcus exhaled and ran his finger down the page to the next section.
The Time Traveler entered Starbucks in a hurry.
There were five of us, the usual. I was drinking a mocha with whipped cream, trying hard to hold the hot cup and not look like an ass. I wondered if I should have shaved. I was going after Jenn, you know, nodding at what she said. I asked, "What did you think of the book?" and all that, and I thought it was going pretty well. I probably should have shaved. I thought my leather coat was good, but just about then I was worrying she might be a vegetarian now, or hate leather or something. Jenn plays all smart like that.
When she left him at the Crossroads of Time for the second time, Darrin didn't start to worry until he'd counted to four million eight hundred and ninety-seven. Then he lost count, again, and started to wonder if Ashley was coming back for him. They'd had another big fight, about the dirty dishes or the cluttered front hall or that curvy blonde he'd kissed on Friday night at the Reel'm Inn or any number of little annoyances that seem to pile up the longer any relationship goes on.
But he knew that in a long-term relationship with a Time Traveler, things got sticky on occasion. Last time she'd dumped him here, she'd come back after a count of about a thousand with a smile on her face. Ashley hadn't shared the joke, but she'd taken him home at least.
"At no point in the past or future will your life have any bearing on anything, at all," the redheaded, twenty-something time traveler with a sleeve of tattoos tells me. "That's why it's okay to kill you."
"Behold!" said Itami when he removed the cover to unveil the device in the middle of the hangar. "The time machine."
Dr. Darren Guillet's eyes widened. The red-painted machine looked like a riding lawnmower. It had a plain looking control panel, one seat, and a large dish to its rear.
Mason leaned in to kiss Andrea. His first kiss ever. His heart pounded and he closed his eyes as her warm breath brushed his lips. He shivered, lifting frosty fingers from the cold porch, hesitating, not sure where to put them. Not on her, certainly.
But it didn't matter anymore because his lips were on hers. A flush of heat tingled his face, every inch of himself like lightening. She let out a soft moan and he leaned in again.
"Jordan, it's over here." Ella stood on the banks of the river.
Jordan descended the rocky slope to stand by Ella.
Pack extra unmentionables. In the future, many women clothe themselves scantily. It is impossible to get a proper foundation garment; most clothiers have no knowledge of whalebone corsets or bustles.
Stay in the prescribed routes. Certain areas of the future are safe for time travelers because the natives try to preserve history by pretending it is the past. Here, travelers can blend into the future with least discomfort.
Nadia woke in the time spiral.
"Time is only a line, a curve, a wave of the hand, and its course is moved," said the man with the silver finger. But that was years ago, eons ago, minutes ago. She no longer knew.
"Professor Thomson, I'm here to save your Plum Pudding theory."
J. J. Thomson looked up from his desk. The stranger wore gentleman's clothing, but they were dirty and disheveled. His deep-set gray eyes sparkled with intelligence.
"I remember dying," my husband tells me. "Everyone I know comes to visit my deathbed."
"It will be nice to see everyone," I say, forcing a smile. I don't bother to remind him that what he remembers hasn't happened yet, at least not for me. We only have a few weeks left, and I don't want to spend that time on explanations. Instead we take a long walk in the rain, huddled together under one umbrella, and then we come back home and huddle even closer to get warm.
Time Travel
Many have opined that this topic belongs properly to Fantasy, but following convention, we too classify it as science fiction. From trite paradoxes to tachyonic effusions of phoenix-like prebirth, there's a lot to work with here. We hope you enjoy.
by Edoardo Albert
"Ring the bells. It is dawn, and this day at least, God willing, we will endure."
I watched the man scurry from the room. The bishop stared out of the window as if by sheer force of will he could force the barbarians from the walls of his city.
"Write this down. Take it with you to Possidius and see that it is added to my Confessions." Augustine turned to look at me. "I want to tell how I lost my son."
Published on Oct 15, 2010
by Will Arthur
Published on Dec 28, 2010
by Andy and RJ Astruc
Published on Sep 27, 2011
by Douglas K. Beagley
Published on May 31, 2011
by Annie Bellet
Published on Jun 23, 2011
by Sam Ferree
Published on Jun 3, 2011
by Ron S. Friedman
Published on May 9, 2011
by Kenneth S Kao
Published on Jul 26, 2011
by Tim Patterson
The first time I folded space, I did so to cheat at hide-and-seek. It was purely by accident, and despite winning the game rather quickly, I didn't really understand what I'd done, not yet. It was several years before I found that I could move through my folds in space, that they were doors and not just windows. I discovered this when I was fifteen and quite accidentally fell through my bedroom wall and into the garden beneath Jennifer Milner's bedroom window. Partly in shock, I walked home two kilometers in my pyjamas. I was lucky to pay for the lesson with only a sleepless night and a few short-lived rumours at school.
Published on Nov 3, 2010
by Tim Pratt
For the musically-inclined tourist, ancient Rome is a must.
Published on Sep 6, 2010
by Melanie Rees
Published on Dec 8, 2011
by Alice M. Roelke
Published on Aug 11, 2011
by Sarah Stasik
Published on Sep 14, 2011
by T. M. Thomas
"I'm an inventor. I had an idea about ways to make light without fires."
"Intriguing. I could be a patron for that, I'm sure. And tell me, what of the foundry you have that's making rifled firearms a few years too early?" He moved his hand while he was talking, but not toward his cup. This time it kept moving, toward the velvet smoking jacket he was wearing. Out of the tiny chest pocket he pulled a little rectangle and slid it across the table. I was just staring at him.
Published on Nov 2, 2010
by Michael Vella
Time is flying and my kids are growing up and I'm missing it all. Before I know it, they'll be adults and I'll have lost my chance to spend real time with them. Isabelle complains that I'm never home, and when I am, the pain in her eyes is too much to bear. She knows my time home never lasts long and that in a few hours I'll head back to the lab and disappear again.
For what? Working on a stupid pipe dream. A time machine. And I never have enough time. The irony is pathetic.
Published on Oct 28, 2010
by Jay Werkheiser
Published on Dec 29, 2010
by Caroline M Yoachim
Published on Jul 18, 2011
