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5 		"Time Slip"
(the forty-seventh ACWclub monthly writing contest)
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Assignment:
Write a story or poem using the
following title: "Time Slip"
2500 words or less.

Deadline:
Midnight (DST),
July 15, 2005

All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent.

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Time Slip
By Colleen M. Criswell
colleencriswell@gmail.com
(Entry #2)
~Winning Entry~
"Just relax," Dr. Jack Bruns suggested. Why is it that all doctors say that, you would think someone who is a psychologist would understand that as soon as someone is told to relax that is the last thing they are going to do. It is even worse when you deal with teenagers.. I was 18 years old, and I knew everything.

This was a big step for me. I had been learning about metaphysics and the occult since I was 16 when my aunt bought me my first deck of tarot cards. I had no idea that Jack was a parapsychologist, but then again he was a friend of my parents and how often do I really pay attention to their friends?

"Just lay down on the bed there," he pointed to the bed which was covered in a thick quilt and many pillows, "the only way to do this is to get you as relaxed and it helps to be comfortable. "

"Ok," I shrugged, trying to keep a whole cooler-than-thou attitude going. The truth of the matter was I was overly thrilled at what was going to happen. I had read about this sort of thing, but was not sure what to expect. I simply sat on the bed.

Jack placed a large, black tape recorder, pad of paper and a pen on his desk in the small home office. I slipped off my shoes and took off my large red fish bone earrings, "So," I asked as I slipped the silly things into my little purse, "what exactly is going to happen?"

The good doctor cleared his throat and turned to face me, "Well," he said in his slow monotone voice, "pretty much what is going to happen here is that you will be slipping in and out of times and past lives. I will lead you through a simple relaxation exercise and then I will lead you into a deeper state of relaxation."

"Like hypnosis?"

"No," he chuckled, "not quite. You will find yourself between stages, neither awake or asleep. Also, you may feel like you are making things up. Like you are imagining things. That is good. When we do this I want you to keep in mind that imagined and unreal are not the same thing."

"Oh," smile and nod, act like you understand what the hell he is talking about, "then you are going to lead me through all this? How do you know you aren't planting the seeds in my mind what it is I see?"

That got a smile out of him. He looked like I had just said the most intelligent thing ever, "Well, because once I lead you to the entrance to each memory, I do not say anything, until I am ready to pull you out," noticing the uncertainty in my eyes he continued, "There is nothing to worry about. There is a possibility, however, you will enter at the moment of birth or death, if that is what happens I simply have you step out of the area and we try again."

"So I could possibly see my birth or my death?"

"Of a past life, yes. There is also a possibility that you have never lived before and you will not see anything."

"Oh," I felt a tad disappointment with that statement.

"However," he continued, "I highly doubt this is your first time around."

I laughed at that, but I was still feeling the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach as I watched him light some candles and dim the lights, "I find that the candle light and the dimness of the florescent lights help with the relaxation process."

I lay down on the bed and pulled a blanket on me, wiggling among all the pillows as I attempted to find some comfortable position, "Ok," he explained, "I want you to close your eyes. I am going to have you listen to my voice and follow my instructions. I will be asking you questions on what it is you see. Answering them will help you reach the level of relaxation and also will let me know if I have you too relaxed and you fall asleep."

I giggled and closed my eyes.

Jack took me through a very nice and calming exercise, helping me relax, starting at my toes and working up my body until I was drifting on a cloud somewhere in the cosmos. I concentrated on my breathing and slowed it to a shallow rhythm. A complete euphoric feeling came over me, a feeling of peace. He took me into a small room. As he had me dim the lights, it seemed like I was looking at an old television set. The colors shifted to gray then black and white, slowly fading out until there was a small pin prick of light. However there was one large flash of sepia before it faded to complete black, and in that moment I saw something I considered very strange. A charcoal, long haired, Persian cat. Just the face of this cat. Then nothingness.

"I want you to turn around," Jack's voice came out of the darkness, "and I want you to picture the doors to an elevator. Describe them for me."

"They are gray doors, like primer paint. There is a button, it is glowing a green color."

"Go ahead and push the button."

I watched my hand reach out to push the button. The doors slowly opened and Jack told me to step inside and describe, again, what it was that I saw.

"It is lined with red velvet on the walls, like a theatre curtain," I glanced around the small area, "there is a panel with a bunch of buttons on it. They are all glowing green like the other one."

He told me to push a button, any button. When I did, I watched the doors close shut and I could actually feel the elevator moving, that sudden jerk when it started and the motion of the machine. I described how it felt to Jack, the elevator seemed to feel as if it were moving up and over to the left, in an almost diagonal way. Finally after a few moments the elevator came to a stop. I watched the doors open and I stepped out.

I walked out and could feel leaves crunching under my feet. I could smell a fire, but I could not see anything.

"I know I am walking on a path," I said, "I think I am going home."

"Do you know what year it is?"

"1819," I simply stated.

"What is your name?"

I thought about it, but nothing came to me, "I do not know."

"Where are you?"

"On a path. I think it is the country, it feels like that is right. I cannot see anything, but I smell fires and feel leaves under me, so I am guessing it is fall?"

"Do you sense anything?"

"Cats, " I said plainly, "there is a big orange tabby cat in my lap."

I was now sitting in a chair, holding a cat, I could feel it but not see it. I knew it was orange though. I could hear the crackling of a fire and feel the heat on the left side of my face.

"I do not think there is anything interesting here," I said simply.

"Ok, get up and find your elevator," he said.

I did as I was told and Jack had me press another button. This time I felt the elevator going left. I could feel the pull of it as it speed through to wherever it would take me next. Again it stopped suddenly and the doors opened.

I was standing on the bank of a small river. I could smell dead fish. There were cats circling my ankles.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked.

"I am not sure. I think I am supposed to be getting water, but I am not at the well," I could see that I was wearing something blue. I looked into the water and a stranger looked back at me.

"Describe what you see," Dr. Bruns prompted again.

"Well," I said staring at the reflection,"I have dark hair, it is in a twist. I am wearing a blue dress," I felt the flimsy material, "well no, it is like a toga almost, I am not sure what to call it. It is blue and kind of like silky. I think I am dressed up for some reason. That I am trying to attract someone."

I glanced around the area and my eyes caught hold of what I took to be a soldier. He seemed to stand out from the rest. I waved at him, he simply nodded. The seen around me changed suddenly and I saw the man again, yet this time he was with another woman, I felt like it was a friend of mine, but I could not be sure. I felt myself get depressed suddenly, my heart felt like it broke and I could feel the tears in the back of my throat. Quickly the scene changed again and I saw myself standing next to another man, he wore a different type of uniform. I felt like I was doing something evil. Sleeping with the enemy to get back at the one who wronged me. I was looking for a weapon, to use on myself.

"Turn around," I heard the familiar voice, "walk back into the elevator."

I turned and saw it and slipped inside. Dr. Bruns then instructed me to find a red button. When I did so, he told me to ride with the elevator, feel the motion as I rode. This time I felt it moving down, like a normal elevator. When I reached the stop, the doors opened and Jack had me open my eyes.

"I think that we had a good session slipping through time," he said cheerfully, "it looks like you have had some interesting past lives. It would be interesting to explore them more."

I agreed and thanked him, I was a little shaky over the whole thing, and my drive home seemed long. Dr. Bruns and I had a few more sessions after that, with different degrees of success, however he did teach me how to lead the meditations and how to regress people myself.

I was off to college now, and wanting to try my new skill. I had met a few friends who had an interest in the idea of regression. I never spoke about my experiences with Dr. Bruns and played off what I was doing more of a sleep-over game, than anything real. I kept in mind what Dr. Bruns had said that first time. Imagined and unreal are not the same thing. In a way I felt I was testing what he had taught me. Testing if it really happened or if I was making it up in my mind. Were the sights I saw, the things I felt, the smells the sounds... were they true memories or simply the affects of an over worked imagination?

One of my friends, Nathan was his name, was very interested in what I did. He would have me read his tarot cards or palm, on a nightly basis if I let him. When I explained the idea of past life regressions he was very excited.

Nate and I had a few sessions together, and though he tried to get me to tell him my experiences as well as the experiences of some of the other people I regressed, I chose not to. I always had felt that these were private. That was until the last regression I did with Nate.

"I am in a small town," he said as I sat next to him in the cramped dorm room, "I think it is Greece, from the buildings, it looks like Greece, maybe Rome."

"Look around and what do you see?" I could feel the butterflies from my first regression come back to me as he described the same town I saw.

"Hey," he said, his voice got strange, "you are here."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are standing by the stream," he explained, "It doesn't look like you, you have black hair and not red. You are also taller, I think. You are wearing a blue silky thing, and there are cats all around your feet, probably trying to get the fish that are in the baskets nearby. You waved at me."

At that point I had Nate return to the elevator. I made him leave the vision.

I have not regressed anyone since then. I chose not to tell Nate of our connection, for fear that he would think I was making it up. I have figured out that we seem to make connections with certain people in our lives, and possibly we stay connected to them in the next and the next. Slipping through time together, wondering if our paths will cross again.

Whenever I think back to that time, the song from Rocky Horror Picture Show comes to mind. With a bit of a mind flip, you are in for a time slip, and nothing will ever be the same. Now that I know, nothing will ever be the same. Would I kill myself over Nate? No, I do not think so. I guess history does not repeat itself. As for the significance of the cat, well that is still unclear. In every life a cat seemed to follow me or be present. Possibly it was my animal guide, there to protect me as I slipped in and out of a new life. Maybe it explains my fondness for the creature. Fear keeps me from regressing more, afraid of whom I may have hurt or who hurt me. It is hard for anyone else to understand how it feels, unless they have experienced it themselves.

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Time Slip
By lee10@host365.com
(Entry #9)
~Runner Up~
In front of the mirror, a young girl peeped out from behind Vera's eyes. She smiled as Vera rubbed a little rouge onto her wrinkled cheeks. That done, Vera carefully pinned together the ruffles at the neck of her blouse with the old cameo brooch she'd inherited from her mother fifty years ago. Looking at her image, she tugged the brooch into place at her throat where it nestled, as it did every day, blue against the soft white folds. The girl smiled to see that the colour of the brooch still picked out the colour of her eyes.

The girl urged, go on, now a bit of lipstick. Vera smiled at her reflection. Yes, she agreed, a little lipstick would not go amiss.

As Vera outlined her lips in pretty pink the girl watched and waited, eager to be off on the trip into town.

There. How's that? Vera turned, checking her image and finishing it off with a little brown hat, settled just so onto grey curls.

That had been yesterday. The shopping trip had been brief, cut short by Vera's annual visit to her doctor for a well-woman check-up.

For a thousand mile service, the girl had suggested, her laughter tumbling through Vera's mind as they'd left the house.

Today, the girl has gone. Grey-blue eyes shine through a film of tears. With difficulty, Vera's old fingers fumble at her throat, pinning the brooch to folds soiled by the previous day's wear. She pats on too much rouge, haphazardly, unhealthy bright spots on cupie-doll cheeks.

She can't see her reflection for the small, silver tears that brim at the corners of her eyes, then spill over as the doctor's words, spoken so gently yesterday, finally overwhelm her.


The WCA's
The Writers' Choice Awards
Here's how the members of the ACWclub voted for their favorite entries:

First place (tie):
#1, #2, #10

Second place:
#9

Third place:
#5

Others receiving votes:
#7, #8

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Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.


Time Slip
P.S.Gifford
psgifford@earthlink.net		 #1 of 10
1310
My wife Sarah, and I and I awoke simultaneously within the timeless beauty of our historical hotel room. We had spent the night in a building that was originally built in the 16th century- As a nunnery-Eerie and haunting yet fascinating. We had laid there examining the low beams painted in the traditional black. I began to envision all the remarkable events that must have occurred within these four walls…

The Inn was penned the “Black Buoy inn” all those decades ago and no one quite knows why it bears such a peculiar name. One prominent theory for the However supposed that the infamous Black Prince stayed there during the early 1600’s.

The building it self is contained within the actual castle walls of Caernafon- As is the entire quaint ancient town. The castle dates back to 1283 and the day before I had ran my fingers gently over the ancient stones exploring every ancient nook-One could only imagine just how many folks had also done the same over the centuries.

I put my arm tighter around Sarah.

“So, today is the day we take the train up to the peak of Snowdon!” I chirped enthusiastically.

“Snowdon?” my wife replied rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Yes Snowdon it is the highest mountain peek within the United Kingdom-3560 feet. It is the oldest running railway system in the world. It is also one of the steepest rides.…” I informed….Remembering almost word for word from my Frommers travel guide…

Sarah sighed in vague recognition.

In the corner of the shabby room our son, Jonathan still slept soundly. I pulled myself off the antique four poster bed onto the faded red carpet and the floorboards creaking ominously beneath my weight. I yawned as I started the tea maker.

***

Twenty minutes later, at a remarkable 6:30 on a surprisingly clear and sunny morning we were poised in our rental car…Ready to commence the drive to llanberris-where the station perches picturesquely. I am not known as the best navigator and besides I reasoned if we get there early enough we were sure to discover a place to enjoy a steaming mug of tea and a bacon sandwich, right in the foothills of some of the most splendid scenery anywhere.

As we pulled Into the deserted station I looked at my watch-7:15- The first train was not scheduled until 9:00. We parked the car in the deserted parking lot and decided that we would fill the time by exploring the immediate area. Surely within the hour this sleepy town would start coming to life we thought.

While we peered at the station we were greeted by an amazing smell-Steam. Steam was still the power of choice for climbing the steep ascension of Snowdon. Many of the trains still dated to the late 19th century. Suddenly I spied it a lovely engine in a deep hue of red slowly pulling into the station. I could not resist taking a closer peek so we enthusiastically jumped over the fence-Sarah with admitted reluctance, to explore. I saw the engineer dutifully pumping coal into the magnificent polished boiler. I examined his clothes with curiosity which were precisely as one would have expected; a shabby gray woolen coat donned over a pair of faded blue slacks.

I read the name proudly displayed on the front of the red engine- “Evan’s glory”, and as I was considering the glorious possibilities as to who Evan might have been, we were greeted with an unexpected cry.

“Come aboard!”

I looked up straight into the blue eyes of a beaming gray haired and bearded man.

“Come aboard” he echoed. His voice despite being deep and gruff still contained resounding warmth.

Not believing our luck I hastily corralled the family into the one and only carriage behind the engine and comfortably relaxed into the well worn wooden seats. Within a matter of moments the steam engine started to shake and squeal alive and slowly started to move - our remarkable journey had begun!

As we shunted slowly out of the station I took in a deep breathe of the gloriously fragranced air. One of the great delights is that inexplicable array of aromas delicately creating that early morning mountain air. I greedily inhaled once more, pulling my jacket a little more snugly around me.

Jonathan was now starting to finally fully wake up and I watched with delight as his young eyes and ears devoured the sights and sounds presented to him. I could envisage his young imagination being thrown into overdrive. Memories being deeply etched- Memories that will last his lifetime.

Grasping my wife’s hand tightly I laid my head back and simply enjoyed the moment. In front of us ancient walls and long houses long since abandoned dotted the green countryside. And In every direction I studied an abundance of sheep frolicked as they grazed. Idyllic I mused to myself. The expression on Sarah’s face could not fail to reveal that she had similar sentiments.

The train, as it climbed almost, felt as if was slipping back in time.

It took almost two hours for us to finally arrive at the peak and despite the day being clear and bright down below a heavy mist was shrouded the summit. We clambered out of our carriage into the crisp clean mountain- air alas Visibility was non existent…

Just below the peak a gift shop sat along with a small cafeteria and I was momentarily hopeful of a steaming hot cup of tea. But we discovered that it did not open for another forty-five minutes so we decided to climb to the very highest peak and simply sit there and absorb the beauty. The intense quiet was remarkable and we contently daydreamed the time away .We were Relaxed and all of our troubles and stresses of city life were gradually being released…

Our solitude was suddenly interrupted as a second train descended the mountain. I looked for “Evans Glory” yet it was no where to be seen ‘It Must have gone back down the mountain’ I reasoned.

About a dozen folks climbed out of the carriage-this train had been a diesel and the fresh mountain air was momentarily obscured by the distinct smell of burning fuel.

It was apparent that these folks were the workers of the café and gift shop and We walked on over to them.

A tall stocky young man looked up at us evidently startled.

“You must have started out bloody early to climb to the peak at such an early hour” .He spoke with a lovely strong welsh accent and his words seemed almost musical as they flowed.

I too now was startled.

“Oh no! We came up on the old steam train- Evans Glory .We have been here almost an hour.

The stranger’s eyes opened to a surprising size as a look of horror overcame him.

“Evans glory you say?” The words now seemed as cold as the mountain air “But that’s quite impossible. Evans Glory was one of the first engines to make it to the top over a hundred and fifty years ago. It was tragic though as on its descent one morning it lost its brakes.

He shook his head and continued to speak in a whisper.

“Sped off the tracks she did Smashing into a thousand pieces.” He paused for a moment then finally continued…

“Everyone was killed.”

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Time Slip
Colleen M. Criswell
colleencriswell@gmail.com		 #2 of 10
Winner
2363
"Just relax," Dr. Jack Bruns suggested. Why is it that all doctors say that, you would think someone who is a psychologist would understand that as soon as someone is told to relax that is the last thing they are going to do. It is even worse when you deal with teenagers.. I was 18 years old, and I knew everything.

This was a big step for me. I had been learning about metaphysics and the occult since I was 16 when my aunt bought me my first deck of tarot cards. I had no idea that Jack was a parapsychologist, but then again he was a friend of my parents and how often do I really pay attention to their friends?

"Just lay down on the bed there," he pointed to the bed which was covered in a thick quilt and many pillows, "the only way to do this is to get you as relaxed and it helps to be comfortable. "

"Ok," I shrugged, trying to keep a whole cooler-than-thou attitude going. The truth of the matter was I was overly thrilled at what was going to happen. I had read about this sort of thing, but was not sure what to expect. I simply sat on the bed.

Jack placed a large, black tape recorder, pad of paper and a pen on his desk in the small home office. I slipped off my shoes and took off my large red fish bone earrings, "So," I asked as I slipped the silly things into my little purse, "what exactly is going to happen?"

The good doctor cleared his throat and turned to face me, "Well," he said in his slow monotone voice, "pretty much what is going to happen here is that you will be slipping in and out of times and past lives. I will lead you through a simple relaxation exercise and then I will lead you into a deeper state of relaxation."

"Like hypnosis?"

"No," he chuckled, "not quite. You will find yourself between stages, neither awake or asleep. Also, you may feel like you are making things up. Like you are imagining things. That is good. When we do this I want you to keep in mind that imagined and unreal are not the same thing."

"Oh," smile and nod, act like you understand what the hell he is talking about, "then you are going to lead me through all this? How do you know you aren't planting the seeds in my mind what it is I see?"

That got a smile out of him. He looked like I had just said the most intelligent thing ever, "Well, because once I lead you to the entrance to each memory, I do not say anything, until I am ready to pull you out," noticing the uncertainty in my eyes he continued, "There is nothing to worry about. There is a possibility, however, you will enter at the moment of birth or death, if that is what happens I simply have you step out of the area and we try again."

"So I could possibly see my birth or my death?"

"Of a past life, yes. There is also a possibility that you have never lived before and you will not see anything."

"Oh," I felt a tad disappointment with that statement.

"However," he continued, "I highly doubt this is your first time around."

I laughed at that, but I was still feeling the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach as I watched him light some candles and dim the lights, "I find that the candle light and the dimness of the florescent lights help with the relaxation process."

I lay down on the bed and pulled a blanket on me, wiggling among all the pillows as I attempted to find some comfortable position, "Ok," he explained, "I want you to close your eyes. I am going to have you listen to my voice and follow my instructions. I will be asking you questions on what it is you see. Answering them will help you reach the level of relaxation and also will let me know if I have you too relaxed and you fall asleep."

I giggled and closed my eyes.

Jack took me through a very nice and calming exercise, helping me relax, starting at my toes and working up my body until I was drifting on a cloud somewhere in the cosmos. I concentrated on my breathing and slowed it to a shallow rhythm. A complete euphoric feeling came over me, a feeling of peace. He took me into a small room. As he had me dim the lights, it seemed like I was looking at an old television set. The colors shifted to gray then black and white, slowly fading out until there was a small pin prick of light. However there was one large flash of sepia before it faded to complete black, and in that moment I saw something I considered very strange. A charcoal, long haired, Persian cat. Just the face of this cat. Then nothingness.

"I want you to turn around," Jack's voice came out of the darkness, "and I want you to picture the doors to an elevator. Describe them for me."

"They are gray doors, like primer paint. There is a button, it is glowing a green color."

"Go ahead and push the button."

I watched my hand reach out to push the button. The doors slowly opened and Jack told me to step inside and describe, again, what it was that I saw.

"It is lined with red velvet on the walls, like a theatre curtain," I glanced around the small area, "there is a panel with a bunch of buttons on it. They are all glowing green like the other one."

He told me to push a button, any button. When I did, I watched the doors close shut and I could actually feel the elevator moving, that sudden jerk when it started and the motion of the machine. I described how it felt to Jack, the elevator seemed to feel as if it were moving up and over to the left, in an almost diagonal way. Finally after a few moments the elevator came to a stop. I watched the doors open and I stepped out.

I walked out and could feel leaves crunching under my feet. I could smell a fire, but I could not see anything.

"I know I am walking on a path," I said, "I think I am going home."

"Do you know what year it is?"

"1819," I simply stated.

"What is your name?"

I thought about it, but nothing came to me, "I do not know."

"Where are you?"

"On a path. I think it is the country, it feels like that is right. I cannot see anything, but I smell fires and feel leaves under me, so I am guessing it is fall?"

"Do you sense anything?"

"Cats, " I said plainly, "there is a big orange tabby cat in my lap."

I was now sitting in a chair, holding a cat, I could feel it but not see it. I knew it was orange though. I could hear the crackling of a fire and feel the heat on the left side of my face.

"I do not think there is anything interesting here," I said simply.

"Ok, get up and find your elevator," he said.

I did as I was told and Jack had me press another button. This time I felt the elevator going left. I could feel the pull of it as it speed through to wherever it would take me next. Again it stopped suddenly and the doors opened.

I was standing on the bank of a small river. I could smell dead fish. There were cats circling my ankles.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked.

"I am not sure. I think I am supposed to be getting water, but I am not at the well," I could see that I was wearing something blue. I looked into the water and a stranger looked back at me.

"Describe what you see," Dr. Bruns prompted again.

"Well," I said staring at the reflection,"I have dark hair, it is in a twist. I am wearing a blue dress," I felt the flimsy material, "well no, it is like a toga almost, I am not sure what to call it. It is blue and kind of like silky. I think I am dressed up for some reason. That I am trying to attract someone."

I glanced around the area and my eyes caught hold of what I took to be a soldier. He seemed to stand out from the rest. I waved at him, he simply nodded. The seen around me changed suddenly and I saw the man again, yet this time he was with another woman, I felt like it was a friend of mine, but I could not be sure. I felt myself get depressed suddenly, my heart felt like it broke and I could feel the tears in the back of my throat. Quickly the scene changed again and I saw myself standing next to another man, he wore a different type of uniform. I felt like I was doing something evil. Sleeping with the enemy to get back at the one who wronged me. I was looking for a weapon, to use on myself.

"Turn around," I heard the familiar voice, "walk back into the elevator."

I turned and saw it and slipped inside. Dr. Bruns then instructed me to find a red button. When I did so, he told me to ride with the elevator, feel the motion as I rode. This time I felt it moving down, like a normal elevator. When I reached the stop, the doors opened and Jack had me open my eyes.

"I think that we had a good session slipping through time," he said cheerfully, "it looks like you have had some interesting past lives. It would be interesting to explore them more."

I agreed and thanked him, I was a little shaky over the whole thing, and my drive home seemed long. Dr. Bruns and I had a few more sessions after that, with different degrees of success, however he did teach me how to lead the meditations and how to regress people myself.

I was off to college now, and wanting to try my new skill. I had met a few friends who had an interest in the idea of regression. I never spoke about my experiences with Dr. Bruns and played off what I was doing more of a sleep-over game, than anything real. I kept in mind what Dr. Bruns had said that first time. Imagined and unreal are not the same thing. In a way I felt I was testing what he had taught me. Testing if it really happened or if I was making it up in my mind. Were the sights I saw, the things I felt, the smells the sounds... were they true memories or simply the affects of an over worked imagination?

One of my friends, Nathan was his name, was very interested in what I did. He would have me read his tarot cards or palm, on a nightly basis if I let him. When I explained the idea of past life regressions he was very excited.

Nate and I had a few sessions together, and though he tried to get me to tell him my experiences as well as the experiences of some of the other people I regressed, I chose not to. I always had felt that these were private. That was until the last regression I did with Nate.

"I am in a small town," he said as I sat next to him in the cramped dorm room, "I think it is Greece, from the buildings, it looks like Greece, maybe Rome."

"Look around and what do you see?" I could feel the butterflies from my first regression come back to me as he described the same town I saw.

"Hey," he said, his voice got strange, "you are here."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are standing by the stream," he explained, "It doesn't look like you, you have black hair and not red. You are also taller, I think. You are wearing a blue silky thing, and there are cats all around your feet, probably trying to get the fish that are in the baskets nearby. You waved at me."

At that point I had Nate return to the elevator. I made him leave the vision.

I have not regressed anyone since then. I chose not to tell Nate of our connection, for fear that he would think I was making it up. I have figured out that we seem to make connections with certain people in our lives, and possibly we stay connected to them in the next and the next. Slipping through time together, wondering if our paths will cross again.

Whenever I think back to that time, the song from Rocky Horror Picture Show comes to mind. With a bit of a mind flip, you are in for a time slip, and nothing will ever be the same. Now that I know, nothing will ever be the same. Would I kill myself over Nate? No, I do not think so. I guess history does not repeat itself. As for the significance of the cat, well that is still unclear. In every life a cat seemed to follow me or be present. Possibly it was my animal guide, there to protect me as I slipped in and out of a new life. Maybe it explains my fondness for the creature. Fear keeps me from regressing more, afraid of whom I may have hurt or who hurt me. It is hard for anyone else to understand how it feels, unless they have experienced it themselves.

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Time Slip
Gregg J. Donaldson
GJDONALD@aol.com		 #3 of 10
83
T-- Time is

I-- Infinite, hour by hour,

M-- Minute by minute like an

E-- Eternal finished old style LP record,


S-- Spinning, spinning, spinning,

L-- Looping around until someone takes it off the turntable.

I-- Immeasurably, marking how much humanity accomplishes or squanders is -

P-- Perceived by us daily, whether huge or small. But ultimately Time is its own judge and master and if we grow, we learn through history.

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Time Slip
Patricia Garza
mrspgarza@hotmail.com		 #4 of 10
112
The days go on and pass away
The nights are short, as I lie awake
In deep thought wondering what tomorrow will bring

Tick-tock, tick-tock, the sound of my watch echoes in the silence of the night.
Where does the time go?
I turned 36 a week ago!
My baby turns one in a day!

How the days seem to pass and nothing gets done.
The house has toys strewn about, I pick them up and he takes them out,
I write, I explore and read some more;
Only to find night has come again.

Wearily I stumble to my bed…
Only to lie there and listen to the tick-tock of my watch.
Night after night and day after day, time continues to slip away.

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Time Slip
Roger Haller
roger@cowboylogic.net		 #5 of 10
1591
It was funny really; Pete the Auzzie, and I had been picked for this task because we both had been reading an ancient tome called “Measuring America” by Andro Linklater. Boss had walked into the library while Pete at the desk and I at the fireplace were both scrounging through the same book without knowing it.

The reading modules didn’t tell you the book was in play by another module, since the function was “read only”, but the check out screen above the search desk displayed the title and reader stats of books in use.

Boss sat down beside me and called Pete over.

We both watched as he launched that huge, rawboned frame from the desk. He rose and moved with a grace that always amazed.

“Boys, that book tells me you are dying to get out and play.”

Two hours later we were triangulating the plot on the surface below to begin pre build operations. It had been decided, Earth would be our next operations base and this spot in Pete’s old Island-Continent, would be the spot.

Pete pointed at the pink sunrise sweeping the eastern horizon, clouds strung like popcorn strings above the silhouetted tree line, super imposed over streamers of wind blown wisps created a soothing effect that almost made you want to lift your helmet and breath the breeze. Of course that would be nice for a millisecond until your lungs discovered all the carbon dioxide and the decided lack of oxygen.

“I think I’m going to like this planet little buddy”

I grinned back at Pete, thinking the same.

“It’s weird Pete; this does feel like home for some reason. I have spent all my life and so have my parents on steel worlds traveling Milky Way, but there is something about Earth that has always pulled me.”

The atmosphere was on it’s way back though, more and more vegetation was apparent on this planet as seen in yon horizon, but the vegetation had a lot of work ahead of it yet, before the O2 level was high enough to sustain human lungs.

Of course you could hardly call it Pete’s, the term Auzzie was used pretty loosely here as no one had lived on earth now for three centuries. He simply had ancestry that suggested his line had come from here in the distant past and it had his grin on.

Dragging my focus back to the site, I could see Pete kicking at something light colored sticking out of a dune.

I left my transit and went to see what he had found and to our amazement, the plastic likeness of a small horse was sticking out of the dune.

We freed some of it from it’s time trap and noted gaudy splendor preserved by the sand, as the faded colors above earth contrasted and hinted at a brilliant life before this era.

Scanning the rest of the scene, we found many more garish trinkets and baubles. The historians were going to have a bot-trot playing with this site as we planted anchors for our new home away from home, right on top of an ancient carnival of some kind.

What was more fitting than Earthies coming home to a fairground?

Tugging the plastic animal the rest of the way out of the dune caused a mini sand slide that now enveloped my gravitational compensation boots. Looking down, I noticed the sand had covered them clear to the environment locks.

“Shit!”

Pete looked at me with mild concern.

“You OK?”

Pulling my feet free, it was quickly obvious the dials were still at neutral, so no harm done, but a black object with a tiny window tumbled to the ground with the sand.

“No worries partner, look what I’ve found.”

Dropping gently to my knees, I turned it over with the finger of my glove to find a clear window to a dial of some sort. At first I thought it was a rudimentary compass, but the 4 poles painted florescent green on the face, under the window, were numbered with 12, 3, 6 and 9 and two small luminescent dots were spaced evenly between each numbered point. “What the hell is that you’ve got Mate?”

“Dunno, was hoping you knew”

At first this dial made no sense, but upon reflection, I glanced at the hologram produced with a touch to my time indicator and worked the control to a long forgotten option to change it to analog display. There in my hologram was a similar image to the one I viewed in the window of the small machine.

Pete was interested now.

“Is that a machine of some kind?”

I nodded.

“I seem to remember reading something about ancient time pieces called clocks on earth, and I think I have found a personal clock of some kind. The plastic strap attached to this device would indicate it would attach to something and by attaching these ends some how, I surmise the only place this would fit most humans would be on the wrist or ankle section of a bare arm or leg.”

Pete looked at me in his goofy puzzled way.

“A wrist clock? Why would anyone need a clock on their person? Time indicators are imbedded in anything we wear, and in all areas of our environment. What would be the advantage of carrying one?”

“Hell if I know, but it’s kind of brain warming to think about who made this and who used it. I’m going to do some research when we get back to quarters tonight.”

I slipped the machine into my sleeve pocket, snapped the magnet clasp shut and continued with my survey set up. I didn’t think of it again until I was going through decom. Unloading all my pockets, I found the device and ran it through the scrub.

I showered, and pulled on my civies as Pete did, and on the other side we grabbed the scrubbed objects from the machine and headed for quarters. Pete had a hot date, but I had a hot imagination.

My first stop was the library craft lab, where I ran the machine through the identifier which pulled up records and obtained a schematic for this watch.

There was a huge history on “Casio” It is called a “Wrist Watch” of all things. That gives me the mental picture of someone sitting for hours watching to see if time changes.

I found access is to be had through the clip on cover snapped over the back. It was pristine inside.

A small pry tool found my access and I was looking into a rudimentary gear and drive system with a small battery.

I pulled it out onto the table and dug the specifications page out of the data bank. This data called for a NiCad battery of all things. A quick call to Tech and I had a facsimile identified and replicated. Within 10 minutes, I had a battery for this antique and a grin that spread all the way around my head.

Insertion of the battery, replacement of the back, and rotating to view the slightly worn window, proved impressive. The long thin needle was moving gently around the larger dial.

Pete and Henny walked in giggling like school children and noticed me grinning at the lab table.

“What’s up with that little machine Mate?”

“Hey Pete… Henny. I have a working antique here. This is “Cosmic Stompin’!”

They laughed at my teen lingo and came over to see my revelations.

I was deep into the instruction manual and was setting the time to sync with the time indicator on the wall.

“Well my friends, I have set the time. Next is the day of week and month, but I became aware while reading the documents, the old thing doesn’t even have a setting for year, so that little flaw made it work in 2614 just fine. I suppose leap year would mean a manual adjustment.”

Henny leaned in to get a better look; her amused smile told me what she thought of my task. “What in Milky Way are you going to do with that thing?”

“Understand it” I winked.

“Now for the alarm. I will set it for one minute from now so we know how it caught attention back when.”

Holding one button, I pressed another several times and watched a small, imbedded dial move to the hour, then a twin to this dial was adjusted to one minute from now.

I started count down.

“OK, you two, ready for an experience? 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 …

Beep, Beep…Beep, Beep….

“Dammit Jim, you threw me off my aim.

Pete missed the wooden milk bottles completely and had to fork out five bucks for another three balls.

Henny stood pouting at the side of the carnival booth pointing at the huge Whinny the Pooh bear in the corner.

“Come on Pete, just one more blast and you win my bear.”

Fumbling with my watch, I apologized.

“Sorry Pete, I had no idea my alarm was set. Go ahead and win Henny her bear.”

I chuckled; Pete had already spent over 50 bucks on this game.

I turned and walked over to the merry go round. The kids were having a ball on the painted horses.

“Now why in hell did my alarm go off? I have never set the damn thing.”

To my left, a wizard of some sort in a fortune telling booth teased me.

“Would you really like to know lad?”

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Time Slip
Johnny Gregory
johnny434@bigpond.com		 #6 of 10
954
The day had started normally enough for Jimmy Andrews. Saturday was the day he liked to lay in bed until he had to get up due to hunger, thirst or to visit the bathroom. This particular Saturday it was thirst that made him rise. It was also the need for some form of caffeine in his blood to help him face the depressing gloom of rainy and overcast weather that he could see through the bedroom window that was long overdue for cleaning.

As he swung his legs out of bed, he grabbed the old and battered alarm clock set on the bedside cabinet alongside an ashtray that was almost overflowing and peered blearily at its face.

“Eleven-thirty,” he muttered. “Might as well stay up.”

Yawning, he plodded barefooted into the kitchen in his bright blue boxer shorts, felt the weight of the electric kettle, decided there was sufficient water already in it for his needs and clicked the button on. The kettle immediately began to sing as he went to the sink where his favourite mug with a smiley face on it stood, still soiled from the night before, on the draining board. He rinsed it and managed to remove most of the dried coffee before the water had heated and without getting his hands wet. Without drying the mug, he threw a teabag into it as the kettle clicked off. Filling the mug with hot water, he left the tea to brew while he washed and dressed.

As he dressed, he glanced out of the window and saw something lying on the small patch of overgrown grass surrounded by withered stems of what once were plants, which served as his front yard.

“What the hell is that?” he asked himself. The object was a grey rectangle about eighteen inches by 12 inches and, to him, looked very much like an attaché case. The rain had stopped falling from the dark grey sky but the object was still wet.

Without putting on his shoes and socks, Jimmy hurried out the front door and retrieved the object, looking around him to make sure he was not being observed. Whatever it was, he was sure he could sell it and benefit from the find.

In the kitchen, he excitedly swept aside the card box containing two slices of the pizza that had been his supper the night before and set the case down. Embossed on the uppermost side were symbols that appeared to him to be abbreviated words.

PRPRTY WG TM TRVL DPT.

Jimmy managed to decipher two of the words, “Property” and “Department” and suspected one word was “Travel” but gave up trying to fathom out what the other words were.

“Maybe it belongs to a travel agency,” he told himself. He had already guessed it was a laptop computer and the embossed words on the leather case would make it unsaleable at a regular pawnshop. He wiped the rain off it with the sleeve of his shirt and snapped open the clasps. He wondered if the rain had entered the case and ruined whatever was inside. Having never owned a computer of any kind he was computer literate and his find excited him. Maybe he would be able to learn and have fun with it.

With more care than he would normally exercise, he slowly lifted the top. The screen lit up automatically as soon as the top opened. In black letters on a pink background were several rows of small writing in the abbreviated words beginning with “Wrnng.” Beneath these were the words, SLCT YR in large capitals. Below them were four columns of four digit numbers. One of these, -2005 was highlighted.

Jimmy, his impatience and excitement getting the better of him, tapped a few keys on the keyboard to see what would happen. He pouted disappointedly when nothing that he could see happened. Then he saw four keys with arrows on them, each pointing in different directions. He pressed the one pointing upward and the highlight moved up the list rapidly through the columns to the top of the list. It was, -5000B. Jimmy shrugged, not knowing what the figures meant or represented and pressed the downward pointing arrow. Again the highlight moved back down through the columns. As it passed -2301 the minus sign changed to a plus sign.

The highlighted figure was at +1690B when Jimmy remembered his tea was getting cold and stopped. As he added sugar and milk to the warm tea he began to wonder if the rain has somehow damaged the laptop. The list of numbers meant nothing to him and his excitement was somewhat deflated.

Sipping his tea, he returned to the machine to scrutinise the keyboard with greater care. As he bent down he spilt his tea over the keys. Swearing profusely, he got a towel and began an attempt to clean the keyboard as best he could.

Suddenly, a purple haze emerged from the screen, spreading outward into the room. Jimmy backed away from the haze but it seemed to follow him. He backed up against the kitchen bench and realised he couldn’t retreat any further. The purple haze enveloped him and everything went black for a few seconds.

When he could see again, he found himself in a strange world. The air was hot and dry. Above his head a red sun burned fiercely down from a reddish sky. Around him was nothing but rocks and smoking volcanos. To his right, he saw what appeared to be the remnants of a huge city that was in ruins and solidified lava had engulfed much of it.

Fear gripped his heart and he screamed aloud but there was no one to hear.

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Time Slip
TPComputerman@comcast.net		 #7 of 10
1932
I hate doing a time jump onto a moving target, especially one at sea going around 22 knots. What the hell is a knot anyway? Whatever it is it’s something that’s moving fast.

I appear on the deck and since I was standing still when I jumped I had no momentum. Imagine landing on top of a car going around 22 knots and you tell me what would result? I'll tell you, you'd fall flat on your ass and tumble backwards desperately trying to grab a hold of something.

Not the most dignified way to make an appearance.

I managed to grab a hold of the closest side railing which, after nearly ripping my shoulder out of its socket, stopped me. I am never doing one of these kinds of jumps again.

“Are you all right?”

I looked up and saw two kids running over to me. Kids in the sense that they both look no older than 18. I felt bad knowing that in a few hours they’d probably be dead. I feel even worst knowing that I’m going to be partially responsible for that. But, that’s my job and I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t matter; they were meant to die.

“I’m fine,” I replied, “Just tripped and fell.”

The young woman with the red hair looked over at her male friend who was holding a sketchbook and a lead pencil, “Didn't it look like he just appeared out of thin air?”

“Rose,” the boy replied, “you must have just imagined it. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I stood up feeling stiff and sore but otherwise unharmed. “No, I'm fine.”

“He has the same accent as the man we met the other day,” Rose said, “Are you from America?”

Same accent? That could be the person I'm looking for, “Yes, Philadelphia.”

“I’m from Philadelphia too! Isn’t it a great city? Have they finished City Hall yet?”

“What?” I responded and trying to recall if it was finished in 1912, “Yeah, I think, I haven't been home in a while. Look, I need to ask you guys a favor, if we walk around can you help me find this other man?”

“That depends,” the kid said, “What do you need to see him for?”

I couldn’t tell him the truth so I needed to make something up, “The man I seek wants to sink this ship.”

“Impossible,” Rose declared, “This ship is unsinkable.”

“I promise you it's very sinkable and if we don't catch this guy I will confirm it, now I think I can track him with my tracking device.” I pull out my TIGA (Time Information Gathering Assistant) and turn it on. It's an amazing little piece of engineering, no bigger than the palm of my hand it carried with it all the history books ever written, indexed for quick and easy access. It also had a sensor which detected wake lines; which are like waves behind a boat. Whenever someone jumps into a different time they disturb space-time just enough to cause a small wake in its fabric which the TIGA can detect.

The boy leaned forward and whistled, “What is that? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Like I said, it’s a tracking device, the guy I’m looking for had a small radio planted on him and this shows me where he is.” My lies were getting better.

“Jack, stop being so inquisitive. I'm sorry sir; you know how it is with the steerage.” She said looking over at Jack who just smiled. These two were in love, no doubt about that.

“It's okay, do you two want to help me?”

They glanced at each other and nodded, “could be fun,” Rose announced, “This trip has been boring anyway.”

***

I guess any ship with the name Titanic would have to be huge, I just didn't realize how formidable it would be to trace this guy until we began moving. Every time I thought we found him it turned out we were on the wrong deck and trying to locate the right was hard.

At least I had some company; Jack and Rose were nice kids who seemed to know the ship well enough. The sun was going down; soon it would be night and this was the night the Titanic was supposed to sink.

Funny how I’m a time traveler and I always seem run out of time.

Exhausted, the three of us stopped and sat on deckchairs. “Tell me,” Jack said, “Why does he want to sink this ship?”

“Good question,” I replied. “If you were going to sink the ship, how would you do it?”

Jack and Rose considered this for a minute before Rose spoke up, “Well, you can't put a hole big enough to sink it.”

“Why not?”

“Mister Ismay told me at dinner the other night that this ship is designed to seal flooded compartments in case of a large leak. So, that compartment might flood but the rest of the ship will be okay.”

“So, one big hole wouldn’t do it, but a bunch of little holes might?” Of course it was right, that’s how it sank; it wasn’t one big hole that sank it but a series of smaller holes that flooded too many of compartments at once.

I look at my watch, it’s 2300 hours ships time, I had 40 minutes left until the Titanic hit the iceberg.

“Listen kids, thanks for the help. You two are good people and you should enjoy life to its fullest. I know you just met a few days ago but I can tell how in love you are. You two should go somewhere and enjoy each other while you can; you never know what’ll happen when you get America.”

“Why do you say that?” Rose asked, “We have an entire lifetime together.”

This is the hardest part of my job, meeting people I like knowing that chances are they won’t survive the night, “A lifetime can be short. Listen, when I was looking around I saw a garage filled with cars, looks private, you two should go down there and be alone while you can.”

Jack looked over at Rose with a boyish grin. She seemed uncomfortable at first, and then lit up with a smile, “I think Mister Jones is right, but first I need to freshen up a bit.”

They both stood up, Jack held his hand out to me and I shook it, “Mister Jones, it was a pleasure.”

I hope these two survive, “No sir, pleasure was mine.”

“Hey Rose, maybe I can draw you sometime!” He yelled chasing after her.

Now it was my turn to do my job. I figure that my man wouldn’t go after the lookouts, they wouldn’t believe him so he’d have to take a more direct approach. That meant either stopping the ship or preventing it from turning, or turning it way before it gets into any danger.

I do a quick check on my TIGA to make sure I have my history right. Most experts agree that if Captain Smith hadn’t ordered the ship to turn away from the iceberg it might have survived the impact. Moving away dealt it a glancing blow which ripped through five sections instead of just one.

With a few more clicks I pulled up the map that I had created while Jack and Rose were showing me around. I see him near the front of the ship where I marked the location of the lookout towers. But, that can’t be right; there is no way they would believe him.

Unless he had another plan. “Shit,” I say out loud and curse myself for not thinking about it sooner.

I run as fast as I can and get strange looks from the people I run by. I have no idea when the next shift change for the watchtower is but I had a feeling my man will be on that shift.

I make it to the tower and look at my TIGA, sure enough the man I’m looking for is right in the middle of the screen, which mean’s he’s either above me or below me. I have the feeling that he’s in the look out tower. I start up the ladder and toward the small platform on top. I see one man looking out with a pair of night vision binoculars. That’s my man all right.

He’s so preoccupied with looking out that he doesn’t see me. I manage to sneak up onto the platform, my boots make a thumping noise which gets his attention. He turns me see me, “No passengers allowed up here!”

I pulled out my gun, “Temporal police, you’re under arrest for trying to violate the time stream.”

“Oh no!” Is all he yelled. He had no place to go and put his hands up, “Why do you want to stop me? Why? You’re going to let 1500 people die tonight, why do you want that to happen?”

“These people were meant to die.”

“But we can stop that! We can stop them from dieing!”

”I’ve heard it all before pal so just shut up,” I walked over to him when something catches my eyes, two men lying on the ground either dead or unconscious. “Let me guess, those are the lookouts right?”

He smiled then does something I didn’t expect, he leaped over the top of the railing and plummeted to his dead. I lower my gun and run over to where he jumped. I get lucky; he landed in a section of the ship where no one will find him, looks like he’s going to be just another victim of the Titanic. It’s time to go home, my job is finished.

I’m about to program my TIGA to take me back when I suddenly realized something, both the lookout guys are out cold and no one is going to come up here for a while. That meant the Titanic was going to collide headlong into an iceberg and most likely survive the impact. Someone needed to warn the Captain so he can make the exact wrong move at the exact wrong time.

I guess it’s time for me to become a look out. No binoculars, nothing but my own eyeballs. I gazed out into the pitch-black night. Damn it’s cold and dark, how the hell did they do this all night long? Then I saw it, white, huge and just within my site. That’s the iceberg that will sink the unsinkable ship.

I sound the alarm, “Iceberg dead ahead!”

I hope that my timing is right; no one knows when the first warning was given. If my eye site is better than these guys we could turn too early, if it’s worst we could turn too late.

The ship turned sharply, the iceberg is so close I feel that I could reach out and grab it. Large pieces crash onto the deck, right in front of my friend Jack and Rose; the ship shuttered under me.

There isn’t anything else I can do now, I either doomed the ship or it’ll survive the impact. I program my TIGA to take me back home, I opened the portal, take one last look at the magnificent ship I just destroyed, and jump through.

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Time Slip
Tom Campbell

topcat@spiritone.com 		#8 of 10
2216
Five million dollars was a sizable donation and Texas A&M was more than happy to have it. Big Bob Landry was happy to give it for the football team even if it meant a large portion was earmarked for the Science Department. That's where he and his wife, Barbara Jean, were headed to right now, to see what those "geek boys" were doing.

"If only they could invent some way for those pissants to stop dropping the football, it'll be worth it."

"I don't think that's what they're doing in here, Dear," she replied. "The new state-of-the-art practice facility plus a new scoreboard and locker rooms will be pretty impressive to those new recruits."

"It damn well better be. Some Texas high school All-American wakes up with a new Lexus wrapped in A&M colors in front of his house and the ungrateful little bastard ends up going to Oklahoma or Notre Dame anyhow. Meanwhile, we go 6-5 again and end up in the Toilet Bowl."

"It was the Telecom Bowl in Fresno."

"And the little pissants couldn't even win that, losing to Utah for cripes sake."

"Here we are, Dear," she said steering him into a featureless brick building. "You be nice to Professor Criswell. He's the head of the department here."

A short walk through the halls took them to the corner room of the department head where they were welcomed in and invited to sit.

"First of all, let me thank you for your generous donation," Professor Criswell began. He looked like a man who was born 50 years old and would always be 50. "I suppose you want to know a little something about what we do here." He then went on to recite a litany of their programs. Big Bob fidgeted in his chair while Barbara Jean listened patiently with a polite smile frozen on her face. After Criswell wound down, Big Bob had a question.

"Isn't there some highfalutin' project you all are working on? Some new discovery?"

"Well yes. It's highly classified but, since you are our biggest contributor I suppose I can show it to you if you can keep it a secret."

"I'm a businessman. I wouldn't be where I am today if I couldn't keep secrets."

They walked down to the basement where Mr. Criswell unlocked the door to a windowless laboratory. All kinds of gadgets and machines were whirring quietly as he led them over to a chamber in the center about the size of an elevator.

"If you're familiar with Einstein's theory of general relativity, you'll know that time is not constant, space is not constant. This machine has a mini particle accelerator that should let time slip by one second. We believe there may be other worlds just like ours that are just one second apart. We are about ready to test it on animals. The timer right here is set for 23:59:59 so that it will return to this world after one day."

A head poked inside the doorway. "Professor Criswell. Gunderson needs to see you for a minute in Room 107."

"Very well," he replied and to the Landrys, "I'll be right back."

Big Bob was still looking at the machine. "You mean to tell me I hit this switch and I'm on a different world."

"Don't touch that, Honey!"

"This is what I spent my money for. It's a bunch of baloney. I'll show you." He flicked the switch.

There was an electric flash and a little shudder and then all was still again.

"I told you it was a bunch of hooey. I've seen all I need to see here. Let's go before Criswell bores us to death again."

They walked down the corridor and out of the building but stopped short in awe at what they saw.

"Where's all the skyscrapers and what's with all this grass and flowers crap? Jumpin' Jiminy, even the football stadium is gone!"

"And look at all these cute little cars riding around without a sound," said Barbara Jean, "and smell the fresh air."

"Mebbe we walked out the wrong door."

"No, this is the right one. You had to hit that switch. We slipped through time just like the Professor said and now we're stuck here, wherever here is, for 24 hours."

"We'll just have a look see around this crazy place," said Big Bob, striding off.

"Wait, we can't do that right now," his wife said running after him. "Maybe this hasn't sunk in, you big lummox, but we are somehow in another world. We can't talk to anyone or ask any questions or they'll know we're strangers and don't belong here."

"What good is it if we can't ask no questions? How we gonna learn anything?"

Barbara Jean thought for a moment. "I know. Let's go to the library."

"You know Honey, sometimes you have some good ideas."

"I always have good ideas. You just don't listen much."

The library was just a couple of buildings over, much bigger than they remembered it and with a modern pleasing design. They entered and were directed to the history section. The old history books looked about right. We won the Revolutionary War, lost the Civil War (if you're a southerner) won WWII. It was around 1972 that things seemed to change so they selected a few tomes and began there.

They settled into a couple of upholstered chairs, much nicer than the wood ones that libraries normally contained, and read by the sunlight coming in from the large windows, diffused by a special glass.

"Look here," Barbara Jean began. "It says that after Nixon was defeated in 1972, the government slowly filled up with liberals and ecologists. They phased out gasoline cars, put a moratorium on new highways, built millions of miles of light rail so that most people now use public transportation. Those little cars we saw out there are either solar powered or electric. Bicycles use has more than tripled. They are all vegans, obesity is way down, crime is almost non-existant, the really bad ones go to work on farms and take counseling. Education is done communally according to learning ability."

"It gets worse," Big Bob put in. "They done away with football altogether and with basketball as a pro sport. They even done away with most of the military. Now what's to keep them furriners from overrunning us?"

"It says here we have peace treaties with everyone and we haven't been to war in more than 30 years. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Them damn hippies took over is what happened. Did you see the way they were dressed?"

Barbara Jean looked over at the other patrons in the room. They were mostly dressed in peasant blouses or loose shirts, long dresses or baggy pants. "You know I love my Nieman-Marcus but they do look comfortable; probably not a girdle or bra among them."

"I can see that. Hussies. Well let's take a walk around this burg and see what they've done to it, and yes, I won't ask anybody no questions."

The stores they passed by seemed to be mostly of the boutique variety with African dashikis, native instruments, incense and oils, fresh produce, bookstores, antiques, and all had some kind of artwork creatively painted on their facades, even on the sidewalks. There was a little complex called Garden Varieties and down the street one called Variety Gardens. Barbara Jean was quite delighted with her window shopping. Big Bob was stopping at every restaurant, scanning the menus and snorting.

"There isn't a bit of meat in any of these restaurants. Where does a man go to find a chicken fried steak?"

The only other odd thing was that people kept addressing him as Chief.

"Hello Chief."

"Howdy Chief. How you doing?'

"Hi Chief. Retro day?"

"Must be their form of greeting," he muttered to his wife.

"No it isn't," Barbara Jean stopped up short. "Look over there!"

Across the street was a billboard saying reelect Bob Landry Chief of Police.

"There's another you, another us on this world, and apparently you're the Chief of Police."

"Wal don't that beat all. I always wanted to be..."

"Never mind about that. We can't afford to be recognized anymore and we definitely can't run into the real Chief. We'd better check into a hotel and stay there until it's time to go back tomorrow."

"I s'pose you're right. I'm sick of this hippieville anyhow."

They found a hotel a couple of blocks away and marched up to the front desk.

"Well hello, Chief. I thought you were at a conference in Houston."

"We wrapped it up early. I work fast with those suckers."

"And you're not staying at home?'

"There's painters there," Barbara Jean put in quickly. "Whole house smells like a dead skunk."

"I understand. Just put your thumbprint there and I'll give you suite 303. I'm sure you'll be happy with it."

Barbara Jean grabbed a couple of magazines and books from the gift shop and they followed the bellhop up to their room.

"Thank you, son. You know we plan to be ordering from room service and I don't suppose they have any steaks on the menu?" he asked wistfully.

"Of course not, Sir."

"Just between you and me, son, isn't there some black market or something where I could get some chicken or pork or the like?"

"There is a little underground joint that makes hamburgers, but don't you usually bust those places?"

"Purely research, my boy. I don't want to know where they are and I won't put 'em on the list. 20 bucks cover four hamburgers?"

"Ahem," this from Barbara Jean.

"And $20 for your trouble and risk."

"Ahem, ahem."

"And $20 for...?"

"Keeping his mouth shut. Thank you very much, you're a dear."

The bellhop turned smartly and left and when the door was shut, Big Bob said: "$60 for burgers is a bit steep."

"Oh hush. Your meat craving could get us in trouble. Can't you live without it for one day?"

"I cain't eat that vegetable swill. What am I, a bunny rabbit? A man's gotta have meat. Am I lying to anyone?"

The evening was spent quietly in the suite. Barbara Jean read through the magazines and though there was little of fashion or gossip, there were several fascinating articles about progressive technology and eco-friendly resources. Big Bob lay on the bed happily munching his hamburgers and watching the tube. The less said about his comments on the TV programming, the better.

The next day at checkout, they were approached by two men in loose brown suits, earth shoes, no ties. The taller one spoke:

"We put in a call to Houston and the Chief is still there. He's anxious to get a look at you and is coming back this afternoon. Impersonating an officer can be a serious offense."

"Not to mention the illegal hamburgers."

"But I'm Bob Landry and I can prove it. Don't I get a phone call? I want to call a lawyer."

"There are no lawyers," the second one said. "You know that. They took up way too much time and everybody hated them."

"Excuse me," said Barbara Jean, sweetly. If you don't mind, while we're waiting, I need to visit the powder room."

"Right down the hall to your left, Ma'am."

"You need to go too, don't you Honey?"

"I already went back in..."

"Could be a long wait," she tugged at his arm. "Come on."

No one followed them and as soon as they were around the corner, Barbara Jean began to run.

"We've got to make it back to the science lab. We only have twenty minutes. They ran across the Quad, if you can call it running, with one person in cowboy boots and the other in high heels. They luckily found Professor Criswell on the ground floor and asked to get into room 101.

"This is highly irregular..."

"Just routine, Professor. A spot check to see that everything's alright."

"Very well. You're the Chief."

Criswell pressed the secret code and they entered the room. Criswell immediately found himself propelled back out of the room as Big Bob slammed the door in his face. While he was pushing tables and cabinets against the door, a song came to Big Bob's mind.

"My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing."

His wife was searching the room while all this piling and singing was going on.

"There's no time machine here on this world!"

"Well ain't that a fine kettle of fish. Now what we gonna do?"

"I guess we just stand right here in the middle of the room where it used to be and hope for the best. Hurry up, Big Bob. We've got less than a minute!"

"From every mountainside, let freedom ring."

He stepped over next to her and soon came the flash and shudder. They were back in the machine. Everything looked normal except there was nothing heaped up against the door.

"Looks like we did it, old gal."

"Don't be so sure. It might be just another world. Let's step outside."

Once they were outdoors, it looked like they'd made it alright.

"Looky, Honey. There's the football stadium and skyscrapers and normal dressed people. We're back in the sweet land of beef, brown skies, and Cadillacs."

"Thank the Lord, and speaking of Cadillacs, oil is going to run out soon anyhow and I guess we've sure polluted the hell out of this planet. They had some good ideas back there"

"You're right again, Honeybun. I guess I can ease out of the oil business and still have the pull to try and make some of those changes. But I ain't giving up football. Now let's head to the Bum Steer and git some chicken fried steak."

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Time Slip
lee10@host365.com		 #9 of 10
Runner-up
283
In front of the mirror, a young girl peeped out from behind Vera's eyes. She smiled as Vera rubbed a little rouge onto her wrinkled cheeks. That done, Vera carefully pinned together the ruffles at the neck of her blouse with the old cameo brooch she'd inherited from her mother fifty years ago. Looking at her image, she tugged the brooch into place at her throat where it nestled, as it did every day, blue against the soft white folds. The girl smiled to see that the colour of the brooch still picked out the colour of her eyes.

The girl urged, go on, now a bit of lipstick. Vera smiled at her reflection. Yes, she agreed, a little lipstick would not go amiss.

As Vera outlined her lips in pretty pink the girl watched and waited, eager to be off on the trip into town.

There. How's that? Vera turned, checking her image and finishing it off with a little brown hat, settled just so onto grey curls.

That had been yesterday. The shopping trip had been brief, cut short by Vera's annual visit to her doctor for a well-woman check-up.

For a thousand mile service, the girl had suggested, her laughter tumbling through Vera's mind as they'd left the house.

Today, the girl has gone. Grey-blue eyes shine through a film of tears. With difficulty, Vera's old fingers fumble at her throat, pinning the brooch to folds soiled by the previous day's wear. She pats on too much rouge, haphazardly, unhealthy bright spots on cupie-doll cheeks.

She can't see her reflection for the small, silver tears that brim at the corners of her eyes, then spill over as the doctor's words, spoken so gently yesterday, finally overwhelm her.

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Time Slip
cam_nine@yahoo.com		 #10 of 10
1688
So there we were, that time’s Last Day, some time between that moment’s Now and the elusive ever-coming When, and - with so much time to kill or, on the other hand, maybe entirely out of time - me and Little Job and Bronc and Zoe and Tyce were hanging with the history in front of the Great Library, the marble lions with us, waiting for it.

Not because we thought the lions’ stoney bones would ground us to The Slip (the way the ones who called it "fad" and lived in the If Only always nodded, sure), but, simply, on account that when The Slip inevitably, hit - it was just safer hanging with the "chisleds" on The Fourty-Deuce and Fifth, than hanging with the "realies" at the Zoo. The Slip had this bad habit, see, of sliding off The World by layers - first went the thing in front, then went the next, then next till, then, the thing itself. So, if you were, say, at the Zoo and were, say, throwing some idle mocks and hoo-hahs at the growling "realies," stuck nice and tight behind their bars back in the Yeah, And Whatcha’ Gonna’ DO? then when The Slip, it hit, first thing that cricked and slid and folded down to side-eye glints was the front layer: the bars. And, then, for how ever many moments or, how ever many hours (or, even, as we thought we'd felt it, a once or twice: a year or two or three) - between the first faint squeak and last, great, sucking, swoosh, it was just you... the glints...

...and the "realies" really, truly, razor jaws and teeth and claws.

That is, coincidentally, how we lost our Long-Eyed Ed. Well, in a way. Not in the here and now, of course (those side-eye glints were augurs of The Slip’s one other bad of grinding not just time, but place, into its mish-mash maw before the final spitting-out into the vast Who Knows) - this kind of loss of necessary layers occurred not here, in the Big Ape, but somewhere else (we’ve never figured where)- in the Great Honking All Around. We just recall, when thinking back (or, maybe, forward) that there we were, the usual me and Tyce and Bronc and Zoe and Long-Eyed Ed and the Don’t Fuckin’ Look at ME she’d caterwalled into The World the previous day (or was it century?), her jangly Little, as she seemed intent to call him, "Job"... and there was, with the usual we (the latest swooshing finally ceased), quite suddenly, not lions, no, but one ass-ugly, flat-faced, fuck in tattered, swaddling, greys bespeckled, disconcertingly, singe and smut and variations on, it seemed, the theme of hemoglobin - pig-eyeing us through the rolling soot that stood for breeze, his gleaming bayonet the only truly real thing on Momentary Earth.

At least it was, to me. Caught right up front the way I was - that sharp-edged where and when The Slip, that time, chose to unfold.

But, in that where and when - no bars dug in the span of paddy ooze and mud and muck between the flat-faced fuck and me... and us.. But, there, instead, great rusting tumbleweeds of razor wire. Which, chattering in the choking winds, held in abeisance flat-faced’s grinning bayonet for but the splitiest of secs (or, could be, days) till, once again, The Slip went whoosh and disappeared the up-front tumbleweeds into the side-eye glinty place. Leaving just me and rattley Little Job and Long-Eyed Ed and Zoe and Bronc and Tyce to face the bug-eyed Ug behind the sudden gibberish shriek and unexpected, gleaming lunge.

Bronc, to this day (or year, or nano-sec) insists that Long-Eyed Ed was on the flee we all were aiming for in that small space when it came clear it was the time, if time there was, to get our asses fast in gear and off to anywhere but there. But, Long-Eyed Ed, not much aware the machinations of the Momentary Earth as it congealed and coalesced and did its earthy-thing (if that congeal and coalesce occurred at any point beneath her quite considerable girth, where lived the legs and feet she rarely saw... except, of course, when they were pointed up and back behind her head), had got her big, flat, web-toed feet all tangled in that temporary venue’s muck and mud and paddy grass, and simply fell into the thrusting blade.

He also firm believes, apparently, the sudden, gleaming, thrust that did Ed in was made not so much with a murderous intent as, simply, panicked self-defense. The Ug, he likes to say, was likely simply prodding Ed away. The very least an anyone - a me, an even you - would do to stop the torward-tread of any feral beast already close and on its way to topple.

"Who wants to end a pancake in a paddy ‘neath a tonnage of behemoth?" he seems, inordinately, to like to round it out. Without a doubt just to hear Zoe snicker.

Well, Bronc and Zoe can snick and snark and gibber all they want, but I still think that Long-Eyed Ed gave in, gave up - the time, the place, the then, the now, the coming when, even the only barely dis-umbilicaled Little Job... I think she gave up the daily, hourly, yearly, ever-folding and unfolding all of it...

...for me.

But I would think that. Being me and Long-Eyed Ed... being me and Edna, were... not one to brag, am I, but well... you know.

Well... maybe not as much "you know" as one would, probably, think. But close enough. Suffice to say, we had our times. Our time. But, oh, and what a time it was. And would have lasted longer than the few, brief, secs it did, but Lon... my Edna... well, she had things to do.

Like sort our daily catch of cans and bottles for the non-returns and duds. And organize her latest scrounge of butts to piles of filtertips and non’s. And wash her hair. The rain collected in the can last night was almost gone.

Ever the gentleman, in deference to her glorious strands, the remaining three or, by then, maybe two, I kept it quick. And busy she, my Long-Eyed Ed, was out from under and away before I even knew.

With that disclosed, normally I’d say "’Nuff said" on this, but life goes on. As did The Slip; back to the tale, The Slip, it did not give more than the sec it gave to let our loss sink in before it pulsed and slid and folded, first my, now, perforated Ed into its glints and, then, turned to the tattered Ug, no longer lunging, sharp but, lost in slack-jawed mesmer to the world of fast-approaching fold.

Ug folded first and, then, or course, went we.

And, went we did, indeed. First half across The World and set some hundred dozen years before in Somewhere There... then doubled-back three-quarters way around the globe to Somewhere Here a dozen hundred ages hence... to There... to Here... to There... to Here... to, finally, this Gotham site, where we’ve been teetering on the brink of Somewhere Else, we think, since half-past Who The Hell Can Tell?

And that was how it came to be that me and Bronc - just Bronc and me - we ended hauling Little Job, that gurgling, Mum-less sack of piss and shit and bubbling snot, around like he was ours. Even though the kid had grown, by thirteen months (or, sometimes, hours or, sometimes, eons), almost as big and densely-packed as Tyce, one truly monstrous what-the-fuck. Which gave us pause. Since, till the point when it one day took me and Bronc and a wood plank and Zoe, slit-eyed, non-plussed and on all fours, to hoist him up for shoulder-haul, we'd all but signed the dotted line that Long-Eyed Ed's desires in sires were gaunt and fey, not tilted toward Titanic.

That's how I'd read the entrails, anyway. But, then, of course, considering what we’d been and meant to each, I would.

Then, yes, there was some heated back-and-forth, mostly from Zoe, but some from Bronc, about the "why should we’s" and "can't we justs" but. ultimately, as large and lead and oozy as he was, though Zoe, tight-lipped, fought hard for a quick trip to the swamps, the kid could not be blamed that Long-Eyed, double-jointed Ed was, said and done, his Mum.

So, Ed and her come-hither eyes and sloe gin hips now glinting history, it was to me and Bronc (Zoe shook her head quite vehemently, surprise, surprise) to be for Little Job not only Dads but, also, Mum, as best we could. But Tyce, for his part, was having none of it - would simply growl and fart and stomp away, trailing a cloud of cursing.

The final straw was drawn the day I bared my nipples - red and cracked and raw - in hopes he’d take a hint and help, at least, with nursing. Tyce merely looked at me and scratched and laughed and returned his various hairy places back to Zoe’s beaming face and vermin-ending ministrations.

Pulling my T-shirt down, I stood and, sidling across from Tyce to the campfire’s other side, I took a breath and gently pointed out how much the giant suck-my-dick looked like the back end of a pachyderm - and, hey, what ho - so, too, did Little Job. Only on slightly smaller, somewhat stickier, but in no way stinkier, scale.

Well, all I know is: good thing for the humongous eat-my-shit that, just as he was leaping toward me over the campfire pit, that very sec, The Slip... it cricked and hit again. Else he’d have done for earlier than just you wait he will if I have anything to say.

Which you can surely bet will be the deal... as soon as I can grow some lungs and find the land and crawl out of this slime.

I only hope, this once, I have the time.

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"You're Too Loose"
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