The following is for the #storytimebloghop. Anah mentioned (in the U post) that she wrote a journal entry about something that never happened. That entry is the flash fiction post below. Enjoy.
Story title: Journal of Anah
Author: J Lenni Dorner
This never happened.
What I know about physics strongly suggests that this couldn’t be real.
That didn’t stop me from building the machine. It wasn’t my idea, exactly. Being an advanced telepath, an Eve Nine to be precise, I hear a lot. One voice wasn’t from someone nearby, or someone I met before. The speaker was not of my world. She was building a machine to travel through time and dimensions. There had to be others for this to work.
We needed these machines.
The parts were mostly easy to find. Like ninety-eight percent of the people of her world, she’s wheelchair bound, so accommodations had to be made. Getting parts to make it accessible proved harder for me than for her.
She talked about a rock behind a door. For her, this was the hardest part of the build. It’s a crucial element to power the machine. It has to be dug up.
Why would a rock that needs to be dug up be behind a door? I thought there might be an easier way. I checked online but, despite hours of searching, I found no such rock. Grudgingly, I went to the place she mentioned. There were no ramps or railings leading into the old dump on my world.
The stench knotted my nose hairs. The sun burnt my skin through my shirt. I wished, with each heavy shovel load of debris, that I never heard her voice. On the second day of digging, it rained. I sloshed around in the mud. Decaying trash latched onto my hair. Worms crawled inside my clothing. A broken doll called for its mother in a voice that became creepier as each hour wore on.
It was the third day, just after I finished lunch, that something happened. I know, because I debated taking the empty wrapper of my curried egg salad sandwich home to throw away. “Idiot,” I called myself as I remembered I was in a hole in an old trash dump. Throwing a wrapper on the ground here isn’t littering! I drove my shovel into the dirt. It hit something. The vibration moved through the tool, into my arms, and attacked my shoulders. I yelled at the dirt. Suppose this doesn’t work at all and I’ve wasted my resources on this stupid project! I can’t even use it for a college essay one day.
I spent three months building a machine to travel through time and dimensions. A voice in my head told me how. Please let me attend your school to study physics.
The totally NOT crazy Anah
As I pulled my shovel back, a seal broke open. Once the dust cleared, I was able to see a metal door. I turned the hatch wheel. With all the rust and dirt, I expected it to be a difficult task. Instead, it spun with ease, and the thick door sprung open.
It was as if it wanted to be found.
The rock sat inside on a simple wooden pedestal. The room was the size of classic VW Beetle. It had no markings, no paint, no lights, nothing of note at all. I snatched up the rock, closed the door, and went home.
After a shower and change of clothes, I went to my machine and inserted the rock.
The door of the machine slid open, shut, and then open again. I stepped inside. What happened next is not to be described, but the point is, the machine worked. I returned home later with a plan.
Mr. Bennett drove me home after school the next day, as he has been ever since my dad asked. I pretended my hair was caught on the motorcycle helmet he lent me. The cardamom cologne of my ninth grade English teacher filled the room as he followed me inside. Of course he marveled at my machine! “Join me inside,” I said. Then it was only a matter of button presses.
We stepped out to another time and world. Here our ages were the same, ten more years for me and ten less for him. Our clothing had changed, too. I wore a high collar dress with a bustle backside. He had a pinstripe suit and a pocket watch. We both sported amazing hats. I simply adore hats. That’s why I picked this place. The hats. And now, with him here, it’s perfect.
Anah? What’s going on?
We’re the only two telepaths on this world. Here, we are equals, so it doesn’t matter that your telepathic powers are only an Eve Two level. And here, we are the same age. The person who built this machine in this place wanted to leave.
How do you know? I love how easily his mind reaches out to mine. The link we share is undeniable. He’ll see that now.
I spoke with her. With all of them. Across dimensions and throughout time, there is always a version of me. This version, the one who lived here, didn’t have you. She must have been terribly lonely. Just as I was before meeting you. We can be together now.
He shook his head. “Anah,” he rubbed the birthmark behind his left ear, “take us back.”
No. There are other worlds and other times if you don’t like this one. There’s a wheelchair world with the smartest Anah of us all. Want to meet her?
I don’t want you to miss ten years of your life for me.
He pulled me against him with one arm. A tiny laugh escaped as he touched the brim of my hat. “One kiss. One kiss, and then we go back, and we’ll say this never happened.”
*Reminder/ disclaimer =
This story is a (fictional) journal entry, as written by the 15-year-old character based on the prompt she was given. I do not encourage, suggest, or support the ending, were it a reality. However, in the safe pages of a journal, people do sometimes write a fantasy about someone they can never actually be with (unless a few celebrities and I have … well, never you mind).
Visit the others in this bloghop by clicking below!
Journal of Anah by J Lenni Dorner You are here
Did you enjoy the story?
Have you wished you and a forbidden love could be transported somewhere to be together?