Author's Note: In first grade, I, and hopefully most of you, learned of the three basic dimensions, these being length, height and width. This makes sense because they are tangible objects that we can move throughout, for the most part. The exception is that you cannot move freely upwards without machinery, but that is beside the point. In The Time Traveler, H.G. Wells presents the theory that there is a fourth dimension, yet we just haven’t been able to access it yet. If we were able to develop something that would allow us to travel through time we would have successfully proven that there is the fourth dimension, time.
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The rough sediment dug into my flesh and made a strong bond with my already coarse hair. Dust formed a thick blanket over my weary eyes and stuffed my nose. I picked up my legs, which slowly pulled my body to an upright position. With the back of my hand I wiped the dust from my eyes and slowly opened them, squinting from the few particles of sand that I failed to remove. The sun beat my forehead to such a degree that I thought my flesh was about to suddenly spark flames that would burn me alive. With a couple of winks I scanned the horizon. Nothing. No matter where I looked there was only dry, barren desert. As my feet dragged across the earth, right, left, right, left, I moved towards the horizon.
Minutes, hours, days pass without change. Just the sun, desert, and me, two against one, immortal against mortal. It was a battle I was sure to lose but I was there for a reason. A pioneer I was and I wasn’t going to stop until I proved that to my fellow colleagues. Time travel, preposterous! Not anymore, you non-believers.
I went on like this for some time. The funny thing is I never thought of giving up, lying down and dying for a second throughout the days that I travelled. Adrenaline is a peculiar thing. When it seems that all is lost it is the lone spark that can make everything fall into place. Adrenaline is what carried me to the finish line.
As I saw that skyscraper on the horizon a modest smile crossed my face. My feet stopped moving for the first time since I began the journey and relief surged through my body like electricity. These were not the emotions that I was expecting. I thought I was going to jump into the air and let a scream of happiness, but that is not how it was. Relief was all. Relief that I was right, that I didn’t have to go back to my time and tell all the scientists that they were right, and most of all that I wasn’t going to die of thirst.
One might ask how I knew it was the future from just one skyscraper. You see, this skyscraper made the Sears Tower look like a one-story pawn shop. It didn’t just scrap the sky; it tore a hole through it. The shadow that ran from the base of structure had to be half a mile long and fifty yards wide. Walking in the shadow was the first break from the pounding sun for days and it filled me with euphoria.
In that day, I reached the border of the city. The way the city met the desert. Metropolitan met lifelessness within the span of inches. A single light board read “Welcome to Draegovich”. Based off the title of this city I conjectured that I was somewhere in Russia or a place where its roots were close with the Russians and then later converted to English.
As I stepped through the dividing line between Draegovich and the desert three guards rushed out of a booth that went unnoticed to me barking commands in rough English. Two of the guards seized me by the collar and arms while one stood in front of me. Each one was mirror images of each other. Short black hair with grey ascending from the bottom, a stubbly five o’clock shadow, blue-grey eyes, muscles of a bull, and wrinkles accenting the eyes and mouth.
“Who are you?” shouted the guard parallel to me.
“Alfred Christianson.” I replied my voice shaking.
“From where?”
“University of Boston. I’m one of the professors in the department of technological studies.”
“Boston? I haven’t heard of that name since Czechovic blew them off the map. Sir, tell us where you are from or else we will have no choice but detain you.”
“I am from the University of Boston. I invented a time machine and have traveled to the future which is the present to you. May I ask you what year I am in?”
“2063.”
Success is a great feeling, my friend. To know that all you had worked for, all you had stood for, had been correct is a moment that puts all those other feelings of happiness to shame. When I realized that I had succeeded in my studies I realized that all the years of dead-end research had summated to this one defining moment, and when I say that I will never forget that moment, I am in the right.
“Men, you are seeing history, though that word is quite ironic in such context. I am the first time traveler. Come to think of it, you must have heard of me?” The guards furrowed their brow and shook their heads, “But you must’ve! I am the greatest scientist of all times! I am the first time traveller!”
“Sir, I am afraid I have not heard of you, yet I do believe we know someone that could help. Resnov, take this gentleman to Headquarters. Tell Gregorivich that I sent him.”
“Yes, lieutenant.” replied the second guard. With a salute, I was off to “Headquarters”.
A black truck that resembled a Hummer on steroid rolled up along the street. I was thrown into the back and we drove down the smoothly paved street. My attempts to peer out the deeply tinted windows failed and I had no choice but to wait until I was summoned.
In what I can only estimate was twenty minutes, who I assume to be, Resnov pulled me out of the hummer. My head slowly fell back to gaze the very skyscraper that provided me shadow. The impeccably polished black glass emanated with modern day luxury and gave the person looking on an odd feeling of unimportance.
We moved to the large double doors that stood erect in the exact center of the front wall. This particular door was like none other. It rose two stories above the pavement and after scanning the eye of the guard it descended into the depths of the ground.
I expected the interior to be bustling with military personal with large electronic screens mapping out battle plans, yet I was far off on that one. A modest secretary sat at a maple desk, with an average white blouse on. I looked around expecting there to be some hidden door but there was none.
Resnov took me over to a brass elevator to the left of the desk and sent us to the 117th floor. As the doors creaked open and the elevator music faded behind us, we found ourselves in a small cubicle which, unfortunately, was clearly made for one. The silver steel of the wall ascended to the ceiling and the only decoration was a small number pad on the parallel wall. Resnov typed in the numbers quickly and the doors unfolded around us leaving us in a luxurious room with files and books filling the walls and floors.
“To Gregorivich we stand!” barked Resnov which was followed by a stiff bow and a salute.
“Sit now, Resnov. Why have you brought this man before me?” Asked Gregorivich with such command that it made me shudder.
“He claims that he invented time travel.”
“And why have you come to me?”
“Because he’s unknown. You would think that with the invention of time travel he would be known as the greatest scientist of all time, but there has never been a whisper of his name.
“How do we even know that he is from the past and created the time machine?”
“Uh… well, he said so.”
“So we are basing our country off of verbal evidence only?”
“Well… no, sir.”
“Then let me ask you, Christianson, may you explain your time traveling theories to me.”
“Of course! I built the mechanism with…”
“I’m sorry for not making myself clear. I don’t want to hear what the mechanism is; I want to hear how time travel works.”
“Well, I would first to state that going backwards in time is possible, but is so tricky not to skew that I decided not to try it, this first trial. This is because of those theories of paradoxes about if you kill your grandfather, then you would never exist, which would allow him to live, allowing you to live, and you can then kill your grandfather, and the cycle goes on and on. This is the same with the future, but since you are coming from past, someone from the future, or the present in your case, has to skew the events, such as killing the time traveler. This would then create the paradox as in the first example.”
“What happens when a paradox occurs?”
“Worst case scenario, life stops.”
“So, the risks are pretty high, ay?”
“Yes, sir” Gregorivich looked back to Resnov.
“Though this man is without any tangible evidence of what he claims to have done, I shall look into the topic. Come with me, Christianson. Not you, Resnov.” Gregorivich lead me into a large library-type room where manila folders overflowed from the walls. He moved his thick finger across the cabinets.
Gregorivich spoke in a loud voice as if there was a fan above, but I believe it was just to state authority. “This is all of our records. Every bit of intel is stored here. You may think that it is stupid to store everything here. First, because if anyone is trying to steal our knowledge they will probably take the computer at my desk which is just a decoy, leaving them empty handed. Second, look around you. How long do you think it would take you to find something when you don’t know the exact whereabouts of it? Ah, here we are.” Gregorivich grabbed a file and started flipping through page upon page. “I’m sorry, Christianson, but we have no record. For all we know you are a delusional person from the streets who infiltrated our system through our incompetent guards. I’m sorry to inform you, but your fate has come. We are forced to execute you. We cannot take the risk of you sharing what you’ve seen. “Resnov, take this man to Area 37.”
“Yes, sir” replied Resnov, and he took me to Area 37.
I struggled against Resnov’s grasp but it was like iron clasps were attached to my arms, leaving me unable to move. Helplessness is a scary feeling and it is exactly what I felt. All I had done was lost, forever in the future, in Area 37.
My last flail was the final straw for Resnov and he swiftly knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I was in an all steel room, handcuffed to a chair, staring at a guard. The guard held a pistol in my direction.
“Any last words?” the guard’s sinister voice filled the room.
“All is lost.” I replied.
As his finger clenched the trigger, the last thing I saw was “Christianson” embedded on his uniform. 