Arrow of Time - a short story

Fiction 101 Series

Arrow of Time 

(Or The Results of Present-Indefinite When Attempting to Cheat Entropy)

Today, I sit behind the controls of my time machine. Not to travel to the past and correct a mistake, but to the future. Safely cloaked, I see the thousands of autonomous people oblivious to the horrors of the news flashing on the giant TSX Broadway screen of Times Square.

A decade past. Eventually five. Inside the ship, only one day. My goal, to reach the future Gene Roddenberry envisioned. However, when I disengage, I return to just one day after I had left.

 

And the only thing I gain, my present is redefined by the end of today. Or was.

 
~
 
Inspired by the Charles Yu novel, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, and inadvertently, by the previously written poem of the same title. 

The Unsolved Mystery - a short story

An experiment to see if I can accurately portray two of the most famous characters in literature.

~

The Unsolved Mystery

With pen in hand, I reflected on past cases of Sherlock Holmes, which have to my fortune reached the public in print over the many years. But it was today that held a singular significance. The embers of his pipe had gone out as I saw my friend in a state like none other. Outbursts of frustration or revelation had been an outlet in the past, but it wasn’t in his nature to allow violence to pacify his anger. However, the corner of his desk suffered the most when he struck it with the poker.

He shouted, “Watson! It is not this case. But it is the reasoning, or the lack thereof, that has forced me to trod along in such a precarious manner.” He turned toward me, “Good doctor, is my brain that far gone?” He paused, then forced an answer, “I think not!” He stepped toward the window.

“My dear Holmes. Need I remind you, today you reached a significant birthday.”

“Please don’t,” he brooded. “Death is a mystery never to be solved.” He lifted his finger toward the heavens.

“I wasn’t speaking of your end.” I tried to relay some comfort.

“But age has a cruel way of reminding us of our pending exit. It is unavoidable.”

“Then tell me, why do you try?”

His wiry smile flashed his answer before he spoke, “If not my mind, then the rare superior intellect of the next generation may live on – if that is even possible.”

I simply replied, “But probable, Holmes.”

He lifted a curious brow in my direction and then toward the window as he gazed up and down Baker Street. And as if he could see through the flats across the street, he peered over the London skyline as if the future would never provide a mind that would contain his abilities.  “Can it? Is it possible to pass down what I hold?” He pointed at his head. “Perhaps, what I have learned. But knowledge is not a gift with which we are born.” He paused as his hand drifted to his chin. He then let out a loud guffaw and, in opposition to his previous outburst, he quietly returned his attention toward the inner workings of his flat, as he reignited his pipe and with a new illumination in his eyes on the case presented before him.

I returned to my comprehensive writing for all posterity – to keep my friend alive. 

~

Born this day in 1854. Happy birthday to the greatest consulting detective to have ever lived! 

The Thief of Time - a short story

The Thief of Time (Fiction 101 Series)

Thad was looking around the bookstore near the Science Fiction section adjacent to the corner shelf of the calendars. It was only June, but his life revolved around the new calendars. And they didn’t arrive until August. Two months later he returned to his favorite corner – no calendars. September, then January – no calendars. He couldn’t figure it out. The store manager was no help.

As he sat brooding on a stool next to the Science Fiction section he spotted a new book called, “The Thief of Time.” Crying, he frantically ran to his mom at the other end of the bookstore.

~

The phrase “Procrastination is the thief of time” was coined by the English poet Edward Young in his 1742-45 work Night Thoughts (or The Complaint), though Charles Dickens later popularized a similar sentiment in David Copperfield: “Never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time.” 

Like Kris Kringle - a short story

Like Kris Kringle (Fiction 101 Series)

Love is like a Kris Kringle gift exchange at Christmas time.

“Let’s just open these damn presents!” An angry Calvin plopped himself on his mother’s red velvet sofa.

“Can’t you just be civil for once.” A frustrated Lorraine chastised as she sat next to her younger brother.

Mom, joined by aunts and uncles and cousins sat around the tree. They opened their gifts. Each one filled with Love. Some shared their gift. Others didn’t want to part with their gift.

Calvin opened his, “What’s this? I got Crazy!”

Mom peeked at the open package, “No it’s not. You also got Love.”

~

"When it's hard and you are doubtful, give more." - Francis Chan

The Art of Procrastination - a short story

The Art of Procrastination (Fiction 101 Series)

Aaron stood from his chair. He made another pot of coffee. He poured a little whiskey in the coffee. He stared out the window. He poked at the fire. He sat down again. He examined the blank page. He stared through the fibers. He set his pen down and picked up his laptop. He stared through the blank pixels. He stood from his chair and stared out the window and poked at the fire. He did everything and anything other than the one thing he should be doing. Or he did nothing. And he thought of nothing. And nothing was done.

~

The phrase “Procrastination is the thief of time” was coined by the English poet Edward Young in his 1742-45 work Night Thoughts (or The Complaint), though Charles Dickens later popularized a similar sentiment in David Copperfield: “Never do tomorrow what you can do today. Procrastination is the thief of time.”

 

Scoundrels - a short story

Scoundrels (Fiction 101 Series)

One scoundrel met another on a deserted western street. The other scoundrel – the one-armed pistoleer – raised his left hand over his head. But not out of defeat. The first scoundrel wasn’t going to fall for that old trick. He pulled his pneumatic puff-canon on him with a sinister stare. With a wry grin, the second scoundrel slowly lowered his hand as a diversion while his mechanical right arm raised a brass light-beam caster from its holster. Both scoundrels were at a stalemate. Neither said a word 'til one fired. And the battle was on – until mom called them in for dinner.

Chore - an animated short (Screenplay)

    While exploring career options in my 20s, I took a Screenwriting class at San Francisco State University, Fall Semester of 1989. Recently, while rummaging through some old files, I discovered a typed screenplay I wrote entitled “‘Chore’ – An Animated Short based on a short story," dated 8 NOV 1989. The short story has yet to be found – if there ever was one. I also received an "A" in the class. Whether believable or not, I actually had envisioned 3-dimensional animation similar to Pixar. Please enjoy this early piece of work.

~

Chore – an animated short

Legend

INT: Interior

POV: Point of view

EXT: Exterior

VO: Voice over

ZI: Zoom in

CU: Close up

ZO: Zoom out

1.      INT. BEDROOM. SHORT ZOOM TO BUNK BED. PAN AROUND ROOM. Various pennants and posters. Paraphernalia consisting of: STAR WARS, E.T., Sherlock Holmes and Batman. Bookshelves: C.S. Lewis, Frank Herbert, H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King. Clothes on floor and draped on bunk-bed. CU to pocket pinball machine on dresser.

MATCH CUT TO:

2.      INT. OVERHEAD. Boy jumps from top bunk to floor – rummages for clothes. Discover 501s, Tie-die T-shirt, and jacket. Stuffs jacket pockets with baseball cards, gum, keys, Swiss Army knife, and other junk. As he leaves the bedroom room, CU behind his head.

3.      POV INT. peaks around kitchen corner, no one in sight. Moves to front door.

a.       EXT. Runs outside to beautiful sunny day; slams door by accident.

4.      EXT.  Doorway view. Boy runs across the street.

5.      INT. Door opens – POV female VO.

(calling)

Timothy!

            Timothy stops in his tracks and slowly turns.

                                                MOM

            What about your chores? I want the lawn mowed, the garbage taken out…

Muffle Mom’s voice and ZI to Timothy who has a horror look on his face.

Continue muffled chore list until…

                                                MOM

            …and I’ve asked you to do these things all summer!

                                                TIMOTHY (CU)

                                    (whining, yelling across street)

But Mom, this is the last Saturday of the Summer, can’t I –

                                                MOM

                                    (CU of feet tapping)

No! Now get your butt in here now!

6.      EXT CONT’D Timothy stands in shock. Blurred frame. Montague of a lawn-mower coming after him – brooms and mops pushing him to do his work – the dishwasher speaking to him in a deep voice – the washer and dryer are laughing and dancing – his room looking as if a hurricane is going on (things flying in the air), a G.I. Joe stops mid-flight and orders him to clean his room. The fence rocking and the chimney puffing with smoke – a tree next to the house acts as an arm, it grabs the chimney and puffs it like a cigar, the house becomes a “foreman” type character and bellows.

7.      TIMOTHY POV of house.

HOUSE

(deeply)

            Now get to work!

DISSOLVE TO:

8.      EXT. TIMOTHY washing dad’s white Jeep. Mom standing in garage doorway glaring at Timothy.

MOM

                                    (beginning to walk back into house)

            If you’d only started at the beginning of the summer –

                                                TIMOTHY

                                    (slight tongue and cheek)

            Yeah – I know –

9.      Aerial View ZO, neighborhood (a court) of houses snickering with each other as other boys in the neighborhood are outside washing their dads’ car.

MATCH CUT TO:

10.  The Earth (with female persona) satellites orbiting.

EARTH

                                         (authoritatively)

            And you drink your milk!

                                               (laughs)