Well, it's time for another weekly short story from a prompt provided by the Wednesday Whatchamacallits Writing Group. Shout-out to Nikki and Annie for spearheading this wonderful group. So, here is this weeks prompt:
"A round-trip ticket in a time machine is yours. You leave in 15 minutes. The trip will last exactly 24 hours. You can go either backwards in time or forward into the future. You can't avoid the trip, visit yourself, and give the ticket to someone else. Write your thought process on what your trip will be."
So with that, I hope you enjoy...
Fifteen minutes wasn’t a long enough time to prepare myself, but for a spur of the moment trip such as this, it was just enough. The good thing is that I’ll have a full twenty-four hours to do what I need to do—which should only take about half an hour. That’s good too…I’ll at least get a little sightseeing in before the return trip.
I will tell you this: time travel isn’t for the weak stomached. As it was explained to me, the trip would be instantaneous. In reality, though, it seemed to last much longer for the traveler. First, there was the blinding white light—like watching a nuclear blast burn through my retinas. This was followed by a quick jerking motion—first left, then right, then the floor seemed to fall out from under me, leaving me in free-fall. And me, sitting there trying, and barely succeeding, to hold my last meal down.
Finally, it was over. But over didn’t mean finished. I could tell the trip was completed. The feeling is hard to explain but I’ll do my best. It felt as if my skin were a second or two behind the rest of my body. As my body reached its final destination, my skin came after, snapping into place like a huge rubber band. Every nerve flared, and I couldn’t help but whimper.
But when my eyes finally opened, I looked about at my destination and in an instant, the pain of the trip melted away. I had arrived—before me stood E-Z Mart #201 on the corner of 5th and Broadway in the heart of Denver, Colorado. I exited the small craft (which luckily, had landed behind a large hedge and was hidden from view of the busy intersection) and entered the store. I had four items of interest that I needed: A pen, an envelope, a USPS stamp, and a lottery ticket. After acquiring those items, I sat outside on a bench, addressed the envelope to my home address in Texas, applied the stamp, but before sliding the lottery ticket inside, I wrote on the envelope’s interior flap, “Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner.”
September 19, 2018