The Door to the Past

'And this,' the voice said, 'is the door to the past.'

'I'm frightened to go through,' she said

'You are already in there,' it said with a comforting tone.

She knew that voice but couldn’t place it, but she knew she felt warmed by it.

She stepped through the doorway and saw herself at her birthday party. She couldn’t remember her age, five maybe six? She saw herself laughing as she opened the present. She remembered what it was before her young self had got the wrapping paper off. It was that doll.

The party faded and a new vision, it was her aged fifteen with Chris her first real boyfriend. Oh my god, she almost blushed as she remembered what this was. It was her first real kiss. ‘Please don’t fade away, please don’t…’

Too late, now it was her driving her first car. Wait, that was quite recent. She could hear her friends giggling in the back and Karen sitting next to her shouting ‘Selfie’

Before it could fully fade the voice spoke again, ‘back through the door now.’ Over the fading noise of her friends she remembered how she knew that voice, it was her mother. A bright white light blinded her eyes and she was confused, her mother was dead.

She heard a male voice shout ‘clear’ then a jolt and then the sound of a single note

The voice spoke again

‘Mr Flint? Mr Matlock Flint?’

I walked into the office, glanced out of the dirt-streaked windows then rounded my tattered desk before flopping back into my grubby chair. The day started as it always did.

There was no use asking my secretary for a coffee to kick start the system and help reduce the pounding in my head. I haven't got a secretary, haven't had one since the work began to dry up and that was almost three years ago.

I pushed the chair away from the stained leather-top desk and put my feet up onto its surface knocking a pile of papers to the floor in the process. I muttered a blasphemy under my breath. My shoes had seen better days and one let in water when it rained but I didn’t have the money or energy to get them repaired.

Finally I got up and went over to a dented metal four drawer filing cabinet and pulled open the second down. I reached inside and lifted out a half bottle of scotch. What little sun that could make its way through window grime illuminated the bottle showing it was empty.

The bottle was thrown toward the metal bin and I let out an expletive at the top of my voice. As silence descended and a sense of utter frustration filled me I heard a light cough from behind me.

I turned to face the door and saw what could have been a vision produced by my desperate mind. The vision spoke,

‘Mr Flint? Mr Matlock Flint?’

I just about managed to stop myself from falling back and muttered back a response ‘Who’s asking?’

‘Forgive me for just barging in but your secretary wasn’t at her desk and I needed to see you.’

I pointed to the seat the other side of the desk before realising it held a stack of unfiled papers. Without even a pause she lifted the pile onto the desk and sat. She crossed her legs in that way that instantly shows breeding in one simple graceful move.

I sat and pulled my chair nearer to the desk. One of the wheels snagged in a rip in the carpet making what should have been a smooth elegant movement a jerky desperate shuffle. Once I had settled myself I leant forward and asked ‘How can I help?’

‘It’s a mess,’ she said quietly, her eyes glancing down to her lap, ‘A real mess. A friend told me that you might be able to …….’ She paused and glanced up at me. I melted, I’d do whatever I could to sort this little lady’s problem out.

‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ I said in as calm a voice as my body could muster.

‘I think it’s easier I show you,’ she said reaching into her handbag and lifting out some Polaroids that she pushed across the desk. I wanted to take them from her hand, to be able to touch the milky white skin but instead my fingers dragged on the grubby leather.

I sat back and turned the first photograph over. Even though I’m a professional I think she saw the instant reaction in my face. I tried to steady myself as I looked at the other seven.

‘Well?’ she asked

‘You’re right, it’s a mess, a real mess.’ I had seen scenes like this all my working life but this, this was almost indescribable. I paused and looked at the photos again and let my mind think. Finally I spoke again.

‘I might be able to sort this out. I might be able to clean up your …… mess.’

‘But the stains,’ she said.

‘Leave that to me, I might have friends who can help there. Now let’s talk about my fee.’

It felt good to be back in work, I was a Tile Grout Troubleshooter and never truly alive unless I was grouting

The Little Wooden Cockerel

The little wooden cockerel stared at his little wooden legs and sighed. Without hinges at the knees he just couldn’t walk. He sat in the sunshine and puzzled as to how he could resolve this knotty issue.

The shadows cast by the bright sun of his wooden legs were sharp and clear on the ground. As he looked at them he began to hatch a plan as to how he might solve his ingrained problem. He just needed to be able to see his legs in more detail.

Using the tips of his wooden wings he carefully took out one of his shiny glass eyes and held it in front of the other to use as a tiny magnifying glass. As the sun danced through the lens he could see where and how he might just be able create knees.

The sun’s sharp rays danced and focussed on his wooden legs as he thought and pondered. In fact it was only the smell of burning that awoke him from his reverie. The Little Wooden Cockerel wanted to run from his burning legs, wanted to scream from his little wooden beak but it was too late.

Within a matter of moments the little wooden cockerel was just a pile of ash. Sometimes life isn't kneesy.

What, where and when? What do you think

It had been their struggle and theirs alone because those that they had talked with thought the idea was quite simply absurd.

For many years they had discussed over drinks the state of world, the folly of the human race, the greed, avarice and the destruction of the planet. Their passion for science meant that these weren’t conversations of doom but rather about what could be done.

It was during these late night moments that an idea was born, an idea so ridiculous that they next day they didn’t mention it. Indeed it was only when they were sitting in their laboratory the following week that they diffidently began an awkward conversation.

An adjunct to the fourth dimension, the potential to place something, an object back in time. A chance to change history perhaps, to make things better by providing something that might change everything. So they began their work to develop a 3d printer that could travel in time.

They weren’t so confident that they could place the printer back at an exact time which was why they weren’t sending actual objects. The printer would give them the flexibility to respond to where and when they were with what the time and the situation needed.

So, where and when would they go first and what would they produce?