The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.”- Albert Einstein.

“Life is all about timing… the unreachable becomes reachable, the unavailable become available, the unattainable… attainable. Have the patience, wait it out It’s all about timing.”- Stacey Charter.

“We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams.”- Jeremy Irons.

“Time is the justice that examines all offenders.”- William Shakespeare.

“Hurry! Hurry, before they catch us!” cried a mysterious monk. The much larger figure grunted, and started speeding his pace up. The impatient being started to glance back at the door, and shoved the larger figure ahead.

“Quiet would you? We’ve got thirteen minutes anyways,” snarled the large ominous figure. The impatient monk merely nodded, looking back at the door, waiting for signs of struggle. His four friends were at the gate, awaiting their sinister fate. This was a night of miracles, and the miracle could not afford to be postponed. There was never going to be another chance.

Another minute passed by, no action from the door.

Five minutes, a sudden bang approached.

Ten minutes, a jarring sound was heard from the door. The impatient monk whimpered, “Are we done yet?”

The figure shook his head, preparing the cradle he held. He let his dark brown hair droop to his long hooked nose, as his brown eyes met the grey eyes of the child. The impatient monk slid back his hood, revealing a thin face, blonde hair, and blue eyes.

“FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, ALL WE NEED TO DO IS DROP HIM OFF SOMEWHERE THEY WON’T FIND HIM!” cried the blonde monk. The figure turned his head with a grimace, annoyed by the monk’s pestering. This was just another mission he had to complete. He was French anyway; he could barely understand the English from the monk, obviously annoyed by this man.

It was nearly the last minute; after laying the child to rest, both exited the chapel from the side. A slight movement of the doors, allowed the villagers in, wielding their pitchforks and torches, they dragged the bodies of the four now headless humans in. A large crowd of them searched through the church, while the rest simply mingled with one another.

It took thirteen seconds exactly to find the baby. There was still four seconds till the miracle. A pitchfork was raised in the air.

Three… it was fully in the air, ready to strike.

Two… it flew threw the air, about 48 inches away from the child.

One… it was at the boy’s head, only a slight miss if not for the miracle.

The first ever time travel had occurred. The villagers stood exasperated. The cradle was broken.

A cry from a baby woke up a street in Cambridge. It was the year 1945, exactly 588 years after the child was born.

Chapter One

I waited.

I waited for Andrew to return.

I was alone. At this very moment, I was in a dark room. No one was with me. I had a strait jacket on. My brown hair stood straight; my grey eyes could see nothing but an empty future for me. I was alone; I was stuck in this very room, stuck with a never ending time zone. That Andrew was the reason my fate was like this; he was a reason I felt like my feet had been pulled asunder; I had no will to time travel. I was stuck in this every flowing world.

I was trapped.

I could feel no will, no proof of my identity. I had no will to move, I had no will to continue. My life was ready to fall apart. My white clothes glowed in this darkness. My illuminating body could feel naught but the cold thing awaiting me. Andrew was gone for now; my last hope. The last thing I could count on. I had felt the same when I fought with that monstrosity on the Sphinx, and all the way to the Empire State Building in New York. This was the worst nightmare. I once again wished for the time in which Andrew hadn’t entered my life.

Why did he come to me?

I needed my life back. I needed to return. I wished this never happened. This infinitesimal glory that I could have had was ripped from me. I had no way of return, my powers had not been worth using; he could catch me anywhere I went, any time I went. I was skewered like a live pig being roasted above a fire. Nothing remained for me.

I could see a dim light visiting me.

“God…?” I asked wearily to the light, raising my body. The light was then thrown into my cell with a cheery laughter; it wasn’t God, simply another in mate. I could see his face only roughly. He had what seemed as eye sockets for eyes, but that could only be because of the shadow. He had what seemed as black hair, but again, possibly the shadow. I could see his tan skin color however; that was the only clear thing aside from our clothes.

“Heh… I feel like hell,” he stated.

I understood his feeling. This was the worst day of my life, and it had only started three minutes ago.

“Well, since we’re together, wanna tell stories?” he asked. Stories; I had used to listen to them. I had liked to read books also. I felt a small tear come to being from my left eye.

“Well if you’re too shy to start, shall I?” he asked, with a hint of satisfaction. I could tell he was one of those beings who liked to hear themselves talk.

“S-Sure,” I croaked. I was ready to cry. This was a bad day as far as I could tell: Trapped in an ever flowing time zone, with an idiot who only liked to hear himself.

“Well, I think I should tell you the most entertaining story I have; the story of my life:

T’was the night before Christmas, I could tell. Naught but a slight chirp in the world was heard. As I felt but a simple knock on my door, I could hear a more entertaining world from afar. I stood at my door, I could see naught but snow; but still I stood with intent to greet.

He asked for tea, I did not deny; I wished to talk more, yet he wished for another bite. I could not deny my guest so profound, yet on his face I could see naught but gloom. I wished to appease my unhappy friend, in hopes of obtaining a much needier friend. My face crossed with gloom, I bid him adieu. He, however, wished to stay, in hopes of a more eventful day. I would not deny him, but I, crossed with bitterness, excused him from my door, his face never to be seen. I wished I had seen his bitter face; his profaned gloom had been spread throughout the land. I could not wish, I could not see a more undeserving fate to a man so in need.

I opened my door, in hopes of good faith, of finding my friend so crossed with gloom. I saw him, shriveled in his tent, knowing my wife, my love so dear. My face, wroth with anger, strove for my heart’s content, my dear sharp butter knife. I strode to his tent, with wrath in my face, and sliced his ears, his nose, and his mouth.

The treacherous knave who stole my wife, I cut his body with great rapture. My feelings of joy had been crossed, my life having been hurled, across the skies, as though a bat had been swung at me.

And thus the most lordly tale of mine, having been spent, I bid you adieu,” he said, satisfaction crossing his face once more, “care to start yours?”

His sense of story was slightly less than what I had expected. I had expected a less dreary tale, a more eventful tale, a more creative tale. But he had without doubt, just created a worse day for me.

“I’ve a tale, which is ten times more eventful, ten times greater than yours. I just need to know the year.”

“Oh think you’re clever, *h? It’s the year 1453. Now, your turn,” he snarled with a mean glare.

“My story takes places 500 years in the future. Now, I’ll be happy to start.”

Chapter Two

It was the year 1953. World War 2 had ended. Germany was forced to restart their economy, but that was no concern of mine. I wasn’t one of them.

I was one of the English, and I was three years old. I was at an orphanage, barely scrapping by, merely waiting for the end of the year. I could tell I was beyond this, but no one else thought so. I just knew I would go away at the end of the year. And that’s all that kept me going: my fourth birthday.

I had three hours till then also. I couldn’t wait. I paced my room, played with my toys, but nothing could finish the hours. I, frustrated, thought about the stories of old.

These stories consisted of the Trojan War.

I knew next to nothing about this war, simply that it was held in Troy, and some great hero named Achilles lived during that time. I wished I had the chance to be like him; I would show him.

I had three minutes left.

With awe, I awaited these minutes by counting them down. My fellow orphans were all asleep, readily unaware of the greatest event in the world. Only I would witness it. Only I would live it.

The last three seconds enveloped my world with the greatest happiness.

One…

Two…

Three…

A big smile enveloped my face as I whispered, “Happy Birthday!”

I felt the imminent world swivel away, as though I had turned for a dream. My sense of reality seemed to distort, as I felt more and more awake. I could feel the contractions and convulsions in my muscles, as I grew an inch. My body felt alive. I, for the first time, felt alive. I soon realized I had lost the ability to grasp for breath unconsciously. I gagged, as I felt the oxygen swirl away from me. I felt as though I had swam for kilometer; my breath, my soul, my all seemed gone. My forlorn body, crumpled under the heavy weight of reality, beckoning me to death. I had felt this feeling only thrice before. Those times, it was on my birthday.

I felt as though I had died many times over. I felt death come to me, then leave me, come then leave, many times over. The building around me distorted; I saw children speed through life, some running around here and there, but their faces were impossible to describe. All this happened in what seemed like seconds. I saw the orphanage break down, and simply rise up, and I still in my spot, trying to move. My mind forced me to blank out, this being too much for any proper three year old.

I woke up sullen, exhausted, and ready to puke; which I readily did. Laid before me were three children asleep, all of them as young as me. I rubbed my eyes, and opened the door. The orphanage seemed… different. I couldn’t tell where I was.

I was lost in a completely different orphanage without moving? This certainly… did*’t agree with my sense of being. I had never been aware of this, not consciously at least. My once small shell seemed to expand, as I continued to explore this orphanage. Certainly, this was nothing like before. Not anything like it was in my era; it seemed more gizmo friendly, as I saw smaller televisions, and computers were quite small also. And it seemed everyone had them.

What sort of reality was this? The mind of a four year old could not comprehend. I only understood, in short, this was a different world.

In short, this was my second time travel into the future. An unbelievable experience I can tell you; if you counted all the times I had died and been reborn from my first time travel, it would be 1,209. And that’s not to mention until I could control my shifting without dying; then I would have died 4,670 times.

After finishing my survey, I reached the exit of the doors, in hopes of a better place in the world. I could feel happiness swirl in my heart, forgetting my near death experience. I would be a prosperous, more useful boy. I would live like a king, and I felt the chance I was a king.

End of Part One