Become an world-renowned physicist, a prodigy, the mind of your generation. Specialize in quantum mechanics and spend your entire career trying to prove that time travel is, indeed, possible. The only difference between you and science fiction enthusiasts is that your work starts to yield results. You study particles that move faster than light, and begin to form your own hypothesis on how humans can achieve such speeds. Your vast knowledge of vacuums and negative energy density and the ridiculous amount of money you receive from the government for the most state-of-the-art equipment allow you to create controlled wormholes. You combine the sciences of faster-than-light travel with your wormhole discovery to create a machine that allows for the user to travel both back and forward in time. The Nobel Prize in Physics is your reward. The President of the United States personally requests that you demonstrate how to use your invention on national television. Naturally, the entire world is watching. You step into your creation, completely confident it will be a huge success, and say, Ill see you all in 10 minutes ago. You close the door, turn on the time machine, and set the date. Your heart is pounding, and your hands are trembling, but you press press the big, green button anyway. Just afterward, you hear gunshots. One hits the machine, passes through, and grazes your labcoat. You peek outside the bullet hole to see three or four security guards tackle the assailant. Youll damn the whole universe! He screamed. Meanwhile, your time machine is malfunctioning. The bullets ruptured the flux capacitor. Sparks fly. Suddenly, you see a flash of blinding light, followed by a feeling of weightlessness an instantaneous loss of consciousness. You wake up in a desolate limbo outside of space and time. The auditorium in which you gave your presentation is no more and is reduced to a floating mass of unidentifiable objects. You come to the conclusion that the time machine malfunctioned and caused a tear in the space-time continuum. You float for hours in absolute despair, knowing that this was partially your fault. Just before insanity sets in, a large white van with a speaker resting on top passes you. You call out for help, but it simply passes on by. Please! you scream. Ive lost everything. As the vehicle drifted out of sight, a voice came from the speaker. Vote for Mayor Goldy Wilson. Progress is his middle name.
Posted on: Thu, 23 Oct 2014 18:04:19 +0000
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