climate change, environment, Environmental Lessons, Fiction, Uncategorized

Wrong Place, Wrong Time: A Time Travel Tale from the Brave New World

Once a month my local writing group sets a theme for a piece of writing each member will submit. This month’s topic was “Brave New World”.

Brave New World

‘Welcome passengers to Brave New World Futurelines maiden future flight, flight BNWF001. The first-ever flight taking you into the future,’ announced the voice over the in-flight PA system.

The announcement certainly didn’t go unnoticed as everyone on board, bar me, clapped in recognition of what was to be a truly historical journey. Our plane was not too dissimilar to most planes, full of excited passengers and their carry-on luggage, knowing exactly where they were going and when they’d get there. Except, when most planes take off, the passengers on board expect to arrive at their destination within an hour or two, maybe more. Not our plane. Our plane would set down again in just a few minutes time according to our watches, but in the year 2165, some one hundred and forty years from when it departed.

‘This is your captain speaking, today we are expecting smooth time travelling conditions, little if any timebulance, and we will set down as per schedule in the year 2165 in around about fourteen minutes from now. I’ve just been in contact with Sydney Futureport and as pre-empted, they’re expecting our arrival. The tarmac will be clear, and we expect no delays. Sit back, enjoy the futureflight, and dream of a wonderful time in the future.’

Even with just fourteen minutes, I planned to do just that. I’d already located the complimentary inflight magazine and began flicking the pages.

Climate Change. Over Exploitation. Plastic Pollution. Overpopulation.

‘Ugh! No thanks!’ I announced in disgust. As per usual, the headlines were rather distasteful. Gladly, I wouldn’t have to worry about all that where I was going, and I wasn’t going to spend my time reading about it on this futureflight either. I swapped the inflight magazine for the headset I’d located in the back pocket of the seat in front of me and I was just sliding them over my ears when…

‘Exciting isn’t it,’ said the small lady sitting beside me.

In an effort to show I wasn’t interested in idle conversation I overaccentuated the lifting of the headphone from my left ear as I leant closer.

‘Sorry, what’s that?’

‘Exciting isn’t it,’ repeated the lady, her grin almost as wide as the Futureplane was long.

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ I agreed, before quickly turning away and releasing the headset back onto my ear.

By shutting my eyes and leaning back into my chair I thought I had made it obvious I wasn’t up for idle chit-chat. I still heard the woman’s muffled voice saying something, possibly along the lines of ‘What if we aren’t the first to arrive’. But, I wasn’t even sure if she was speaking to me, and I certainly wasn’t opening my eyes to find out. A few more moments passed, and I’d barely flicked through all the optional channels and decided on something before the sound cut out and the Captain’s voice rang over the PA once again.

‘Passengers, we are now reducing time travelling speed and we will be appearing on Sydney Futureport future strip in under around thirty seconds. We hope you’ve had a memorable flight and wish you all the best in the future.’

Just as the captain instructed, about thirty seconds from his announcement the seatbelt light switched off and the cabin door opened. Within a few seconds, the other passengers and I on Brave New World Futurelines maiden future flight were scurrying across the tarmac. We followed the painted arrows on the ground to where they stopped just short of a set of electronic doors not too dissimilar to those we were used to.

‘Hello future migrants, welcome to 2165,’ said a softened electronically charged voice as a small light mounted on the eve above the doors flashed reds and greens in unison with it.

‘Have your passports ready and your medical clear…,’ suddenly, the electronic voice cut out.

We all stood there staring at the small light, not knowing what to do. We waited, half expecting the voice to begin talking again. A couple of minutes went by before a frazzled man approached the door from the inside. We watched as he took a set of keys from his pocket trying a few before using his arms to pry the doors open.

‘Sorry everybody,’ he said. ‘The future is not short of technical problems.’

Just as he paused, the small light dropped out of the eave above his head and hung there, dangling by a lone wire.

‘Or financial problems,’ added the man as he peered up. ‘Everyone, please have your passports and medical clearances ready and follow me. We’ll get you all checked in within a jiffy.’

As we followed, we all sifted through our pockets and carry-on luggage in search of the documents he’d requested we have ready. Looking around, it became obvious that not much was different in this present from the one we’d left a little over six minutes ago. The futureport seemed similar to the airports from 2025. There were possibly some technological advances, all be it in need of repair, and there seemed to be more of a security and police presence. But apart from that, not much seemed different.

‘Here we are then,’ said the man as he stopped by a tall counter that separated us from the attendants sitting behind.

Standing there waiting to be served reminded me of waiting for service at the bank as the attendants were separated from us by not only the tall counter but a thick, glass security screen. The only difference being, here there were several armed security guards observing us.

‘Who’s next?’ asked one of the attendants, raising her arm.

During the short walk from the doors where the man had met us to the desk, I’d been sure to get in front of everybody. I stepped forward. I hoped to speed things up by placing my passport and medical clearance down on the desk face up ready for the attendant.

‘Just off of flight BNWF001, the first flight ever to leave the past,’ I announced proudly. ‘Frank Laidlaw’s the name.’

However, the attendant didn’t seem impressed. She just gave me the faintest of smiles, looked back at her screen, and processed my documents.

‘Ah, okay then. Well, I’ll be needing to book a flight back to the past,’ I said as I looked around. ‘Where can I do that?’

The attendant looked over toward me, then directly at the group of security guards standing nearby.

‘Sir, I regretfully inform you that here in the year 2165 time travel is outlawed. Has been for some decades now,’ explained the attendant.

Immediately I was taken back. How would I ever get back? There must be some way! But voicing these questions and concerns to the attendant didn’t get me anywhere.

‘Sir I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.’

Then I noticed two of the security guards heading over.

‘But there must be some way? There must be something you can do?’

The security guards now stood right by me on either side.

‘I’m finished with this one,’ said the lady, holding out my documents.

But before I could, one of the security guards reached forward and took them from her.

‘Right, come on sir, we’ll show you the way.’

This time I stayed quiet as both the men who now escorted me seemed to be the type not to argue with. They led me out the front door of the futureport where a couple of police officers took up tail following behind, and right up to a large police bus that sat out the front. Strangely, there were several of these lined up, all in a row one behind the other.

‘Right, on you get,’ announced one of the officers from behind me.

‘What?’ I responded in shock. ‘This can’t be, I haven’t done anything. If I was rude in there I apologise. Just let me go and I’ll find some accommodation nearby and be out of your hands.’

‘Ha!’ scoffed the officer. ‘Wrong place, wrong time!’ he mocked me. ‘Typical entitled pasty. You time jumpers just think you can rock up anywhere and live free without causing anyone any issues do you? All while our time suffers, overflowing with pastys like yourself looking to experience the wonderful future. Well, your future is our present, and you’ve ruined it!’

The look of disgust on the pair of officers’ faces was frightening. I didn’t know what to say, and I hadn’t the chance before the security guard shoved me through the door and onto the awaiting bus.

‘Accommodation you say,’ added the other officer as he looked at my passport before he tossed it on board. ‘Well Frank Laidlaw, we’ve got your accommodation sorted!’

‘Oh, thank heavens,’ I said in relief.

‘The timegration camp north of here!’ said the officer, before shutting the door swiftly and locking it behind me.

As I sat there pondering what had just occurred, the other passengers from flight BNWF001 arrived one after the other, each just as shocked as me. It occurred to me, that the woman I had set next to during the futureflight was right. While we were on the first plane that took off destined for the future, it was obvious now we most certainly weren’t the first to arrive here from the past.

Fiction

Being Yourself

Once a month my local writing group sets a theme for a piece of writing each member will submit. This month’s topic was “Being Yourself”.

Being Yourself

To everybody else who frequented Boutique Lane, Mr. Peabody seemed like just another ordinary gentleman. He’d commuted this way time and time again, never stopping, but using it only as a thoroughfare to where it was he was going. Even the shopkeepers who noticed Mr. Peabody had concluded he was just a regular man; someone they weren’t too interested in dealings with. Why even Mr. Peabody himself had come to terms with the fact that he was rather on the ordinary side of things.

Express yourself. Treat yourself. Know yourself. Love yourself.

Apart from noticing the peculiar theme amongst the names of the shops on Boutique Lane, Mr. Peabody had never really bothered to look twice at them, as someone as poor as him hadn’t the money to shop boutique anyway. He’d walked past the bay windows of the boutique shopfronts almost every day all the while assuming they were nothing more than fancy names for fancy retail outlets. But what Mr. Peabody didn’t know was that the many similarly named shops on Boutique Lane were in no way ordinary at all. They were actually a front for those of magic, and unbeknownst to anyone, including Mr. Peabody, he had magic in his veins.

One morning as he did most mornings, Mr. Peabody left his tiny apartment on his regular commute, and in no time at all, he’d turned onto Boutique Lane. He’d always adored the other people who commuted here, not because he knew them, but because their outfits and the items they had acquired from within the stores were strange beyond that of imagination. This morning it was no different. Up ahead Mr. Peabody watched a tall ordinarily dressed man enter a store named Express yourself only to appear moments later in the most bizarre futuristically inspired outfit he’d ever seen. Mr. Peabody couldn’t help but chuckle as even he knew this outfit was far from fashion and he couldn’t provide any possible explanation for why the tall man would want to wear such a thing. Across the street, he watched a lady as she stopped in front of the shop called Educate yourself before going in. Oddly, on this day Mr. Peabody was seemingly overcome with curiosity as he took a seat outside a store called Treat yourself while watching and waiting for the lady to reappear.

‘What’ll it be sir?’ A short bald man appeared over Mr. Peabody’s shoulder.

‘Ah…’ Mr. Peabody was surprised. He hadn’t intended on buying anything. ‘Just a cappuccino thanks, white with one sugar,’ replied Mr. Peabody while being sure to keep his eyes on the store across the road. Strangely, within seconds the man re-appeared with Mr. Peabody’s order and placed it on the table in front of him. Mr. Peabody took a sip and instinctively reached for his wallet. But the man was quick to stop him, pointing to a small screen above the doorway of the shop.

Mr. Peabody – Paid.

Mr. Peabody almost spat his coffee out in shock. How could he have paid? And how did the small electronic sign quote his name when he was sure he hadn’t given it?

‘Never seen a balance that big,’ said the short bald man as he turned and walked away.

Mr. Peabody wasn’t sure what the man meant exactly but looking at the sign once more he noticed something strange below his name.

6,534,793 Mag-Cred.

Mr. Peabody was now very curious. What on earth were ‘Mag-Cred’ and how did he get over six million of them?

As he sat and looked around observing once more the strangeness of Boutique Lane and rattling his brain for some kind of explanation of what was going on, the woman appeared from the store across the road. Mr. Peabody noticed she was no longer dressed in the clothes she was wearing before. Instead, she had some kind of oriental-type outfit on and carried a small paper umbrella that extended up and over her head. He also noticed what was on the small screen above the store’s door.

Ms. Durmonhousar – Paid.

20,345 Mag-Cred.

Mr. Peabody sat watching on as Ms. Durmonhousar crossed the street and looked to be heading right for him. He couldn’t help but feel awkward, he wasn’t sure if she had seen him watching or what he was going to say when she approached him. However, much to his relief, she sat at a lone chair and table beside him without saying a word.

‘Cappuccino please, white with one sugar,’ she said when the waiter approached.

Mr. Peabody chuckled aloud and both Ms. Durmonhousar and the waiter had clearly heard him as they turned and looked at him in disgust before the waiter headed off inside.

‘I’m sorry,’ announced Mr. Peabody with a smirk. ‘I just expected you to ask for a green tea,’ he added, and luckily for Mr. Peabody, Ms. Durmonhousar seemed to enjoy his sense of humor once explained.

‘Ā, kono furui koto o kinishinaide kudasai,’ she replied swiftly with a bow of her head. ‘I just spent three months in the Kamakura Period experiencing some of historical Japan,’ she explained with a smirk of her own. Then strangely, her mood quickly changed. ‘Suddenly today you’re good enough to sit and drink with us are you? I’ve seen you wander the street, eyeballing us, but never have you engaged. I’d assumed you weren’t one of us.’

Mr. Peabody swallowed his latest sip and wiped his lips. ‘One of us?’ he asked in confusion.

‘Yes us, magic folk,’ said Ms. Durmonhousar. ‘Oh, to be so ignorant, and from someone so obviously rich in magic credits,’ she said as she peered at the screen above the shop door beside them.

Mr. Peabody began to laugh hysterically as he was now sure Ms. Durmonhousar had lost her mind. ‘Magic folk! Rich!’ the words burst from his mouth.

‘You think I’m joking?’ Ms. Durmonhousar asked sternly. ‘Well, I say we test you. While it may be true that anyone could fool the magic accounting systems and use Mag-Cred to buy a coffee, the same is most certainly not true for using magic credit for actual magic.’

Mr. Peabody glanced over her again. She was dressed so ridiculously and making such farfetched claims that he couldn’t help but laugh some more. If it weren’t for the stern look of certainty that painted Ms. Durmonhousar’s face he’d have got up and walked away right there and then. But instead, Mr. Peabody had a strange draw to investigate further. Plus, he’d never been into any of the shops on Boutique Lane before and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t just look, no matter how crazy Ms. Durmonhousar may be. So, when Ms. Durmonhousar stood up and hurriedly walked toward a small shop called Being Yourself that was only one door down, Mr. Peabody followed.

He stopped at the door and pondered the sign for a moment. He wondered what a shop with such a name might sell. Then he heard Ms. Durmonhousar’s voice calling from within.

‘I haven’t got all day!’ she screamed.

As he stepped inside Mr. Peabody noticed that the shop’s items didn’t seem to fit any one theme at all. ‘A costume shop perhaps?’ he questioned aloud.

While searching the room he caught a glimpse of a small woman standing at the desk sorting some garments. She looked up and over at him and then shifted her gaze toward a screen on the opposite wall. Mr. Peabody followed her gaze and was still surprised at what he saw.

Mr. Peabody – Browsing.

6,534,793 Mag-Cred.

Mr. Peabody watched the small lady’s eyes light up like a child’s on Christmas morning before she immediately dropped what she was doing and approached him with a sense of urgency.

‘Hello, Mr. Peabody. What can I do for you today sir? Is there anything I can get for you, anything at all?’

Mr. Peabody was shocked at the lady’s sudden attentiveness. He peered over at Ms. Durmonhousar, not knowing what to do.

‘Oh, Vilancturous!’ scoffed Ms. Durmonhousar as she rolled her eyes and made her way over. ‘Your hunger for magic credits will scare your richest customer away if you’re not careful. Rest your greedy little mind. We will be buying, just go back to your desk and leave us to shop alone.’

Mr. Peabody watched in shock as the small woman bowed her head and returned to her desk. ‘Are we supposed to buy one of these?’ asked Mr. Peabody as he pulled at the outfits on the racks.

‘Oh no these are not for buying Mr. Peabody, they’re from the realm of magic. Left here by wasteful customers with no need for them after their experiences.’

Mr. Peabody was left even more confused, but without further ado, Ms. Durmonhousar grabbed him by the shoulders and directed him toward a small door in the back corner of the shop.

‘This is where you’ll be going,’ she said.

Mr. Peabody stared at the small wooden door before Ms. Durmonhousar reached passed him, grabbing its handle and pulling it open. Apart from a strange mist that crept out of the doorway and into the store, Mr. Peabody could only see the darkness within. ‘And what exactly will I do in there?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘Look closer Mr. Peabody, you’ll find the answer,’ assured Ms. Durmonhousar.

Mr. Peabody crouched down and leant closer while peering in. ‘You know I still can’t…’ Mr. Peabody had begun to speak but before he could finish Ms. Durmonhousar gave him an almighty shove and he went hurtling forward through the doorway and disappeared within.

‘JUST BE YOURSELF!’ yelled Ms. Durmonhousar as she laughed and slammed the door shut behind him. ‘VILANCTUROUS! Lock that door, conceal it, and open up another for new customers,’ she ordered immediately.

Abidingly, the small lady pulled a large ring filled with dangling keys from her waistbelt and locked the door swiftly before covering it with drapes and coat racks which she wheeled in front of it. ‘Ooh, you’ve done well this time Ms. He’s rich!’ approved the small lady. ‘How long will you keep him in there?’

‘Until he’s spent his Mag-Cred of course. All 6.5 million of them!’ hissed Ms. Durmonhousar.

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