KZine Vol. 1, Issue 8 - The Time-Travel Issue

KZine The Time-Travel Issue o ctober 2015

vol. 1, issue 8

KZine october 2015

vol. 1, issue 8

Kris Hartley

Submissions: send an email to khartley76@yahoo.com or visit www. facebook.com/kzine4 for more details.

Subscriptions: $25.00 for one year. (Six-ish issues plus any special, mini, or micro issues because I have a tendency to make issues at any given time!) Send payment to khartley76@yahoo.com via PayPal or email me at khartleyphoto@gmail.com for other payment methods.

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PHOTOGRAPHY • GRAPHIC DESIGN

Publication

“Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads!”

I’m pretty sure that’s the line we all think of when we hear someone mention the concept of time-travel.

I often think about how cool it would be be able to go back in time to fix things I wish we would have gotten right the first time or even just to enjoy some favorite memories once more.

So, being me, I decided to make a zine about it. Not all of the pieces are necessarily about time-travel directly, but they definitely fall in the realm of what I wanted to convey with this issue.

As always, thank you for reading because I love sharing my work as well as giving others a chance to share theirs. If you like what you read, some of the artists have provided their contact information, should you want to send them a note of praise and admiration or even just a fan letter!

Happy Autumn, my friends!

Kris

Kris Hartley

Time Via Wikipedia: “Time is a measure in which events can be ordered from the past through the present into the future, and also the measure of durations of events and the intervals between them.

Per www.space.com, “What is time? While most people think of time as a constant, physicist Albert Einstein showed that time is an illusion; it is relative — it can vary for different observers depending on your speed through space. To Einstein, time is the “fourth dimension.” Space is described as a three-dimensional arena which provides a traveler with coordinates — such as length, width and height — showing location. Time provides another coordinate — direction — although conventionally, it only moves forward.”

(Really interesting article! Check out the rest of it at http://www.space.com/21675-time-travel.html)

(Imagine if we could move through time the same way we move through space!)

“Time may have no independent existence. It may be just a common unit of motion making the world that is filled with motion easier to describe.” (www.timephysics.com) “Eternity: a moment standing still for ever.” -James Montgomery “The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.”

-Albert Einstein “I must govern the clock, not be governed by it.” -Golda Meir “Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations.” -Faith Baldwin

1

Travel Via dictionary.reference.com: “to move or go from one place or point to another.” “to pass, or be transmitted, as light or sound.”

“Wherever you go, go with all your heart.” -Confucius “If I am walking with two other men, each of them will serve as my teacher. I will pick out the good points of the one and imitate them, and the bad points of the other and correct them in myself.” -Confucius “A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” -Lao Tzu “It is better to travel well than to arrive.” -Buddha “For once you have tasted flight, you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.”

-Leonardo da Vinci

Words Related to Travel: (not all-inclusive!)

Place Stay Go Between Journey Destination Move Further Distance Near Far

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Time Travel Time travel is the concept of movement (often by a human) between different points in time in a manner analogous to moving between different points in space, typically using a hypothetical device known as a time machine. (Wikipedia)

Books/Stories about Time Travel: The Time Machine by H.G. Wells “The Clock That Went Backward” by Edward Page Mitchell Golf in the Year 2000 (1892), by J. McCullough, tells the story of an Englishman who fell asleep in 1892 and awakened in the year 2000. The focus of the book is how the game of golf would have changed by then, but many social and technological themes are also discussed along the way, including devices similar to television and women’s equality.

Looking Backward (1888), by Edward Bellamy, and News from Nowhere (1890),

by William Morris, each feature a protagonist who wakes up in a socialist utopian future. (Wikipedia)

??????????

Insane Brain Twister: “One subject often brought up in philosophical discussion of time is the idea that, if one were able to go back in time, paradoxes could ensue if the time traveler were to change things. The best examples of this are the grandfather paradox and the idea of autoinfanticide. The grandfather paradox is a hypothetical situation in which a time traveler goes back in time and attempts to kill his paternal grandfather at a time before his grandfather met his grandmother. If he did so, then his father never would have been born, and neither would the time traveler himself, in which case the time traveler never would have gone back in time to kill his grandfather.

Autoinfanticide works the same way, where a traveler goes back and attempts to kill himself as an infant. If he were to do so, he never would have grown up to go back in time to kill himself as an infant.” (Wikipedia)

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Time-Travel Themed Quotes “Know that love is truly timeless.” -Mary M. Ricksen

“If you see an antimatter version of yourself running towards you, think twice before embracing.”

-J. Richard Gott III, Time Travel in Einstein’s Universe: The Physical Possibilities of Travel Through Time

“His older self had taught his younger self a language which the older self knew because the younger self, after being taught, grew up to be the older self and was, therefore, capable of teaching.”

-Robert A. Heinlein

“When I am out there, in time, I am inverted, changed into a desperate version of myself. I become a thief, a vagrant, an animal who runs and hides. I startle old women and amaze children. I am a trick, an illusion of the highest order, so incredible that I am actually true.” -Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler’s Wife

“I’ll just tell you what I remember because memory is as close as I’ve gotten to building my own time machine.” -Samantha Hunt, The Invention of Everything Else

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Jennifer Nichole Wells jennifernicholewells.com I call myself a ‘small scale tableau photographer’ or a creator of ‘miniature diorama photography.’ I create and build miniature scenes and transform them through my camera lens - breathing life into these small, inanimate objects.

‘Figure 4’ is an image of an O scale train miniature figure.

She is posed/ photographed underwater as shadows loom about her.

“Figure 4”

‘Aftermath’ is an image of an HO scale train miniature figure in a scene of destruction.

He wears a hazmat suit and is surrounded by rusted metal scraps.

“Aftermath”

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There is an air of mystery in each image.

Where are they and what will become of them?

This is a little ditty I put together while contemplating this issue’s theme. -K

far

Place

Place

Place further

between

place

distance

move

place

place

journey r

nea place

stay

Destination 6

Pla St Go Be Jou De Mo Fur Dis Ne Far

Laura Lee Washburn llwashburn@me.com Wish To-Do List for Writing Day

Memory, Our Enemy Imagine you can bring your grandmother back from the dead. There she stands at the stove, a can of Blue Ribbon hidden in the range.

Her mother sips Mogen David in the upholstered chair.

Now you’ve done it, resurrected Great-Granny, too: expect a flood of green glasses for the blind, dreamsicles, alligator bags filled with pennies, the one that broke while you held it out and spun, spun circles in the grass, copper circles flying, lost and laughing: a first lesson in centrifugal force.

Eat yarn with needles. Make colored light blow up light.

Knead dough into brown crust.

Watch sheared hair spike an apron. Callous hands raking brown leaves. Turn into the airplane searing railroad tracks settling in spring snow.

Play scoop cat sand. Lean.

Stare squirrels off branches.

Shove “buttered” popcorn by fistful between teeth. Suck the permanent straw sugar.

Scramble chop omelette. Noodle glug pitchers and horse-head vases. Ride straightshot Kansas.

Rip old carpet. Slice stinking pads.

Stare, the skinny cat across my thighs. Pet. Purr. Crawl inside that bedside book.

Feeble memory can never be enough.

Thinking like this, I’m mad enough to hold the book and sing the hymn, to understand your Eden and the punishing God. If you don’t know memory’s failings now, just wait until the first dog dies.

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That Time of Year Some trees glow red in the skyline.

Dead leaves litter the stubby grass.

All the talk is of how we lost, if clean campaigns are a thing of the past.

The dog growls low at the cat across the way. I pull him harder rushing through leaves where the neighbor’s yard sign stood last week, where I encouraged him or at least snickered when he’d lift his leg.

I note the last gazania fully blooming, the whimper of basil left on the woody stalk.

I order an ice cream in pure defiance, but I have a coat, socks. Time moves so fast, I despair nothing changes. I miss the lunch counter, old-fashioned deli mustard, paper straws soaked with the sugar of 6 ounces soda, TWA, garden tomatoes, reading novels, watching the waves roll in, crabbing, fears that made you think, children hugging their knees in school hallways, the idea of truth, the pines’ dropped needles. Here, the dog growls again, pulls against the harness leash. I dream the cat got out and children chased. I want to burrow, pull the filthy leaves over like a bed quilt, quit.

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Kris Hartley Often, in prolonged hours, I wonder why I left that view; And sometimes I question what I’d ever done to earn it.

I can’t expect more assurance-I shouldn’t run after the fineness of a promise’s satisfying bliss.

In the years that I stood before the raging sea, I always knew I could survive, Just so long as the tide carried me back to that same shore.

My spirit has dreamt of the whispered lyric Of the serene ocean sky on the dawn of Spring...

Often, after endless night hours, I succumb to the memory’s healing; And sometimes I allow my endeavors to pacify my doubtful mind.

I can’t sleep without it-And I won’t keep from trying to find that one possibility.

In these nights, without my sands of ecstasy, I believe that such a current can reach me, Just so long as I let the tide carry me back to that same shore...

-kh -march 11, 2003 10:46pm

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What must I do to be free of this condition?

How much longer will I have to search Before I can stop you from remaining my anguish?

I can only stare at the moon for so long, For it eventually gives way to morning...

I can only stand on the shore for a little while, For these days have been desperately remote...

Each time I see your name, The progress I’ve made is inevitably erased, And I am taken back to where I started When we first said goodbye...

Those initial tears fall once again That same night is as excruciating as it was back then.

I don’t think I can ever let go of the interstate; I’m not sure why I’m even trying-You’d think I’d know by now That the glow isn’t going to fade like it should Nor the ache diminish like I was told.

So tell me, what must I do to find my way back To the home I found in you Back on that rainy July day When we discovered one another Just beyond the window that overlooked Those intimately familiar railroad tracks?

-kh -feb 9, 2003 10:30pm

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Chris Bird

cbird@superonline.com ‘New Seda Art Group’ on Facebook “Arrival of the Broken Day”

The street lights glowed along the pavements sending a silvery trace across the parked cars and shop fronts. The city was silent and gripped by a severe cold spell of weather. The dark windows of the apartments were covered by a chill frost. The headlights of a long, old car glimmered in a slow pulse along the side street. The car gradually swung around into the main avenue and after a short distance came to a stop. The doors swung open and three figures got out slowly. The street seemed indifferent to their arrival. The silence continued and the figures remained unmoving beside the car.

The girl watched the computer screen in the dark room. She flicked the mouse to avoid an obstacle as her virtual self ran across a lunar landscape. A figure in the distance turned and fired suddenly at her. She ducked in behind a derelict building and fired quickly back. The sky in the game shone neon and was streaked orange and crimson. She felt herself tense and she fired again and moved forward. The landscape in the game opened up before her.

Abandoned motorbikes and cars were strewn along a craggy, grey mountain side. In the distance there was a tall tower on the top of which fluttered a red flag.

She paused for a second as she thought she heard a car door shut in the street below. She turned for a moment and looked at the top of the stairs.

The stairs were shadowy and dark and still. She turned back to her computer screen for a second more and then stopped again. She was sure she had heard something in the distance. The house seemed still, shadowy and soundless. She looked around her bedroom at the untidy bed strewn with paperbacks and clothes. She listened and waited. This time the creak on the stair was clear, and she darted to close the door of her bedroom. A sound of footsteps accelerating up the stairs filled her ears. She dived forward to lock the bedroom door just as a huge figure reached the outside. As she slammed the door shut she caught a glimpse of a grim face on the balcony just beyond the door. As she pressed herself against the closed door she felt the force of someone pushing to open it.

A male voice hissed beyond the door, venomous and malicious:

“Open up Lisa, you can’t get far from us!”

Fear gripped her and in a second a rising sense of panic almost overwhelmed her. She felt the door begin to give as a fist pounded on the other side. Another voice sounded on 11

the hall way. She heard another door open in the distance. A voice seemed to be hissing orders. She pushed the chair against the door and looked around her room as if searching for an escape route. The window glowed with the light of street lamps. She glanced down at the car in the street. The pounding on the door increased in feriousity. She looked around and in a moment of panic opened the wardrobe. The bedroom door was beginning to give. The voices were louder now. Lisa looked for an escape and without knowing why turned to the wardrobe and dived into the dark space inside.

The sense of falling stopped after a long, long time. Lisa felt as if she had stepped of a ledge into the open air. Instead of the feeling of dresses and coats and the confined inside of the wardrobe she had experienced a limitless sense of flight. She had waved her arms and somehow her fall slowed somewhat. She fell and fell beyond any sense of static or stillness. The paperback novels from her bed swirled around along with her dresses and jeans. It was as if other girls were dancing around Lisa. Her jackets and shoes also whirled around and around a she fell. The air around her tasted chill and her lips and fingers felt cold and dry. When her falling finally stopped she took a deep breath. Leaves were still falling around her in red and amber shades but she had come to a stop. She had come to a gradual stop somewhere.

She looked around trying to understand what had just happened. She almost expected to see her bedroom and the computer come into sight. Where had she fallen? Were the dark figures trying to break into her room imaginary? She caught her breath and brushed her hair away from her face.

Her hands trembled and then steadied as she looked down at them.

The ring on her finger glowed green and gold. The colours were so bright that she could only see the streaks of gold and emerald merging all around her.

When the lights faded she saw the outlines of a garden around her. It was an ornate, old fashioned garden with statues in the distance and a stone fountain.

She frowned and looked the other way too. Behind her a huge house rose up at the end of the garden path. It was grey and massive and filled the night sky. There were terrifying gargoyles and intricate balconies stretching across the surface of the house. Stairs rose up on the outside of the walls leading up to wooden doors half way up the side of the house. She saw a series of stone pillars linked to a wide window that was curved and bright with stained glass.

The path from the garden passed several statues and monuments all cast in the same white stone. She lifted her hand in front of her face. Was this a projection of some kind, a visual illusion? It looked real and monumental.

Her concentration was disturbed suddenly by the sound of a fist banging on a door. The sound was insistent and relentless.

Lisa span around to look for the source. From the far end of 12 the garden the sound was growing louder and louder. Then

as she watched a figure stepped from out of the night air into the garden. It stood uncertainly for a moment just as she had done. Then the tall figure swung around and saw Lisa. In a second he steadied himself and surged forward toward her. She ran up the path to the house flinging her forward to open the wooden door. The door swung open and she darted inside. A flight of stone steps ran away to the right. On the left were a series of heavy oak doors.

She tried the first and found it locked. She leapt up the stairs, rushing up two at a time. She ran and ran, her bare feet treading quickly across the cold stone.

The old clock chimed, and the golden sound rang around the empty hall. A spider whose web covered part of the clock moved away from the tremors. Then the silence closed around the hall again. In the distance another clock gave a muffled chime seconds later than the first. Lisa listened and listened in the dark. This wardrobe had behaved as a wardrobe should do. It was hard and wooden and full of gowns and dresses. Lisa crouched down trying to make herself as small as possible. She listened intently for the sound of steps on the cold stone. The silence just went on and on. She breathed as quietly as she could. Gradually the sense of panic subsided. She waited and her hand touched the edge of an embroidered gown. The material felt crumpled and soft to the touch. She began to think that she would have to take a risk and look outside.

She let the silence go on and on. She waited unmoving.

Daylight never came to the garden and the house. A sharp moonlight continued to outline the elaborate facade of the building. Lisa left her hiding place after another hour. The silence she heard reassured her. She edged down the stairs to the front door. Everywhere was empty and silent. The moon made the garden look dazzlingly beautiful. She looked out carefully ready to run at the first hint of a pursuer. Another hour passed and Lisa stepped out into the garden. Flowers shone with moonlight on every side. The flowers were irresistible. Roses and tulips glowed white and silver in the light of the moon. Lisa moved across the garden marvelling at the beauty of the flowers. Then she saw something brush across the dark lawn. It was a single sheet of paper blowing slowly across the grass. She bent down and picked it up as it blew toward her.

The paper was stark white and shining with moonlight. The paper was so bright that it almost hurt her eyes. Scrawled across the white paper was a sentence in black ink. She read it slowly twice.

‘We chased you because of a mistaken identity. You ran well. Now the chase is over. Enjoy the garden. The morning may never come’.

Lisa watched the garden as it shone in moonlight.

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“The Girl Whose Hair Reached the Stars” -by Chris Bird

It was as she slept that the girl’s dark hair grew and grew, spreading across the bedroom toward the moonlit window. The strands of hair reached out into the night curling across the rooftops and towers alike. Lit by the stars and the moon, the beautiful hair flowed further and further to the city outskirts.

The girl hardly stirred, her closed eyes concealing a cascade of dreams. Her hair meanwhile had other ideas pouring along the deserted streets and alleys, squares and avenues until it left the city far behind.

Shining with their brittle, crystal light the stars observed the curious process with keen, if bemused, interest. The stars breathed deeply in disbelief as the strands of hair spread east and west like a moving, living web. Trees, flowers and hedges were soon consumed by the pulse of the hair. Leaves and petals caught in between the dark strands colouring the black expanse with red, scarlet, emerald and amber.

The moon, too, frowned and stared down at the city spires, factories, offices, prisons and tower blocks wrapped now in a cocoon of hair. The hair shone black as it stretched over the forests toward the horizon and the distant ocean. Here before the sea’s mournful waves, the hair gathered ornate sea shells and green weed. The hair soon covered the beaches and shadowy cliffs.

Night birds and butterflies flitted in and out of the mass of extraordinary hair.

Still the girl slept while her low, soft breaths mesmerised the clock on the bedroom wall. Soon the city itself had blurred into relics that fumbled and stuttered inside the crowded , dense majesty of her endless hair. Ladders and ropes made of sand and pebbles criss crossed the silken path of hair. Great gulls made nests in her hair and told stories of distant seas that they had traversed. Graveyards and churches were overwhelmed by the sleeping girl’s hair. Stone steeples and monuments were lost beneath the rolling , pouring surges.

The ocean waves and rivers conversed excitedly seeing the new path of hair as a river of a strange sort that glistened all night long. Cascading moonlight fused with the stars like whitened bonfires gleaming as the hair converted the hills into mounds of running hair.

As she slept, the girl’s fingers trembled and twitched. Her eyelids were motionlessly perfect. She thought without speaking in long dreams of soundless colour and shadow. She walked in dreams that outlined new cities and new oceans under new stars. Gleaming, shining, and glistening beyond twilight streets, beyond whispers and memories. Caught in her hair the stars , the planets dimmed.

Their words faded as the hair flowed over them. Faraway roads beside black forests curled steadily in and out of the girl’s hair.

The moon’s decision was final as owls and crows swarmed along the length of the girl’s hair. The moon shone 14 lighting up the cold air sending guidance brilliantly for all

the animals and insects to enter the hair. Horses ran and ran , their skins full of shadows across the mass of dark hair. Bats swooped here and there as precious jewels and stones glistened in the hair.

The city never woke again , stretching out in the night lit by neon limits .

Ravens flooded in huge , jade crowds into the city squares where discarded newspapers blew in the breeze. Tower blocks stood in grey lines stretching into the skyline.

The city stopped talking, stopped smoking, stopped denying its dreams and nightmares.

The girl’s hair was like a solitary wound, a mask of triumph that eclipsed the horizon. The ocean understood the verdict. Here and there, the girl breathed more deeply than before.

Her dreams were emeralds in the beaks of crows glimmering in silence.

The sleeping girl’s hair continued to grow.

Time slowed, tired of it’s purpose weary of its past. The hands on the clock face stilled and the girl breathed. The clock ticked its last. Numbers echoed at the end of the night.

Rolling over the hills the girl’s dark hair gathered the farm houses and barns, the owls and rats, the rivers and gravestones, the chill air and the morning mist. Shadows and starlight lit the way toward the sea . Everything crowded in on themselves in the moving, shifting midnight.

In the end the slow dawn glided beneath the falling, falling night.

The day shone calling new names.

Banished dreams headed back inside broken sea shells. The empty houses closed themselves up with silence. Windows looked inward, dusty and fragile.

It was finally over. The nightmare flight of birds white with the moon faded. Words merged on the page. The owl closed its wings.

With a start, the girl awoke. Her eyes brimmed with running horses and breaking waves, echoes of birdsong caught up in the city lights, with jewels and stars, the brilliant forests lit by the moon , the empty streets and the silent, endless ocean.

The girl stretched and yawned a new day. Streaming, sliding in and out of light her eyes took in a new beginning . Bending down the girl picked up her necklace, her bracelets, her rings from the wooden floor boards. The bedroom shone with sunlight. The mirror on the wall reflected the glow back onto the cabinet beside the bed. The light caught the outline of the girl’s hairbrush.

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“Only an Angel Can See� - by Chris Bird

Whenever she closed her eyes the image came again. The foggy iron bridge crossing a dark, deep river; the station draped in shadowy silence.

When she glanced upward (her eyelids shut tight) the moon glared across the swaying branches, the deserted cobblestone alleys. She let herself breathe lightly her young fingers rested on her own face covering her eyes . Under her soft hands her eyelids twitched, sensitive and alert to shifting patterns of light and shadow.

In her mind she saw the tall figures moving in the mist, slender and obscure. The mist seemed to contain countless human shapes moving gradually here and there beyond her touch. Sometimes there was a shimmering glow outlining the figures as they moved that sent a pale radiance across the mists. Streams of gold and amber light gleamed around some of the figures .

Sometimes an individual face came closer with the suggestion of a momentary sad smile.

Her closed eyes revealed the faint semblance of a hand or a profile as they moved in and out of the banks of cloud and mist. Sometimes she saw a gold ring upon a finger or a silver bracelet shining on a wrist. Sometimes the faces were blurred and fearful appearing slowly before fading again.

Sounds came too like the ticking of a clock or the steps of a women’s shoes upon a stone step. Sometimes the slow rustle of wind moving through the trees and bushes became so loud that it drowned out the other noises .

The sensation of a chill twilight was there too, distinct and absorbing like an Autumn evening plucked randomly from memory. Her fingers tensed, stretching to cover her whole face . Her lips were pressed tight together, her face still but alert. Her hair seemed to pour down her shoulders and back so long and black that it might have contained the moon and stars in the night sky.

At midnight, she blinked and the mist disappeared. She sat back on the dirty mattress and stared across the tiny grey room . Her hands rested beside her hips facing down on the mattress. She looked around briefly at the wooden table and dirty unlit fireplace. She turned to face the small window defined by iron bars around which countless names had been scratched onto the wall. She stared down for a moment at the long chain that linked her ankle to the end of the bed.

Then turning away from the room she closed her eyes again and immediately she was moving along a deserted station platform. A train engine stood in the swaying banks of mist in a black, heavy shape. As she passed the engine she could see into the train compartments lit by dull gaslight. Plush seats of velvet and emerald shades tempted her 16 to step aboard. She pressed her hands more tightly to her face.

She pressed her fingers against her eyelids and cheekbones. Then against her skin she could feel an elaborate dress that billowed out beyond her booted feet. She sensed a flowery hat upon her head and a silk scarf around her neck.

On her fingers she sensed silver rings. She lifted one hand to touch a heavy brooch on her chest. The brooch depicted a butterfly with jewels in its wings .

Her fingers lingered for a while on the metallic brooch. She smiled inwardly at its suggested beauty.

Then her lips sensed a cold touch of mist that passed over her face.

She turned away toward the train carriage door. Her foot stepped up and she entered the interior of the still train. She moved past the wooden frame of the open door into an ornate corridor. Above each compartment door a small angelic cherub decorated the train ceiling. Down either side of the train windows, snakes and sea serpents were depicted in iron outlines. She reached out and touched a metal snake, and suddenly, the image of the train receded.

She looked up and saw the grey room again. From the tiny barred window an owl was calling in the twilight . This must have been the sound that had disturbed her.

She tried to compose herself once more. The owl’s call faded as she placed her hands back over her face and closed her eyes tight. Slowly the texture of the decorative snake came back to her outstretched touch. She passed into the train compartment and sat slowly. Almost at once, the train shuddered and started to move . Distantly, gears began to grind in a metallic scowl of sound. The train lurched forward and started to edge along the tracks.

The motion was steady but slow at first and the carriage seemed to sway a little and a series of steady bumps rocked the seat. Then the movement seemed to stabilize and a stream of power flowed through the whole train.

She sat back and let the motion wash over her. From the ornate window, she saw dark trees pass in a gliding pulse of shadow. Accelerating, the train cut through the sharp moonlight and began to climb a dark hillside. Inside the carriage, the gaslight jolted and dulled for a moment before glowing again.

She looked down at her hand lit by the cloudy light. The fingers seemed golden, gloved in the gleam of light. Then she saw a mirror high on the opposite wall.

She felt a sense of anxiety stream through her frame. She stood hesitantly and moved toward it. In the distance she could see a dull echo of her shape on the glass which began to clarify as she neared.

In the next moment she was back in the tiny grey room. Her hand now rested on the chain attached to her foot. She breathed deeply and lay back in despair. From beyond the heavy door of the room she heard a women sobbing in the distance. She had heard this sound many times before.

She closed her eyes again but nothing came to her. She turned 17 her face into the mattress. From the window the sound of the

wind came strongly. It was a blustery night. The wind grew and began to howl beyond the bars.

She looked up at the heavy door. Halfway up the iron shape, someone had scratched the figure of a women with wide wings attached to her arms. ‘How long had the crude drawing been there?’ she wondered. Then she brushed her hand through her clotted hair. She pressed her hand flat against her cheekbones, and then she let her fingers rest on her neck. She rubbed her shoulder and then took a deep slow breath. Closing her eyes tightly, she placed her hands back over her face and waited. For a moment she only saw darkness. She could hear a crow calling in the distance in sharp, angular tones.

Then let her lips close. She let herself become absolutely still. She let the silent moment surround her.

The train seemed to be slowing. The carriage rocked gently, and then the impulse of movement emptied into nothing and the train was still. Gears whined for a moment, and a brown plum of smoke drifted past the carriage window. As the smoke cleared slowly she could see another platform. The platform was open and beyond it lay a wide moonlit field. A statue of an angel stood beside stone steps that led away down toward a path toward the field.

She stepped back from the gas lit carriage into the shadowy corridor glancing down at the decorative snakes. In a moment she had stepped from the train onto the empty platform. As she did so, the train immediately growled with a sudden movement. It sped out of the platform in a shaking, unsteady motion and in a second it had disappeared into fog.

She looked back down in the opposite direction. The train tracks shone in the moonlit night leading off back into the mists. She walked toward the path hearing the precise clip of her boots on the cold stone. Then as she stepped down on the path a shape moved to her left. She wheeled around and saw that there waiting outside the station was a horse-drawn carriage. Two immense black horses stood still beside the black carriage set high above huge steel wheels. Fog drifted for a moment in front of the spectacle and she almost imagined the sight would vanish in the mist. However as the fog passed the black carriage was still visible before her.

She waited and looked back at the station. It was still lit in dull patches of gas light. She glanced across the dark field at the trees swaying in the moonlit breeze. Then she thought that she saw something move in amongst the shadows of the trees. It was hard to be certain but there seemed to be a sudden momentary shape beyond the mist. She felt a sharp sense of danger and stepped instinctively toward the carriage. Then she looked back. Something had changed in the aspect of the station too. The wind blew more intensely as she studied the station but she could not be 18 sure what had changed. She stepped closer to the carriage

door. Looking back once more she saw that the station had changed in some definite way. She needed to decipher the change and she watched while cautiously moving nearer the carriage. Then she understood in a moment of fearful recognition. The angel on the platform had gone! She leapt up onto the carriage step and slammed the small door behind her. The horses leapt forward and as she looked back from the moving window the grimacing face of the angel was not more than a foot from hers!

The mattress pressed against her face. She sat up and kicked her leg to relieve the ache. There were sounds coming from beyond the iron door. These must have disturbed her bringing her back to the grey room. A door was being opened nearby. A male voice spoke not far from her own door.

“ Stop your crying, you are coming with me whether you like it or not.”

The tone had a routine harshness without anger or cruel intent. It was an everyday voice. There were sounds of a chain on the stone floor and then a weaker voice spoke in what was near a whisper.

“I see things you would never dream of.” said the female voice.

The exercise yard was a tiny space between high brick walls. The warden waited beside a narrow doorway . They walked in a line around for a few minutes and then a bell rang. They sat where ever they liked in the court yard. They stretched cramped legs and arms while the warden watched in a disinterested manner. A pigeon crossed the yard and then wheeled up toward the clouds. On the stone ground someone had drawn in chalk a crude flower.

The exercise over, they filed back into the main block.

The warden opened the door to her cell and stepped back onto the bed. She waited for a moment and he tied the chain in place. She noticed on his uniform the symbol of a wolf head just above his lapel. In a moment he was gone and the iron door closed with a metallic shudder. She lay back and breathed slowly. Her hands were tired and she kept them at her sides on the mattress. She listened and soon from beyond the window she could hear an owl calling in the twilight.

The carriage moved quickly away from the station. The cobblestone road made the carriage shake and rock as it moved away. Then the stones gave way to more level road and the carriage accelerated into the night. The shadows streamed past the window as the carriage crossed a narrow road. Far away came the muffled sound of a train but it rapidly faded away. The carriage continued until the narrow lane opened up into a wider road. The road led to a stone bridge that crossed a freezing black river. The carriage stopped at the foot of the bridge. She looked out of the window and saw the still bridge and the pulsing water beneath. The carriage stayed deadly still.

Hesitantly she pushed open the carriage door and 19 stepped down onto the stone road.

The wind blew across the river and she trembled in the chill air. As soon as she stepped away from the carriage the horses edged forward and in a moment the carriage had hurtled across the bridge into the dark distance. She stepped toward the bridge. She sensed something behind her and span around.

The road was empty. Then she turned back to the bridge .

She turned on the bed and shook her head slowly. She placed her hands at her sides. The cell was still and silent. She turned her head to the door and stared. After a long deep breath, she slowly raised her hands to her face again.

There before her standing on the bridge there was a dark bird. The bird eyed her for a while. Its eyes shone jet black. Its beak was sharp and its feathers as black as jade. It moved slowly toward her. It seemed to recognise her. The bird flicked its head up and in a second a bright object had landed at her feet.

She looked down to see a silver bracelet lying on the stone road. She bent to pick it up and as she did the bird croaked once and leapt up into the sky. It flew along the length of the river and soon was gone. Her eyes followed the black shape of the bird in the sky as it grew smaller and smaller. She bent down and touched the silver bracelet. As her fingertip touched it the metal seemed to give off a silver glow. The silver was the same colour as the twilight stars. It was as if a star had touched her wrist. Her pulse cooled to the touch. It was as if the stars had claimed her. She put the bracelet slowly on to her wrist.

The sky shone all around her as if reaching out toward the bracelet.

Instinctively she raised her hand to the stars. Light poured down over her, freeing her of any injury or doubt. Silver light defined her and sheltered her. All her feelings of fear left her in a moment. She knelt down on the cold stone and hugged herself. The journey was at an end . She was free as the stars, free as the night sky.

She closed her eyes and the colours and shapes of the night fell away.

The stars invited her amongst them. Stretching she touched the stars and they embraced her. The night sky was her road, her path. She stepped up amongst the stars and sheltered there. She drifted inside their light and found a new stillness.

When they came back to the cell they saw the empty bed and the heavy chain lying on the floor. The window was wide open, traces of silver light still clinging to the wooden frame.

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Kris Hartley

Kris Hartley

Kris Hartley

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Kris Hartley

Time-Travel Questionnaire Responses!

If you had access to a time machine for just 24 hours, would you use it?

YES: 18, NO: 3 Where would you go? Why? What would you do there?

I’d go to 1965...& never look back. Rock n’ roll, baby...

Join The Velvet Underground...or maybe just live it up in San Francisco, eating acid & joining communes & shit like that...start a cult, maybe...the possibilities are endless. After all, it’s the 1960s, man... -Steven Hughes Purkey The summer of 1980. It was the BEST summer. The Go-Go’s and Oingo Boingo were hot and my whole family was together. Would love to spend 24 hours with my mom and dad again.

Go on the annual family vacation to our cabin. -Karalee McDonald Chicago in the late 1920’s to experience the early jazz scene.

See King Oliver, Louis Armstrong, Bix Beiderbecke and Fats Waller perform live. -Mark Fisher I think I’d have to visit a few places. First and foremost, NYC, Boston, LA, Seattle and San Fran in the earlymid 70’s. All the great music comes from that era. Janis, Jimi, Aerosmith, Heart, The Stones, need I go on? Then I’d visit my bedroom around 1995 and tell myself that being myself and being okay with myself is the most important, loving and fulfilling thing I could ever do. And I would have done it way back then instead of 15 years later. I’d just get into the scene. Meet people to play music with (whether they were famous or not) and probably do a lot of drugs with them *lol* OK, maybe not that last part - but who knows. It’s the 70’s, man!!!! -Heath The early 1960’s Beatlemania, girl group Doo Wop, white lipstick, blue eyeshadow, teenage rebellion at its most innocent. Go to record shops, dance, clothing shops, get all doll’d up & see a show... -Deirdree Prudence I wouldn’t. Right now has considerably more information than I can comprehend or process. I’m not much of a physical risk-taker. Like, if I were Neo, I would take the blue pill. I would have to consult with a skilled team of time-travel experts before I would ever use a time machine. I would have strict criteria for this team, like none of them could be named Bill or Ted. If I had to time travel, when I arrived, I would stand very still and not say anything. I can’t even walk through my own living room without bumping into the couch, so just imagine what havoc could befall humanity and history if I timetraveled.

I have a sense of adventure, but I also have poor hand-eye coordination and a big mouth. -Kari Tervo

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The future. I’d want to see the end of the world. I don’t know. It looked exciting when they went there in Doctor Who...and sounded exciting in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Although, I think I’d skip the cow that wants me to eat it. That thing freaks me out. -Tina Edwards I’d go back 5 minutes. To find out what time travel feels like. I’d be like “holy shit, man! I just traveled through time! It worked! Cool! K, now I’ve got to go to work...” -Matt C. I’d want to go back 2,000 years and see for myself if there really was a man named Jesus, if he did all the things they wrote about and to see if he really did physically die on the cross and was resurrected because spiritually I would just need to know whether or not my faith was valid or completely misguided. I’d follow Jesus around with my pen and paper and record every word he said. I’d infiltrate his inner circle and get the real scoop on him and the 12 disciples. I’d also become best buds with his mother Mary and get the skinny on that whole immaculate conception/virgin birth thing. I’d try to see if I could stomach witnessing the crucifixion, if there was one, and wait outside the cave for the resurrection and get pictures, then come back here and sign the biggest book deal in the history of man.-Annora Nin I wouldn’t. Saying ‘if I had access to’ implies that I didn’t build it myself, meaning that I don’t know how it works and don’t know how to build another one. My husband. He saved my life and is the most important relationship in my life. -Nyx 5892 years from now (or any time in the future where we would have already contacted other “intelligent” (whatever that means) life) on the USS Enterprise (or whatever science exploration vessel they would have then, if we haven’t already blown ourselves up). What can I say? I just love Star Trek, and it’d be great to see how we actually figure out diplomacy/relations with other ... life out there. Talk with everyone who I could talk to onboard to get a sense for what has happened--read some history books (which would still be about our future, haha)... just see what’s out there!

-Charlotte Forty years into the future to see myself as an old man so I can come back to the present and make life adjustments accordingly. First, I’d have to find out if I’m even alive.

If I’m dead in forty years then I’ll keep going back year by year until I find me before I die and then deal with that whole situation. If I am still alive I will spy on myself and find out as much as I can about my life as a 68 year old.

-Patrick Day I would go back to the stone wall riots because I want to say I was there, to be a part of history, and be there to help people who got hurt. -Jenn Howell

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The fifties and to Woodstock. Those are the times and events I feel most connected to and believe I was there in past lives. Drag races and sock hops! Probably get high and listen to amazing music, ha. Find my wife there since I’ve known her in every past life.

-luckylauren81 ‘December 2009 to stop a death. I would wake up at 6am and call Jane Doe. I would tell Jane exactly what was happening to her body, tell her to call in sick from work, and to call an ambulance immediately to take her to the hospital. I would calmly comfort Jane by telling her a pulmonary embolism can be fixed if she gets to the hospital ASAP. From there, I would tell the rest of my family to meet her at the hospital. At that point, I would just hope for the best. -Brian 1000 years into the future-3015. If you look back 1000 years the Roman Empire in 15 AD, it had just transitioned from the Republic to the Empire. It would be fascinating to see if as much change happens in the next 1000, as happened in the 1000 preceding years. To see the culture and technology or if humanity even makes it another millennia.

Try the food, see whatever entertainments are enjoyed, talk to little kids about their world, because they are the most honest. -Bruce Early 80’s, probably somewhere between 1979-1984, Joplin, MO. Alternatively, NYC at the same time because in that time and place I was a small child and only have vague memories, and would love to see it as an adult, and I also am enamored with the music, movies, and clothing (basically all pop culture) of the time. Hang out on the periphery, dine, drink, and people-watch like mad. If in Joplin, I would hope to visit Northpark Mall for sure and to maybe see my parents and childhood home...creepy but awesome! If in NYC I would definitely want to go to a few shows, maybe Blondie!

-Angela Moore Strictly a time machine, I will go forward in time and see my great-grandchildren to see how they turned out. I’d visit and get to know them as a friend. -Melody I would go back to the year 1998. This was a good year in terms of my family getting along. I also felt confident in myself and had a healthy dose of self-esteem. More importantly my father was not sick at that point with Huntington’s Disease. I would love the chance to spend the entire 24 hours with my father. Drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, hanging out and chatting. There is so much I don’t know about my father as he passed away unexpectedly in 2003. There is also so much I never told him, so much left unspoken. I just want the chance to speak and be heard. -Nyxia Grey I would go to the past of Turtle Island, when the Iroquois man known as The Peacemaker (Skennenrahawi in Mohawk language) was alive.

Native American Indians were the inspiration and also teachers of modern democracy. Much of the extremely different and spiritually

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sophisticated teachings of various tribes are still ignored by the rest of the world.

Yet they hold much wisdom on how to live with respect for all life, not to destroy the only world we have to live in. After making some attempt at befriending him (Skennenrahawi) and communicating I want to learn your teachings, then I would spend years getting some universal message translation of the basics. Then I would write it down on various materials, such as rock/stone/crystal, tree bark, and whatever paper material could be obtained. Then, I would spend the rest of my life traveling across the oceans sharing these messages to the other continents, to warn them that there would be chaos in the future if they did not cooperate. -Epiphany Publishing I would go to 2046. I would find/meet my future self to gain whatever wisdom I could.

Rather than go to the past and possibly change who I am now, I would rather go forward. I am the kind of person who would think about the implications of tinkering with my own timeline and thus be very careful about the advice I would give to my current self. -Nyx

How would you get back if the time machine turned back into a pumpkin before you had a chance to return?

What is the person/place/thing/idea you would miss the most? Why? Would you mind if you couldn’t get back?

YES: 11, NO: 10 Time machine would be long traded off for cheap drugs & a fringed leather vest with a giant peace sign on the back...I would say (I’d miss) my ol’ lady, but she’d be comin’ with moi, ‘cause she’d make one hell of a righteous hippie chick...& she loooves acid! -Steven Hughes Purkey Why would I want to get back? (I’d miss) My kids and husband.

-Karalee McDonald I would prepare for this mishap ahead of time by knowing what to invest in when I arrived so I could have something to live on after the stock market crashed. Next I would submit stories to pulp magazines predicting actual future events with alternative outcomes. I broke my leg in 2011. I would miss the medical advances that made my full recovery possible.-Mark Fisher I guess I’d just have to live it out. I’d miss my girl and my furbabies. Because I love them so so so so much. I’d miss my parents, too, but I could just go to Kansas or Missouri and I’m sure I’d run into my parents the way they were back then. What a trip! Heath

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I’d make a big fuss about my knowledge of the future (like the brat I am), the CIA would be none too thrilled when they got wind if it & they’d secretly send me back.

‘Cause you know nasa & them have that technology, right? (I;d miss) My boyfriend.

If he couldn’t come with & get a Beatles haircut? I wouldn’t go. As much as it’d be fun there’d be no fun without him. -Deirdree Prudence I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s only 5 minutes. No big deal :) -Matt C. I would call Triple A. I have a very comprehensive policy. If I went backwards in time, I’d miss the internet. If I went forward in time, I’m guessing that there would be occasion to miss an unregulated internet. I hope I’m wrong. See you in the future! I’m not going to time-travel there, so feel free to order the appetizers if you feel I’m running late. -Kari Tervo Well, I suppose I wouldn’t get back. I’d just live in future. Hopefully on a space ship that escapes the end of this world. (I’d miss) My dog. I’d worry about who would take care of her. -Tina Edwards Oh, I think I’d be screwed, don’t you? I’d probably just throw myself into the belly of the whale and forget about it. Unless Jesus could teach me that whole walking on water thing. No! No! I’ve got it!! I’d wait for the ascension and go back that way! Or maybe I’d just go explain my situation to Jesus and ask him for a miracle. Yeah, that’s probably it. I would miss my friend Don more than anything else. Because nobody spits poetry like he does, he is a keen observer of life, whimsically philosophical, my most loyal friend, and brilliantly mad. -Annora Nin

Kris Hartley

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Perhaps they’d have the technology to travel back in time by then (if it’s at all possible).

If not, I think I’d just take it as it is...Of course, I’d just miss the network of people that I have loved for the past 26 years of my life--family, friends... I lived overseas for awhile, and I felt like I had to rebuild all of my friendship relationships and acquaintance relationships from scratch. I imagine it would be vaguely similar, except I wouldn’t be able to ping my friends and family when I was lonely. Perhaps I’d try to find a club of marooned Time Travelers so we could at least understand whatever emotional things we were going through. -Charlotte I would find out if time machines had become more common in the future and try to find someone who has one I could use. If that failed I’d probably just kick it in the future with old man me. But if I got trapped in the future as young me would the future me still be an old man? (I’d miss) Real food - these food pills just aren’t the same. -Patrick Day I would hope that there is a Tardis there with Dr. Who hopefully he could help me get back. I would miss being with my wonderful partner. -Jenn Howell Eat the pumpkin to absorb the powers and fly back myself. Probably nothing because I would have all the memories...and her. -luckylauren81 Gather the Dragonballs. If I live in a universe with pumpkin-time machine hybrids, I assume Dragonballs exist too. Or I could just wait it out. It’s only 2009. I would miss my well-to-do job. I enjoy having money to spare and going back would mean being a poor college student again but considering the circumstances, I would say it’s worth it.

-Brian As a failsafe I’d leave detailed plans buried somewhere deep and secure before I left so I could rebuild my machine if the need arose. (I’d miss) My wife and daughter.

Because nobody is more important to me than they are. -Bruce No clue! From 2015 I’d miss my husband and the internet.

-Angela Moore I’d get a job, get a home, love as I always did. My husband. He wouldn’t be able to see how our family turned out. -Melody I probably wouldn’t get back to the present day at all and end up trying to avoid running into myself from that time period. Which could be really cool because my future self could take the direction in life I did not travel. Instead of finishing college, my future self could travel the world. Unless it would screw up my future self, then who knows. I’d just drink a lot of tequila and call it a day. I would miss my cat Izzy and my dog Stevie from present day. But my best friend in the whole world was my best friend in 1998 so I’m good there. -Nyxia Grey

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I would choose to stay in that time period, a one way trip. I would miss electronic instruments such keyboards and guitars. I would miss having opportunities to shop/eat at twenty different cultures stores in the same city area. I would miss certain creative innovations that electricity and high speed transit provide. -Epiphany Publishing I wouldn’t. Saying ‘if I had access to’ implies that I didn’t build it myself, meaning that I don’t know how it works and don’t know how to build another one. My husband. He saved my life and is the most important relationship in my life. -Nyx

Names and Contact Info of the awesome questionnaire participants who gave their consent for me to provide it!

Steven Hughes Purkey, MCSunflowerJones@ gmail.com Deirdree Prudence, DeirdreeDarling@gmail.com Matt C, matt@mattcarpenterart.com Kari Tervo, etsy.com/shop/SweetMayhemZinery Tina Edwards roboticexpression@gmail.com Annora Nin, hermitesss@yahoo.com Charlotte, whimsical@gmail.com Patrick Day, Portland, OR luckylauren81@icloud.com Brian, bzine14@gmail.com Melody, 4176169536 Nyxia Grey, everythingisfinezine@gmail.com Nyx, seagreenzines.com 28

Kris Hartley

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