𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆

✩ ☽ ✩

Betty slowly opened her eyes. But apart from a few blurry patches of colour, she could see nothing. She blinked a few times. The image blurred. She saw that she was lying on a construction site. With her left hand, she felt the pocket watch hanging around her neck. It was there, lying on the wet blouse between her breasts.

She thought silently for a moment before her pupils dilated in realization and a loud, terrified cry escaped her lips.

She scrambled to her feet. „No, no, no, no, no, no!" She couldn't believe it. She didn't.

Her unfinished time machine couldn't possibly work. According to the knowledge she had, that probability was ruled out.

„This can't be possible! Goddamn thing!"

When she finally looked at the machine, she was puzzled by the amount of dust it was covered in. Strangely enough, she hadn't even considered what she must look like at this moment. And that was probably a good thing.

Betty blew the dust away and then wiped it off with her hand. She didn't get some of the damage down, though; the dial was covered in small scratches, and the dust and sand particles couldn't be completely swept out of the gears in the back. Their colour was not bright white, but greyish.

Appearance was the last thing the girl cared about though she cared about making the device work. At least in some way.

Hell, she didn't even remember how many times or where she turned! That was the second mistake.

The first was that she'd even picked it up in the first place. Or invented it and then made it. There were quite a few mistakes in the early days.

There were strange noises in the distance. She suddenly realized she didn't know anything. Of location, of space-time... She looked around and made her way through the pieces of junk towards what could have been an exit.

Clothes were sticking to her uncomfortably, especially her (formerly) white shirt, which was, because of the color, now translucent. She also assessed the heels on her feet as a stupid idea.

She managed to find the entrance gate; it must be said that it was in a miserable condition. And she slipped out through the empty brick archway. She looked around for people on the street. It was at this moment that she regretted not paying more attention to the professor in history class. Maybe she would have known what time she was in.

Her knowledge, on the other hand, wasn't so bad that she didn't confidently determine that she would be in the early 20th century (if not later). She thought she was going to cry like a little girl.

Betty took to the streets, trying not to notice the stares of passersby. To no small surprise, the city's appearance was different to how the girl knew it, so she couldn't orient herself by the shops or some of the street names. It was confusing.