Son of Time - Science Fiction Short Story

Loop in Time

On passed time and space alike, the forest ever wide and great, Misuri slowing down. 15 hours to go. 7 till nightfall. He was hungry. Energy boosts could no longer compensate for food and beverage deprivation. But what to eat in this barren land? He missed Tarla's soup and the annoying iced lemonade crusher's two-tone buzz that went on and on, while his daughter Ora was waiting, fresh mint leaves in hand, her clock-wheels eyes steady on the crusher. No mint leaves here, and nothing crushed his heart more than what he'd left behind.

Something zoomed past him. Temporal loops. Potentially dangerous, these were thin streaks that occasionally detached from a main band, arching and fluctuating at high velocities from one side to the other.

Careful, came the sound.

He nodded and adjusted his trajectory, turning steadily leftwards and away.

Then another swish, followed by an uncomfortable body elongation sensation – light – falling inward – he was floating, body fully relaxed and turning around in the air – a brighter flash – he opened his eyes.

"Papa!"

Ora was running toward him, but as if to go past him. Her fifth birthday, just a few weeks past. She was wearing her white flax dress and sandals for the first time.

"Look what I got" – she opened her loose fist, small insect on the surface of her palm. "TedArama's caught it for me." Sparkle in her eyes. "Think I'm gonna name it Bunks."

"Go wash your hands, dear." Tarla's voice. "Your guests are about to arrive."

He turned, as if in a dream, his boot hitting the crystal underside of the table. It clinked.

Tarla turned at the sound and gazed through him, before her hand reached out for Ora's. Smiles on both their faces. Misuri was crying.

"Let's show daddy your new friend first," Tarla gave in. "He's in the garden."

"No, I'm here."

He rushed, as if trying to run through a water he was deeply immersed in, but the square room was becoming a tunnel, the door to the garden ever farther – another swish – a 5-20 narrowly avoided crushing him; he was on the highway, fast cars coming from all sides, so he ran, automatic clock-brain prevalence on, and he leapt and landed on the ground by the lanes. Slowly, he got up and sat by the highway in the passing moments, still confused, still in shock, still feeling as though parts of him were even now landing on the asphalt and jumping into him, as if multiple Misuris, invisible to the eye, had been left behind and were progressively catching up.

Then the sound of passing vehicles was distinct and clear in his ears.