novelxo Chapter 6: A Girl Can't Help Herself
My tale is nothing new. It has been told countless times over the ages, with different characters and varying scenes, but still the same story. As if it was a universal truth that cannot be denied. The important thing now is I am telling you my version, and you can be bothered to read on.
Caren fingered the gold ring. Gold formed in a supernova, ripped from the earth, and shaped to fit her podgy fingers. It wasn’t particularly expensive as rings go, but she’d not paid the monetary value. Just the more expensive cost in commitment; to a man she had nothing particularly in common with. Just the fact that they had shared there DNA, and made yet another member of the human race.
That had been quite some time ago, and he had led a campaign to subjugate her. A protracted pogrom of her will. Until the initial infatuation that brought them together; a mixture of pheromones and alcohol, had dissolved into a long downward spiral to oblivion. She no longer loved him, and Caren suspected him incapable of ever loving her. Just an animal urge; followed by societies customs, and their unwillingness to just let go.
Her son was now a man, at least in body and urges. He lacked the animal cunning of his older self, but was not present just now. His presence lingered in an ashtray. A vice Caren had long ago foregone; still able to temp her senses, but not her resolve.
Temptation was the one thing she could resist. A long and painful lesson learnt. Now she was progressing to resolve. A career as a carer; was hardly the future she had planned for herself. Cast into this roll left her many times alone, while her wards were away.
Then a chance brush with temporal theory changed Caren’s outlook. A program on time travel caught her attention, and finally resolve crystallised. A vague dream she’d had for an eternity; formed in her subjugated mind. Soon she read all the material on the subject, and then she started experimenting. She would go back in time, and change her life before she became this drudge.
How she managed to make the world’s first time machine; this tale doesn’t tell. That’s for a chapter on great inventors of the 21st century. After a few blind starts, and a lot of subdued genius. Combined with a bit of blind luck, saw Caren stood in the basement ready for the trip. I’d like to say the machine was an impressive mixture of a bicycle; and several computers propped up with oil drums, but in the end she got it all in a shoe box. It had a few dials for control on the front.
“Right deep breath Caren.” She set the date etched in her memory like a brand. A crimson sheen spread out from two handles she held onto, and enveloped her like a body suit. Then with an unpopping, the basement was empty. Twenty years ago she popped back into the same basement, luckily it had been built then.
So tonight was the night; the twentieth anniversary of caring, but for her two decades reversal in the fourth dimension. She crept out, and luckily found on one at home. Then Caren headed off to the pub she always regretted going to. Now he’d get his, before he could get her. Caren came armed, nothing too dangerous, just enough to land him in casualty. That would do.
She turned into the street the pub was on, and just then she noticed in an ally a crimson sheen and a popping sound. Too much of a coincidence to ignore she approached the alley. It was only then that Caren saw a mixture of a bicycle; and several computers propped up on oil drums, next to a very old and wheezing form.
“Don’t do it“, pleaded her older self. “He’s not worth it. He just marries someone else and makes her life a misery.” Was this some trick? Sensing Caren’s question, “no it’s not” her elderly self replied. “If you could invent a time machine once, then why not again but twenty years earlier. Especially with the money you got from selling your house, yes I know.” Caren instinctively reached for her bulging pocket. “But it took me a lot longer, so don’t waste your life. My life’s been spent chasing a time machine you’ve already got.”
As Caren saw the possibility a change happened. As with any resolved paradox, her older self shimmered into nothing before her eyes. Leaving only the possibility in her mind, and a plan in fruition. The next day, but twenty years later, Caren walked out of a bank miles away from him. She had just withdrawn all the money from a two-decade-old account. Under her arm Caren carried a shoebox size bag. Smiling Caren hummed to herself, as she ducked into an alley. “Sometimes a girl can’t help herself.” Then there was a crimson sheen, and an unpopping sound.