- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Commercial & Creative Writing»
- Creative Writing
The timeline was breaking into fractals and she stepped between the membrane, there was no way back to the original time frame and she knew it. How long had she been traveling? One small step for mankind. Where would she land this time, which parallel life? Every life was similar to the original, but had it’s own variations. I mean, they all took place on Earth, at least. She would never forget the one where the dilated pupil alien was taking over, the black pupils of the taken over people versus the pinpoint pupil of the evil uninhabited. For some reason, when the two opposites met, they would spit in each other’s face? And that was it, the DNA had been transferred, and finally, finally, the last person on Earth was taken over, the funny transvestite from the library with the striped stockings and a baby –they spat at each other—it was done—they both ended up with dilated pupils, and the alien consciousness had taken over the entire Earth. Her brother and her had witnessed that parallel reality! The variations never ending. So here she was again, with the familiar hope. This time, he was here, her husband, and instead of the two little daughters she remembered from the original constant, it was a little blonde son and a very expensive house, all redwood, with many levels connected with stairwells, like the famous Escher painting with the stairs that led to many perspectives. She wandered the levels, wondered why he was such stranger this life, and retrieved the membranes. . .the timeline breaking into fractals. . .