The One Who Went Back
The city was bright. It seemed ready to catch fire. And perhaps it already had. From beyond it, or perhaps deep in its heart, an orange glow was rising. And as Tho watched, the orange slowly filled with tendrils of sick green, its substance searching about like blind worms.
There was a sudden wind, cold and terrible. It rushed out of the future, shoving Tho down to his hands and knees. He fought back to his feet and let the wind push him back to his group.
By now, the tall stranger had continued on, fleeing further into the past. Quin was a physicist, not an anthropologist. Nor was he an archaeologist or a linguist. Otherwise, he might have been able to warn them more effectively. But what use was it, anyway? It was all irrational hope; something humans were good at. They were also good at knowing when to run, Quin thought. He felt confident the group would figure out very quickly which direction they ought to go in. After all, they were still human.
Quin ran. He ran like his life depended on it, although it was only delaying the inevitable. But he eventually got tired and slowed down. After a few minutes walking, he realized how much he must have missed. This journey into the past. How quickly it went, the accelerated progress of humankind. If you blinked, you might miss a quantum leap or two.
He walked on, passing stone houses and mud huts. Some were older than others. Many of the groups took the journey a little slower, fashioning their own structures and homes. Though a few made it at breakneck pace, leapfrogging over the backs of those who dared to stop. Finally, just as the first ominous rattlings boomed in the distant future, Quin spotted a cave. It was dark inside. Cool and shadowy. It looked as good a place as any to rest one final time.
He climbed a small rise and skirted the edge of a pool whose surface vibrated with the thunder of approaching feet. He entered the hollow cavity. At its rear, a shaft of sunlight stabbed down through a crack in the jagged ceiling. It shone directly on a wall where someone had left an outline of their hand. A cave painting. A declaration: “I existed. I was here once.”
Outside, the screaming had started. Quin listened to the stampede, the rush of humans down the chain of time, fleeing the storm that would sweep them away. He listened for just a moment, then stepped closer to the handprint.
He lifted his hand up against it. His was bigger, longer, slimmer. Probably the result of a different lifestyle as opposed to some huge genetic variance. Whoever put their hand here, had been a human just like Quin. Essentially the same beast.
He stared at the hand for a long time. It was him, but it was not. It was here, but for how long? And who would ever know? << BACK
Written by: Jonathin Suave