The Time Traveler's Strife

     It all started with a crash. Then, there I was, just a jumble of arms and legs lying on the solid wood floor staring up at the popcorn ceiling with a mix of confusion and relief. A jumble of limbs isn't always a bad thing, except when you are the only participant. I untangled myself and got to my feet. After a quick check of my joints I realized, that other than being sore, I was fine. We’ll rule this landing a success. I looked around and tried to get my bearings. My head was swimming and my vision a little blurred, as always happens when I land, but I knew this would pass. I was surrounded by blank walls, and news papered covered windows. This must be some sort of abandoned house and it was dark and hot as I started to explore. I was in a large vacant room with dirty white walls and scratched wood flooring. I walked to the doorway and peered down a long dark hallway. It reminded me of a throat of some large monster. I shook of the thought and carefully stepped through the doorway and made my way up the hall. I pasted a few dark rooms but didn’t bother to check them out. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that everything I need was found on the bottom floor, especially an exit. And I knew I was on the second floor, because I always land on the second floor. I haven’t figured out exactly why that is, and I may never, but I pushed that thought from my mind and concentrated on the task at hand. I made it to the stair case and walked down into a carpeted living room. The windows down here were covered as well, but just enough light filtered in to give the room an eerie glow. Just like upstairs, the rooms were vacant, and smelling musty. The carpet was ripped and frayed in places, along with large stains that I tried not to think about caused them. I walked over to the window and peeled back a corner of the newspaper covering the window. I could see the sun-burned lawn, turned brown and dead. And there were the charred remains of a small car in the driveway. Across the street, the houses looked in similar condition. A few houses had been burned to the ground completely, the flames died out long ago. Others were boarded up and as vacant like this one. Nothing green grew, no tree, no grass, no flowers, nothing. I took a moment and listened. I waited for the chipping of a sparrow, or the barking of a random dog, or even the roar of a passing car. But there was nothing, complete silence. I pushed the corner of the paper back into place and sighed. I hated being dropped here, absolutely hated it. I began checking my pockets and pulling out, what seemed to be random items. See, I never remember what I packed, or what for, right away. I always land, head goes in and out, and I lose a few hours of memories. Unfortunately, it’s always the last few hours before I left. I walked to the stone bench built into the fireplace hearth and laid out my treasures. A Swiss Army knife, a pen, a folded up piece of paper that had a string of numbers (not in my hand writing) on them, a cell phone, a pair of sunglasses, and some Cherry Chap-Stick. I stared at the piece of paper and tried to remember what these numbers meant.



10-24-16-16-32-03-06-22-04-03-09-88


It was too long for a combination, lotto numbers, or a phone number. And too many numbers to be coordinates. I flipped the paper over and searched it for additional clues. Sometimes the memories came back, if I was landed long enough, but I never try and stay in one of these places for long, especially this place. The last time I was here I came so close to never making it out of here that I pleaded to never have to come back here again. I guess I request fell upon deaf ears. Plus, I am not sure if anyone truly has a say where I land. With another sigh, I set the timer on my watch for 90 minutes and stood up. That was as long as I was letting myself stay this time. With my sunglasses on, Chap-Stick applied, all my other treasures tucked away in my pockets I opened the front door and stepped out onto the bleached rotting porch. The heat was so oppressive and the smell of decay and death was inescapable. I coughed a few times, and steeled myself against the odor. I walked down the steps and made my way to the street. In the distance I could see the broken remains of skyscrapers and the skeletons of dead trees. I scanned the neighborhood street and saw an old minivan that looked like it had missed the inferno a few houses down. I jogged over to the faded red soccer-mom-mobile and busted out the window to unlock it. I fully expected to be overcome with the smell of rotting death, the remains of some poor soul who met their end within the confines of their own van. But a little bit of luck shined on me and the minivan smelled fresh and clean. I shut the door and hot wired the van. It roared to life and the air conditioner kicked on, blasting me with the cold welcomed air and further spreading the pleasing scent. I scanned the radio stations, trying to pick up a signal, but there was just static, as always. With a full tank of gas I threw the van into drive and sped down the street, heading for the broken skyline of what used to be downtown. If there were answers it had to be there. 83 minutes left my watch told me, and I pressed the gas pedal all the way to floor. I had to make this quick if I wanted to get back in one piece.