...With respect to Mr. Wells.
Chapter 1
The Dinner Party
The eyes of every dinner guest grew wide, every chest drew in a deep breath. No one knew what to make of this strange man, or his claims. He had demonstrated a singular grasp on the known sciences in previous discourse. Every one of us could attest to his intelligence. But this notion seemed one step beyond rational thought; one step too far for the rest of us. Our host concluded the evening with one last peculiarity: "I beg you, return to this very house, one week from this evening, and I will meet you here to divulge whatever accounts I have collected in my travels. If my strange little machine sits immobile in its place, I will report that to you. If I traverse great swaths of time to visit our furthest futures, you will know of it."
And with that, our party disbanded, each too confused, too fascinated, too hopeful, if we were to be honest, to speak to one another for fear that our willingness to imagine the possibilities would seem complete insanity; a justification for a visit to the asylum. In weeks to come, we would admit to one another that we each secretly desired that this man's incredulous claims would prove fact. We each quietly wished that one Thursday from this, we would return to the home of the Time Traveler to find an impossible artifact, an impossible story, or even, if we dared to dream, a visitor from another time to greet us.
Chapter 2
The Journey Begins
The Time Traveler gazed intently at his strange creation. The time machine looked ready, almost eager to meet its purpose. Indeed, the time had finally come when all the Time Traveler's theory and preparation would be put to the test. There was to be no turning back. He solemnly placed a quartz knob, a key of sorts, upon the brass control handle, and seated himself upon the saddle. For a moment, he took in the surroundings of his laboratory, quietly curious if this might be the last time he would see its familiar spindles, tubes, and metals.
After one last moment of quiet reflection, he pulled the handle ever so slowly, and then returned it to its original position. His eyes darted around the room. No ill effects, it seemed. Perhaps no effects at all. His eyes fell upon the grandfather clock in the western corner of the room. 12:03, he noted. Once more his hand fell upon the quartz knob and brass handle, and he pulled the lever toward him, much further than before. The grandfather clock's long hand began to move at a fast pace... success! The short hand was soon to follow. It began to move more and more rapidly until it became a whir of activity, too fast to decipher where the hand actually pointed at any given moment.
The longer the Traveler waited, the more strange his surroundings became. He took note of dear Mrs. Feathermoore, who entered the room, and searched in vain for her master. Before he could consider stopping the machine to put her at ease, he had become transfixed on the overwhelming decay and disuse that fell upon the room in the instants following. Pictures faded to pale colors, cobwebs went unhindered, almost enveloping the ceiling, and dust overtook all of the surfaces of his now totally unfamiliar laboratory. Moments later, the walls cracked and peeled, and plaster gave way to its brick and mortar supports, which gave way to complete disintegration only seconds after that.
It was then that the Time Traveler noted a distinct feeling of unease in his belly. It felt not unlike drunkenness, yet not entirely familiar all the same. The pit in his stomach deepened, until he could bear it no more, and decided at last to return the handle to its home and allow the journey's destination to reveal itself. When the machine came to rest, all of the accumulated energy of its travels came to bear on the traveler, and he involuntarily released sickness upon the floor of the contraption.
Chapter 3
The Great Experiment
The Time Traveler raised his head and shielded his eyes from the brightness of the unrelenting sun. He could see no buildings, no valleys, no marks of any kind; only sun. The rays of our mother star were more intense, more powerful than he could have ever imagined, and in almost an instant, his skin was burned as darkly as an island negro's. Steam rose from his exposed hands and face. His limbs were nearly paralyzed with agony. His clothes seemed to pulse against his flesh.
Nausea came upon him once more, and he unwillingly gave way to its demands. The energy of this omnipotent white light was too much for a pale Londoner to bear, and it wasn't long before the Time Traveler's breath became long and shallow. He feebly grasped at the controls, but in vain. His strength had faded so quickly and so profoundly, that he could not have lifted a cigarette paper with all of his concentrated efforts.
One last gasp of air escaped from his lungs, formed into a final breathy word that fell limply from cracked, bleeding, blistered lips. "Failure."
###
Chapter 3.1
The Great Experiment
The Time Traveler raised his head and shielded his eyes from the brightness of the sun. The star seemed brighter, more intense than he had ever imagined, but not unbearably so. His eyes nearly closed, he cautiously set foot onto the grass beneath the machine and took in his surrounds. All that he could see from such a vantage was endless green. Trees towered into the sky, surpassing clouds at mid-trunk. Grass came to the collar of the Traveler's coat, and plants that resembled sunflowers loomed like street lamps far overhead. The Traveler was in awe of his new world; he could not even bring himself to breathe; a mere distraction from his visions of a new Eden.
But, this fantasy was not to last. Every Eden has a gate, and in this case, it is guarded by an angel who breathes fire. The Traveler's lungs demanded fuel, and he was helpless to respond. He took in a deep, almost boundless gasp of air, and exhaled slowly. But the air he took in did not feel like the cool, odorless oxygen that residents of our age are accustomed to. It felt to him as though a fire burned deep in his bosom, and there was no relief from its flames. The Time Traveler clutched at his chest, and heaved in and out for a moment's time.
His thoughts became scattered, panicked, unclear. He could not remember where he was. He could not remember his reason for being wherever that might be. He could not even recall his name. Moments of his life came into brief recollection, and it seemed as though time stood still. Eden spun in circles around him, and he fell to his knees amidst stalks of Goliath's grass, gasping unwillingly upon the ground for a moment before breathing his last.
###
Chapter 3.2
The Great Experiment
The Time Traveler raised his head and shielded his eyes from the brightness of the sun. After his eyes adjusted to the powerful light of this future place, he came to take in his surrounds. The time machine was enveloped by boundless green. Grass came to a man's waist, and plants that resembled sunflowers came to greet the Traveler as beings of equal height. The Traveler stepped softly into the Eden that lay before him. His wonderment was too much; he noticed that he had not even allowed himself to breathe. As he spun in a circle, transfixed by the new world that he had come to visit, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with clean, deeply refreshing air. The taste and smell of sickness from his travels seemed to vanish instantly.
"My God and saints alive", the Traveler said aloud, "it's perfect." He trod a path among shorter grasses, and set aim for a tree line not more than a mile from his vantage. As he walked, he pondered the garden world's characteristics, and made note of particular variations in shapes, colors, and textures. A flighted creature circled overhead, and the Traveler made note of its broad wings, bright tail-feathers, and narrow beak. "Beautiful", he said, "So beautiful."
The Traveler traveled on, engaged in an internal debate with his self. "If there are birds and plants," he thought, "surely humans have thrived as well? I should wonder if their shape has changed. Will I be able to pass among them as an equal?" While his thoughts were given over to this curiosity, the Traveler unwittingly scratched a small welt upon his left hand. In doing so, he had inadvertently crushed the skin mound's creator: a large insect that resembled a mosquito. The Time Traveler's blood mingled with that of the bug, and poured down his wrist. The Time Traveler wiped the blood with his other hand, and in his mind registered a quiet disappointment. "So there are pests in Eden?" he thought.
More travels lay before him, and he set himself to the task. He continued toward the tree line, the time machine now almost out of view. His hand continued to itch, but the swelling from the bug's bite had begun to assuage. As he scratched his hand, filled with contempt for this future miscreant, a brief whisper of a thought registered in the back of his mind. The man stopped in his tracks, consumed with this new consideration. "I believe... yes... that is the answer." he said with a resoluteness, and changed direction away from the trees.
The journey's new direction continued for several minutes, perhaps even an hour, and in that time, the Traveler considered no thoughts, no ideas, no decisions. His mind was consumed with a singular purpose: a direction. He couldn't explain to himself why he so wished to head in this particular way, but no thought had ever been more real to him, no desire more burning. "This way", he said. "Yes, this way." His skin had become a little more pale by now, but not enough to give him concern. His eyes were shot with blood, and a brief fit of coughing took upon him for a moment, but these were only minor diversions from his new destination.
After a time, the Traveler came at last upon a mound of earth several dozen feet high. This was what he had searched for, that he knew with an unquestionable certainty. He took rest upon a smaller mound in orbit of the great tower, and set his eyes to rest.
Seconds later, a hum filled the earth beneath the great mound. The Time Traveler smiled, feeling contented with the pitch that fell deep into his ears. He stretched out his arms, unthinking, and let his head fall to his chest. The hum deepened, and grew so loud that the earth shook in its wake.
A great insect, as long as a walking stick, and as thick as a crocodile, with as many legs as there are residents in London town, slowly emerged from the deep hole. It had no eyes, no antennae. It's only characteristic of note other than its behemoth size, was the cloud of insects that clung to it and hovered near it. The insect beast slithered and slinked toward the Time Traveler, who had fallen into a deep trance; a paralytic in slavery to the resounding hum. The queen sloth reared its massive form before the Traveler, using its back legs to move ever closer to its prey. The Traveler's arms remained outstretched, his face smeared with an impossible, unwitting smile.
The drones surrounded the Time Traveler now, and the queen's legs fell gently upon his body. The queen's hum ceased, replaced with a gentle seeping sound, that of its venom saturating the body of the man in its clutches. The Time Traveler awoke with a start, and quickly deciphered his circumstances. His eyes turned black with terror, his veins pulsed with fear and horror. But there was no escape. His flesh burned to ash and steam, dissolving into the pores of the queen's skin, food for his captor. The Time Traveler's long, terrible screams fell upon an empty and unforgiving valley, echoing into the distance until he had been enveloped completely, and then there was only silence.
