Yesterday Once More

Dr. Billows pressed Go on his time machine. Inside the vessel nothing happened. But through the window, everything in his lab stretched and distorted into a brilliant mixture of light and darkness, indicating he was tunneling into space time. His calculations had been correct, at least the first part.

As quickly as the journey began, it ended. After checking the console and confirming the date at his destination, he unsealed the hatch.

He emerged into his laboratory exactly one day earlier. Confronted with his past self, he told himself not to ask Dr. Morgan on a date later that night.

Note To Self

I recognized the helmet on the unearthed body as the same customized gear hidden in my private lab. The ancient, scarred face underneath it, not so much. The damage was far too extensive. Even so, I knew.

Words scratched into the metal plate the body clutched remained legible: “Do not activate.” It didn’t specify what, but I knew that, too.

If I press that button in my lab a portal will open to the past. I had decided against the risk.

But now I must do it. I need to find out what could cause me to write that warning.

From Guest Contributor Sean MacKendrick

Pollution

My pager summons me to the Master Observation Analysis Lab (MOAL).

Based on the theory telescopes will see pollution in the atmosphere of planets which have, or had, industrial life as we might know it, MOAL is analysing photographic images of planetary atmospheres.

Initially we agreed upon three levels of pollution, Minimal, Moderate, High, which are yet to be calibrated into sub-levels.

“We've found the very first planet with measurable readings and in the High zone,” calls the Manager to me excitedly. “We need you to verify.”

“Wow! Fantastic! How many light years away?”

“It’s in our own solar system!”

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's other stories can be found on Cyclamens & Swords, 50 Word Stories and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.

Plastic Flowers

Miranda stood alone in a field of colorful wildflowers, carefully examining each one, searching for an explanation of why they were not actually alive, but rather were made of plastic. She had never encountered anything like it in her thirty years of botanical study.

She eventually capitulated and returned to her car. It also was made of plastic. So was the park entrance and the sign next to it. When she arrived back at the lab, her assistants had turned to plastic as well.

She would always consider her younger days, before everything became plastic, as the 'Good 'ol days.'