A broken twig (standard:drama, 4497 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: May 27 2020	Views/Reads: 1417/988	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
What would you do, if you found a time-machine?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

to be ejected as before a few seconds later. He quickly stood up and 
ran to where he could properly see the village. To find it gone. He 
made his way back down there and after five minutes was walking amongst 
the ruins which nature slowly seemed to claim back. If your mind was 
elsewhere as was Geoffreys when he passed through earlier, they hardly 
warranted a second glance, but now here they were, overgrown with grass 
and soil, reclaimed by the ground. 

The same village he had just seen. 

Yet he had to make sure, so made his way back up the vortex and jumped
inside. 

He was soon on a rocky outcrop, looking down at the village, as it was,
the same as before. People milling around. Daily life. Activity. 

He realised that he could be spotted, so climbed back to the vortex
where he knew he could not be seen. 

I must have gone back a few hundred years, he thought, and jumped back
into the void. 

When he came out he wrote as best he could the location of it, and tried
his best to get back on to what he was originally doing. Clambering his 
way down, through a valley and along a ridgeway, he came across a path, 
a pathway that led to a narrow road which cut its way through the 
region. He knew that from here he could find his way back on track. 

He found where he was on his map and continued to make his way to
Keoldale. 

What would his friends think? he thought. He'd found a way into the
past. A link into Scotland however many years ago it was. They won't 
believe me, he thought, but some of them may be convinced. They 
certainly will be when I show them. 

However, the closer he got to Keoldale, the more he came to understand
that it was probably best he tell nobody, for the reason he turned and 
ran back to the vortex when he realised he was in the past. 

Should he have spoken to anyone in the village, or should they have even
seen him at all, then such actions will have repercussions for the 
future. Things will change, may not happen. Like the butterfly flapping 
its wings really can affect tornados in America, even if someone had 
looked at him sat on the hillside, and wondered who it was, those few 
seconds could be precious, could maybe effect something in the future 
that could well have happened had they not been spotted at all. If he 
brought attention to himself simply by treading on and breaking a twig, 
then the timeline could well start to veer in a different direction. 

A broken twig, could indeed, change the world. 

So talking to somebody then was out of the question, because in the
future he may not then exist, as it could have affected his parents 
Doreen and Charlie meeting up. 

They might not have met at the local discoteque. While Charlie was out
on the dancefloor with his flares, multi-coloured shirt and droopy 
moustache, busting moves out to the new sensation of rock 'n roll, and 
Doreen watching him from the side with hearts in her eyes falling 
smitten at that instant, unable to do anything but go over there and 
join him, then perhaps the resultant Geoffery may not have been born 
had they not have met. 

When Doreen badgered her friend to come with her to the disco to hear
this new fangled music, this bad influence according to her friend's 
father, and depending on how dominant he was in keeping her behaved in 
the way he thinks was best for her, where his way of thinking, his 
opinions and values were the only ones of any merit, where nothing else 
would do and alternative thoughts discouraged. It's my way or no way at 
all, then where would society be if everybody kept order? If they 
obeyed the rules. 

Society gradually changes and twists around to new ways of thinking
partially because children rebel against thier parents. 

If Doreen's friend had obeyed her father and stayed in and not gone out
to listen to this rock 'n roll, this scourge of society corrupting the 
nation's youth. If she had obeyed and not rebelled like so many other 
children, just 'became' their parents, then society would stagnate. 
Whatever influence Doreen's friends father had, he was losing as she 
grew older. He and the mother were slowing unlocking their grip, as 
were thousands of other parents, watching as their children took up the 
influences of the day, and civilisation gradually changed, leaving 
those behind who were set in their ways and wanted their offspring to 
be like them, because their way was the 'right' way to be. It's my way 
or nothing, and you will be the same. 

Thankfully children disobey their parents like Doreen's friend, who went
to the disco anyway leaving her father sitting in his armchair with his 
arms folded, a sour expression on his face, because if he wasn't sat 
there like that, Geoffery would not exist. 

Even if those parents had not met. If an appointment was missed, or
cancelled, or they were late, where time was a major factor as to 
whether or not life changing events happened. If the milkman had not 
seduced Mrs Bramble from number 46, then little Bobby would not have 
been born. Little Bobby who went on to found a shoe factory creating 
hundreds of jobs. Jobs that affected the lives of the employees where 
the pay would give them a standard of living that improved their lives, 
where new friends would form and babies born. People coming in to give 
their ideas and opinions. Shall we expand? Shall we raise the prices? 
Shall advertise more? 

A person who sees one of those adverts by a road-side in the south of
the country and stops to look at it for a few moments which makes him 
late for the bus to go and play in an important football match, which 
means the bus whose driver has no patience, 'Oh I'm not waiting any 
longer', left without him, meaning his replacement in defence may go on 
to bigger and better things, changing his life, all because of an 
eye-catching advert for a shoe factory that would not exist, where it 
not for the glint in the milkman's eye. 

If an asteroid was heading straight for Earth, then anything that could
knock it slightly, even a millimetre, could change its trajectory, and 
it would miss, changing everybody's life in the process, and they 
wouldn't even know it. 

It was hard for Geoffery not to tell his friends, not to tell anyone.
The temptation was strong, and he told his ramblers group that the walk 
he was recceing was not viable. The route needed would be much longer 
than anticipated, more of a round trip, and they reluctantly agreed and 
sent him on another one from Kearvaig to Achiemore. 

At his home, in a caravan park near Oldshoremore beach, he lived with a
community of others who had similar lifestyles, the caravans embedded 
permanently with permanent residents. There were several on the other 
side of the car-park where tourists could stay but whether they did or 
not it didn't matter because money was not too much of an issue. He was 
fifty-seven years old, lived alone, although divorced three times he 
decided to just accept the fact he would be a singleton and thought 
that even if another opportunity came around to walk back down the 
aisle, he would probably not take it. Old age beckoned, and he was set 
in his ways, in his routine, and he was happy with it. With dark, 
floppy hair, he always wore the same jacket most days despite the 
weather. He was quite 'weathered', as though he'd been down-trodden for 
years. 

In the days after discovering the vortex, he couldn't get it out of his
mind, and with the notes he had taken, he tried to find it again. This 
time driving as close as he could get in his beat-up little Honda 
civic. 

From where he parked, on a lonely desolate road, it was a five mile trek
over hills across fields, through mountainous regions, but he found it. 
There it was, swirling around and he felt no fear as he jumped inside. 

He was thrown out again, rolling over and standing up. He stood on an
outcrop, surveying the village in the distance, sure no-one there could 
see him, but everything was the same as it was in the past and he did a 
quick overview of his surroundings to make sure nobody was around, 
would not chance upon him, but the nearest person it seemed was down in 
the village. It was the only place of any activity for miles around. 

This must be anywhere from the 12th to the 19th century, he thought. It
was a nice sunny day and a few birds circled in the sky, and he 
wondered that he should not even be seen by animals, as maybe somewhere 
down the line even they could have some sort of effect. After around 
two hours he made his way back to the void, and back to his own 
civilisation. 

He stayed for a few days in his present, at his ramblers meetings, and
caravan park barbecues, trying to be normal, but still the vortex had 
invaded his mind, and when he parked up at the same place to walk the 
five miles, he took from under the passenger side seat a good pair of 
binoculars, and was soon trekking his way through the hills and into 
the past. 

Sat upon the rock, he surveyed the village below through his binoculars,
having made sure nobody was near and saw exactly what he had suspected, 
and it reinforced his belief that he really was in the past. There was 
nothing modern anywhere. People milled around and went about their 
business in what seemed partly to be a farming village. At the far side 
from his vantage point there were fences where he could see several 
grazing cows and sheep along with a couple of horses, and several 
chickens who simply wandered around the village. 

After around an hour of just observing, he decided he would go back to
the vortex and without fear leapt back into his present, but instead of 
making his way home, he went down into what was left of the village. 
The layout was partly visible. There was some masonry left of the wall 
of the haybarn, some of the interior of a stone cottage where it looked 
like there had been a fireplace, and now that he looked more closely, 
bits of what looked to be pottery dotted here and there. A place also 
that looked like it could have been a workshop hadn't been completely 
reclaimed. 

He decided to go back home, and perhaps do some research. The nearest
library was in Achriesgill, but he guessed it may be worth a visit 
because although he wasn't exactly a technophobe, he didn't have access 
to the internet. He did have a mobile phone, but all it did was call 
and text. In terms of modern technology, an ancient device. 

One of his friends at the ramblers meeting in Durness did have a new
internet phone and he kept up to date, but was reluctant to part with 
it so Geoffrey could look something up. 

He asked him to look up old Scottish villages. His friend was curious,
asking why and reluctantly handing over his phone when he had looked it 
up online, but what it said was more general, talking about Scottish 
life, about various clans and castles. Nothing nailed down to what he 
wanted to know. When he started trying to type in his friend 
interjected by taking the phone back and telling him the talk and 
slides by one of their members was about to begin, about their journey 
along part way of what used to be the East-West Silk road trade routes. 
When the lights went off and the screen came on, Geoffrey could do 
nothing but fold his arms and watch. 

The following day he loaded up on petrol and drove to the library. There
was hardly anybody in there and he enquired about using the computers. 
The kindly woman behind the desk tried to help him set up, and he had 
to make an account because with the library being far away from where 
he lived he had no reason to join. The books he read he simply bought, 
but after a good ten minutes, the woman not really knowing herself what 
to do, he was finally surfing the web for information on old Scottish 
villages. 

It didn't tell him too much other than what his friend's phone had told
him. It was more about Scottish history and details on things which 
were not what he was searching for. He tried old Scottish maps, and 
there it was. There was the village. It was rather crudely drawn and 
was nothing more than a few white squares out in the highlands for 
1652, so remote and small it didn't have a name, but that was all. That 
was the best he could find. 

So while Scotland was writing its history, and battlefields rang to the
sound of clashing steel, and the monarchy was breaking, the village 
simply got on with life, out of the way, maybe not even being aware of 
what else was happening beyond the mountains. The internet didn't 
mention anything else and he wondered if he could find anybody that 
knew their history who might have known about the village, but what 
could they say? he wondered. 

Yes, there was a village, and that's about it. 

How far could he go? Could he even trust himself not to say anything? 

No, not really, envisioning his mind screaming for him not to say
anything but his mouth having other ideas. 

'I've found a portal into the past'. 

No, he decided he knew enough, and was happy with that. 

Although at the caravan site, and at ramblers meetings, he did kind of
ask rudimentary questions incase anybody had further information. 
Usually at such clubs or societies, somebody would know a lot about a 
certain subject and if you asked there would bound to be somebody who 
would have an answer, but with this he just invited curiosity. Thinking 
he had just developed a sudden interest in historical villages, as 
everybody knew him at the ramblers, it seemed curious that he should 
start asking questions, but he put it down to a new hobby, a new 
interest, and their curiosity in him left. So he was interested in 
history, so what? him and millions of others. 

It turned out not many of them knew much, other than the normal famous
history, and the only morsel he got was from Mrs Beresford who always 
walked her dog along the coast every morning. 'Well I do believe there 
was a village around here in the past, but that's all I know'. 

It really was all she knew. There was a village, now it's gone. That's
it. 

The next time he ventured out there it was teeming with rain and the
wind buffeted and pushed him all the way there, and when he jumped 
inside, it was rather similar. The sky was grey and it was raining 
slightly. There wasn't as much activity in the village, but a few 
people milled around. 

He sat for a while having checked his surroundings should anybody happen
upon him and simply observed the village through his binoculars. 

When he went back to his own civilisation the temptation to tell people
had subsided. One person even noted that he'd stopped enquiring about 
old Scottish villages and Geoffrey had said it was just an interest in 
local history, nothing more, and nothing more was said and he never 
asked. 

The club had organised a ramble from Portnancon to Sarsgrum and on the
walk were two new members. He wondered perhaps if he would risk a 
ramble, or a walk back in 1652. 

He was embroiled in club activity for the next few days developing a
walk leadership project and organising a stall for a marketing event 
down in Glasgow, but he found the time to drive back to the parking 
space and trek through the fields, valleys and mountains to the hill, 
and it wasn't long before he was sat on his rock, observing through his 
binoculars. 

The village was as it was. Life moved as normal, and he was convinced he
could not be seen nor happened upon. He noticed there were a lot more 
trees, but where he was, and around the village there was none. 

Perhaps, he thought, it might be worth the risk to venture out a little
bit further, keeping strict the fact that he must not be seen by anyone 
or anything. 

If he went in the opposite direction to where he faced the village he
knew it was  sloping fields and hills, down towards a lake. 

So slowly, cautiously, he walked a little further out, observing his
surroundings like a hawk. It wasn't too dissimilar to his present 
except there was more foliage, more trees, and more flowers here and 
there. 

After around a mile, he saw the lake, but dared not venture down there.
Not until he was feeling brave enough. Perhaps even fish could alter 
the timeline, if it was not caught because of him. He scrambled his way 
back and leapt into the vortex, leapt into his present. 

Back at home he was involved in a meeting of caravan park residents
because of a proposed purchase of the park by a chain company. They had 
offered the owners a tempting package, but the vote was a unanimous no, 
and so for a while the owners hid their faces because they had even 
considered it. 

Everything was going smoothly at the ramblers and he recced the Kearvaig
to Achiemore route, including a lot of coastline. 

He found time to go back to the vortex and rambled his way there from
his parked car, and sat upon his rock surveying the village. Everything 
was as it was and he ventured out a little further, braving the lake. 
He knelt and put his hand in the water, and a wave of apprehension came 
over him then. This was too much. Too dangerous. He headed home. 

He led the first ramble on the Kearvaig to Achiemore route but he was
disappointed to find only three members turn up. It was the same with 
most clubs and societies across the world. Memberships fluctuated. 
Sometimes they'd be queuing to get in, and sometimes there would only 
be a select few there, and the question of recruitment was a constant. 
How can we increase membership? was a common question all clubs asked 
at some point. 

He was also disappointed to find he wouldn't be going to Glasgow to help
with the stall as he was not needed, so led another long trodden 
familiar route with five members this time. 

At the caravan park, it was quite rare to get one of the tourist
caravans occupied, but this time a back-packing New Zealand couple 
stayed for a few days on their way to wherever they felt like moving on 
to, and such was the curiosity about them they were intergrated by the 
residents into joining them at barbecues and sometimes into caravans 
when it rained. 

They were a middle-aged couple, Adele and Craig. Adele had recently
given up being a fitness instructor and Craig was a construction worker 
whose contract ended and they had both snapped up the opportunity to go 
back-packing around the world. 

They were a welcome addition to the area as they liked to talk, and when
it was time for them to leave the residents were sorry to see them go, 
so normality returned and Geoffery found himself with time to visit the 
past, and taking a detour to fill up with petrol, he drove to the 
familiar parking space and walked the fields and hills, the wind 
blowing and the temperature fairly low, but into the vortex he jumped. 

When he came out it was a bright, sunny, warm day, and he observed the
village for a while before deciding he would venture out a little 
further. 

Observing his surroundings as he walked he saw no-one, only a few birds
circling in the sky in the distance. 

He cautiously braved walking further east for around a mile and a half
before spotting a river curving through a valley. He made his way down 
there. Grasses and shrubs sporadically lined the water's edge and he 
walked up to the flowing water, knelt down and splashed his face. It 
felt good, cold and fresh. 

When he opened his eyes, there was somebody staring at him on the other
side. 

A little girl of about seven, kneeling down to fill a bowl locked eyes
with him. 

Fear began to rise within Geoffery, and he stood up, backed away, then
turned and ran as fast as he could back to the vortex. 

He leapt into the void and emerged back into his present. The weather
was the same, the sky slightly darker throwing down specks of rain. He 
hauled himself as fast as he could to his car, but at one point he had 
to lean against a rock to regain his breath. 

Onwards he went, walking, running, walking, running, until eventually he
came to where his car should have been. 

Except it was gone. 

He collapsed and stayed there for a while regaining his strength as he
knew he would have to make his way the three miles to the caravan park. 


Knowing he would have to start sooner rather than later, reluctantly he
continued the trek back home. 

He knew he may not see any people on his way so wasn't too surprised
when he saw nobody as he was out in the sticks in the Scottish 
countryside in cold and rainy weather. So after around an hour he 
walked the path to the caravan park. 

As he got closer he could see something wasn't right. 

There were no caravans. 

Not as they were anyway. They were broken and smashed, strewn across the
park. 

There were also no people. 

He panicked and ran down towards the beach, but stopped as he saw other
caravans and cars smashed, scattered along the sand and some in the 
water along the shoreline. A car alarm was blaring somewhere down 
there, but he could still see no-one. 

He sighed in despair, walked across to a rock, sat upon it and gazed out
to sea.


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