Twists in Time Read online

  A Time Travel Anthology by:

  Jon Messenger, Sherry Ficklin, Amanda Strong, Holly Kelly, Julie Wetzel, Kelly Risser, Kathy-Lynn Cross, Sandy Goldsworthy, and Kasi Blake

  THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  NO part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Twists in Time

  Copyright ©2015

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-63422-116-0

  Cover Design by: Marya Heiman

  Typography by: Courtney Nuckels

  Editing by: Cynthia Shepp

  ~Smashwords Edition~

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  Within A Grain of Sand, by: Kathy-Lynn Cross

  What You Wish For, by: Kelly Risser

  Tides of Time, by: Julie Wetzel

  The Fall, by: Holly Kelly

  The Before Sky, by: Sherry Ficklin

  It's the Little Things, by: Jon Messenger

  Kiss of Time, by: Amanda Strong

  Aftertime, by: Sandy Goldsworthy

  Romeo & Juliet Times Infinity by: Kasi Blake

  We go through life breathing, eating, interacting, and introverts such as myself interact well with plants and animals, too.

  I have fish, two silver dollars named Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.

  During the day, my free time was spent in hollow chat rooms, filling my time with artificial feelings from contrived personalities. Honestly, if I ate Twinkies and consumed Orange Hi-C on a daily basis, then artificial would pretty much sum up my life. The ugly reality was when you chose to spend your time conversing via a monitor and not face-to-face with people, you found your complaints became the welcome sound of companionship.

  Don’t get me wrong; I did converse with my upstairs neighbor, Widow Withers, on a nightly basis by way of ceiling Morse code. I was a natural at swinging a broom handle, especially when her TV was whispering wants from QVC. That was when she turned her hearing aids up to listen through the walls. My suspicions were confirmed last week while walking back from the pet store. Her gray lace curtains caught my eye when a breeze ruffled them, and their movement revealed her pressed up against the wall.

  We met when I first moved in, about a month ago…

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I just moved in below you—apartment A30.” A sneeze threatened, and I crinkled my nose against it. Quickly my name tumbled out, “Sonnet Ann Taye,” as the urge to sneeze won out. I barely caught the spray with my cuff and mumbled a muffled, “Pardon me,” into my sweater’s sleeve.

  “You’re not contagious, are you?” She stepped back while wiping her tissue-papered hand across her chest like I had passed on pox, measles, and the flu all at once.

  Still rubbing a hand against her coffee-stained blouse, she made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Now, I’ll have to change. It’s bingo night, and I don’t want to take any chances getting me or my friends sick.”

  Turning on a block heel, she marched back up the stairs. Upon stepping onto the dark, wood landing, she slowly turned back, placing a hand on the newel. “Bay Withers, B30. I hope you don’t talk or sing in your sleep. I’m a light sleeper, and I need my rest.”

  “Umm, no ma’am. I don’t believe I do.” My eyes stung from forcing them to not roll. Great, she’s asking about my sleeping patterns. With a judgmental pause I thought, Cue the slasher music.

  Dismissing my reply, she continued, “The walls sing. Keeps me up. I thought it was the young tenant who previously lived in your apartment, but the words still find their way into my ears. The talking is sporadic all hours of the night, and the singing happens right after.” Looking towards her destination, Bay grunted about unknown voices as she traipsed up the stairs.

  The imprint of her curled, yellowed-white hair protruding from under the pink-daisy shower cap burned into the back of my brain. Assuming the widow lived alone, my feet and hands grew cold. This was where my future was heading.

  Later that night as the moon lit up the bedroom, muffled sobs joggled my body to sleep.

  ***

  Spent most of the day in a fog-like state. Thoughts, actions, and even sounds seemed to travel as though the air around me had turned to water. I swam my way to the grocery store and then to the local Aquatic & Exotic store to pick up fish food and vitamin drops for Dum and Dee. The cashier at the pet shop asked if I was okay after I stood there counting my cash for him several different times before the total was right. His look of concern quietly asked for an explanation.

  With a tight smile, I pointed to my head and stated, “Migraine.”

  “Geez, Sonnet, I hope it gets better soon. You should be extra careful walking home. You seem a little off your feet, too.”

  Both my eyes strained on Tim’s name tag. I don’t know why; I knew his name. He was the owner. When I realized what I was doing, I placed both hands on the counter to steady myself. Apparently, I was swaying. Now that the room was no longer moving with me, my stomach felt sick.

  I didn’t want to be rude by not exchanging small talk with Tim, but my mouth protested and the muck from breakfast threatened to make a ghastly appearance. So, head bobbing ever so slightly, I collected my bag and change, and then headed to the door. As my fingers curved around the coolness of the handle, Tim’s voice rose above the aquariums gurgles, “When you get home, wash your hands. There’s something gritty on your fingers.”

  Without glancing back, I nodded again and quickly stepped into the sunlight. Making it to the corner before the side alley, my sweaty palms slapped against the brick wall as I deposited my used breakfast into a discarded cardboard box and cried.

  ***

  After my bearings stabilized, I made it back to the apartment building on shaky legs. Taking two stairs at a time, I used my stride to counterbalance against the warping steps. The front door seemed to bow in as I twisted the brass knob with urgency. Instantly, a blast of cool air blew past me like a specter, and I almost replayed the scene from the alley. Luckily, my door was only ten steps past the pewter mailboxes. A blur of tan paint and little windows swooshed by, and before I knew it, I was over the threshold. Home.

  Sighing as another wave of nausea tipped my boat-like feet, I capsized into the bathroom. I spent the rest of the day with my head either in the toilet or lying on the cool tile, waiting for the world around me to stop swirling. Empty and exhausted, I closed my eyes.

  Vibrating through the little room was a soft crooning. A touch, soft as a snowflake, brushed away soaked bangs from my forehead. The song became nothing but a whisper, and my body laggardly reacted to the melody.

  The sensation of chilled sickness dissipated from my skin and was replaced with a blanket-out-of-the-dryer warmth, similar to the feeling one gets from a bowl of hot, chicken soup. The act of someone caring was a deep-seated dream of mine, and as such, my symptoms faded under the light touch.

  ***

  Watching Dee and Dum snatch up multicolored food flakes was tranquil, even though it reminded me of my stomach capsizing earlier. I drew the shades
and got ready for bed; it was going on eleven PM. I was surprised that I had crashed on the floor of my bathroom for over thirty-six hours.

  It took some effort, but I managed to take a shower and scrub myself twice over, paying close attention to my face, covering every inch in suds, and repeating the process in the basin after I brushed my teeth for ten minutes. This is what happens when you wake up in a pool of drool on a floor you haven’t cleaned for a week. Feeling grossed out was an understatement.

  One by one, I switched off the lights, leaving only the fish tank illuminated. The glow added to the calm, and after what I had gone through for the past two days, I needed it. Clearing off the coffee table, my eyes caught the glitter of the only possession I could ever claim as mine. My hourglass.

  The caseworker assigned to me said it was the only thing I came in with. No suitcase, no necessities; I didn’t even have shoes. They told me I was covered head-to-toe in grime, and within my fists were the hourglass and a burnt piece of parchment with a phrase written in a flourished script, “Sonnets of Taye-Ann.” Go figure how I got my name.

  I picked up the sandglass to study the craftsmanship. It had a classic, three-legged stand, but there were three glass tubes that snaked around and threaded through certain areas of each wooden support. The wood was ornamented with carvings of little people with pointed wings and ears doing various tasks. Completely mesmerized by the flow of different substances within each tube, I turned the time piece to follow each unique track of time.

  The seconds pillar contained a clear, thick liquid, similar to mercury. The small people on the post were carved in precarious positions, holding cups or wooden buckets to catch part of the flow through the glass tube. The creamy, off-white powder in the minutes pillar was a bit denser than the liquid. The characters on this column looked comical compared to the others. I called them the ‘Cleanup Crew’ since they held brushes, brooms, and tiny sacks.

  The third pillar counted the hours. The material inside this tube was grainier and slid rather than flowed. Perplexing as it seemed, I found this column sad in a way because there were no characters, only two carved hands caressing the winding tube as though the contents within were fragile. The purplish-black sand vanished at the bottom. I assumed it drained into the base, but if I didn’t know any better, I would say it evaporated into nothing.

  What captivated me the most, however, were the two glass bulbs that tracked a full day’s time. The center of the hourglass wasn’t narrow like normal; instead, there was a small sphere into which a copperish mix of sand funneled. Within this anomaly, the sand swirled counterclockwise—two tornadoes vertically mirroring each other, their tips barely touching. It confounded reason; it defied natural law; the mechanics of it clearly did not make sense; but it was mine, and possibly it was a key to finding my parents.

  The last thought made my heart heavy, and I cradled the piece against my chest as I stifled a yawn. Fatigued, I shuffled with my hourglass into the bedroom, placed it next to my bed, and then switched on the light. For some peace of mind, I cased my room, inspecting the corners, under the bed, and inside my walk-in closet. After getting tangled in the empty wire hangers, my laughter bounced off the walls and echoed back into my ears. Startled by the sound’s intensity, I stumbled to the chest at the foot of my bed.

  “What was that?” I asked out loud, checking to see if there was something wrong with my hearing. “I must be going crazy, or I’m just not used to hearing myself laugh.”

  Yeah, that must be it. I mean, what did I have to laugh about?

  I looked around my room. “Nothing.”

  Right before bed, I always braided my hair to the left; I’d been doing this as long as I could remember. Tonight, though, I was extremely tired, and the braid wasn’t as tight as I preferred. My fingers worked at securing the end as I gave a disappointed sigh at my lack of will to redo the loose weave. As I fluffed the pillow and clicked off the light, I sank into the plush bedding and found the soothing, silvery-white glow of the moon through the window. After fixing the covers, I watched the sandglass, and the contents within each glass tube moving to their own rhythm of time.

  “If only time could move me; I would, in turn, move the stars for the moon.”

  The sound of my voice was full of sleep as I continued to watch all forms of time disappear. Counting backwards, I noticed, just before I closed my eyes, a soft luminescence radiating from the middle sphere. As my mind started to drift, it seemed the sand began to flow backwards from the bottom through the funnels to the top. I closed my eyes to shut out the illusion, reassuring myself it was exhaustion playing tricks on me. The pressure of sleep’s embrace was smothering as it pulled me in.

  My dreams always started out peaceful, but the nightmares that rode in on their heels were hard to accept. Truth had a funny way of revealing itself.

  ***

  The moonlight crashed over me, turning my skin to powdery silver and making my eyes tear. Everything was cast in a bright glow, forcing me to blink repetitively to maintain what little vision I had. The sand at my feet was forgiving; it reminded me of some place I’d been before. Water lapped the shore nearby, and the air smelled bitter, yet sweet. The air felt warm, and every now and then, the breeze caught my hair, tugging on the braid. A few strands came loose, and I brushed them away as a presence came up behind me.

  “My Queen, you should not be wandering alone.”

  What queen? I scanned the shore from one side to the other, and then turned my gaze over the body of water. For some reason a word echoed on the breeze—tears. Somewhere deep within my heart, I knew this lake was made of fresh tears. Dismissing the thought with a shrug, I focused on the person in question.

  Cupping a hand over my brow, I turned to help the person behind me look for this queen but found myself face-to-face with the most striking eyes imaginable. Two piercing pools of violet with floating, gold flakes were set in a hard stare… at me.

  With a thin, arched eyebrow, he sighed, shaking his shoulder-length, midnight hair in a disappointing manner. His round face tapered into a displeasing frown; he looked as though he wanted me to say something.

  I found I couldn’t break from his gaze, and my knees locked. If I didn’t move soon, there was a possibility I would faint—but from lack of physical movement or his majestic features, I wasn’t sure. My tongue soaked up all the moisture, and I found it hard to form thoughts, let alone words.

  “Me?” I squeaked in disbelief, pointing to myself.

  Curling a fist over his mouth, he cleared his throat. “Ma’am, the cycle of dreaming is almost complete. We should get you back to the palace.”

  My mouth hung open, waiting for the joke’s punchline to be delivered. Was he really speaking to me?

  His hand reached for mine, and I felt a sting under his grip. The moon’s light was beginning to burn my skin, and it didn’t feel so welcoming on the shore anymore.

  Right then, a glimpse of recognition fluttered through my tired mind. I was standing on the Shores of the Forgotten, and these were the Pools of Nevermore. I turned back to the waters, whispering, “Nevermore.”

  I focused my gaze past the darkened waves to make out a castle in the distance. Long willows bowed in the breeze, and the broken ones played low notes on the wind. The night stretched beyond the edges of infinity. I knew where I was; I knew this place, and I knew this man. No, not a man—a faerie. Skimming him from wingtips to boot-covered feet, a word slipped from my brain, snippet. He was a snippet.

  A quick session of whistles came out of the tall reeds. When he turned away from me, I noticed bright points of sparkle in his hair. It was the constellation pattern of Orion.

  My breath hitched as fingers flew to my lips in fear of what they might say next. A tear threatened to fall, and he turned to me suddenly.

  Grabbing both of my hands and with a voice deep and full of care, he asked, “Taye Ann, are you hurt? I can taste your distress.”

  I backed away slightly, narrowing my te
ary eyes at him. “Orion?”

  His perfect eyes clouded, full of uncertainty. “My Queen?”

  “Orion?”

  “Yes, My Queen?”

  Shock had me stuck on replay. “Orion?” His name began to feel more familiar, like it belonged in my mouth, dancing across my lips.

  “Taye Ann, you are stalling. Come now. You must not upset your father.”

  “Father?” The title came out strangled and full of thorns, cutting its way from my throat.

  “Now, Taye Ann, or he will have both our heads.” The whistles came faster than before. “Hurry. The others have been looking for you as well.”

  “Others?”

  “Why are you being so difficult? You didn’t have to run off. We will find a way to be together. We just have to be patient a little longer.”

  My mouth was back in the unhinged position. Together? Us? As in, a couple? I shook my head violently and removed my fingers from his. Think, Sonnet. Think. You must be straightforward, blunt.

  “I don’t know you. You have me mistaken with someone of importance.” I backed away from his reach. More faeries—I mean, snippets—emerged from the high stalks. A twinge of concern wrapped my arms around my waist as I watched them approach Orion.

  “What say you,” said the tallest male to Orion.

  “Within a grain of sand,” Orion answered.

  The male grabbed Orion’s forearm at the same time Orion mirrored the gesture. Both spoke in unison, “Tempus fugit.”

  My eyes grew to saucers as I translated their greeting. “Time flies.”

  The whole group shifted to face me. Sweat irritated the back of my neck as the breeze kicked sand in my face. It was the shore’s way of telling me to leave, and not to forget the others when I do.

  Four female snippets approached me but stopped short as I held up a hand defensively. It was an awkward reunion. They saw someone they knew; I saw a group of familiar-looking strangers. I knew their faces from a few dreams, but they were in all of my nightmares. I could still see their bodies maimed and their blood spilt, covering the shores in a tie-dye effect, wings ripped from their sockets and scattered like discarded flower petals. Squaring my shoulders, I turned to them. “My name is Sonnet. I live in the city of Cyllene, in a small apartment by Lake Tempus. I have two fish and work for a company called 2 Connect as a phone correspondent for the speech impaired.”