Post by Tim E. Vortex on Mar 14, 2011 21:05:36 GMT
A bold question, and one too difficult for myself to answer. A more logical matter would be ‘what am I?’ Allow me to explain in the most uncomplicated manner that I can, although ‘complicated’ is a fitting word to describe myself. As far as I can see it, I am a product of the space-time vortex. Are we together so far? I appear to be middle-aged by your standpoint and am attired in a Victorian garment. I know my name; Timothy Edward Vortex – and yes, I am aware of the immaculate coincidence of the abbreviation – and I have a vast understanding of many historical stories or, at least, historical from my position. On my person are no money, no forms of identification and no property. None, other than my one treasured belonging; a small, white gold pocket watch bearing an inscription on the back reading ‘VORTEX’. I don’t know how I got it; however, I have an innate knowledge of how to use it. There are more hands than one would expect… each one with its own use. The larger of the hands, for instance are coordinates for a near infinites amount of destinations in the universe. Others control the date. There is a button at the top… push this, and away we go on our next journey…
“Twenty-first Century!” I estimated from the architecture of the building where I stood. It was light, but the place was empty, leading me to believe it was early in the morning. I examined the cracked walls where too many layers of thick, white paint hung effortlessly. My boots tested the floor as I began to bounce as though on a trampoline. It was official, the floor was concrete. I may not had been so hasty in trying this had I known I was being watched.
“[/color]Are you trying to break through it?[/b]” voiced the most wonderful girl I could imagine. I knew there would be no interest of romance towards her, but I’ll get to that another time. “[/color]You all ready for the match tonight?[/b]” She was fairly tall and extremely pale, yet pale in a seductive manner. Her fiery, red hair flowed wildly past her shoulders. Had I not have heard her voice, I and any other for that matter, would still have concluded that she was Scottish. Those were the thoughts that invaded my mind, pushed aside by the question she had just asked.
“The match? Am I competing in some sort of sporting event?[/color]” I enquired, innocently.
“[/color]Yep… They warned me you’d be weird,[/b]” She chuckled. I tried not to take offence; otherwise she may scurry away without explaining the situation I had somehow found myself in.
“I prefer the term unique,[/color]”
“[/color]Don’t worry. I like weird,[/b]” she chuckled again like a cheeky angel. “[/color]Michelle…[/b]” She offered her hand.
“No... Timothy,[/color]” I foolishly returned. I spent the rest of the day with her. She told me about how she lost her parents in a train crash and how she worked backstage for a wrestling promotion, Fantasy Wrestling Federation. She said that one day; she’d like to see the stars. I felt that she had earned my trust, and so I made her dream come true. I took her to see the stars and the moon and the sun. It was the first time in the year that I have rationally existed that I had experienced what you refer to as friendship. It was marvellous.[/color]
“Twenty-first Century!” I estimated from the architecture of the building where I stood. It was light, but the place was empty, leading me to believe it was early in the morning. I examined the cracked walls where too many layers of thick, white paint hung effortlessly. My boots tested the floor as I began to bounce as though on a trampoline. It was official, the floor was concrete. I may not had been so hasty in trying this had I known I was being watched.
“[/color]Are you trying to break through it?[/b]” voiced the most wonderful girl I could imagine. I knew there would be no interest of romance towards her, but I’ll get to that another time. “[/color]You all ready for the match tonight?[/b]” She was fairly tall and extremely pale, yet pale in a seductive manner. Her fiery, red hair flowed wildly past her shoulders. Had I not have heard her voice, I and any other for that matter, would still have concluded that she was Scottish. Those were the thoughts that invaded my mind, pushed aside by the question she had just asked.
“The match? Am I competing in some sort of sporting event?[/color]” I enquired, innocently.
“[/color]Yep… They warned me you’d be weird,[/b]” She chuckled. I tried not to take offence; otherwise she may scurry away without explaining the situation I had somehow found myself in.
“I prefer the term unique,[/color]”
“[/color]Don’t worry. I like weird,[/b]” she chuckled again like a cheeky angel. “[/color]Michelle…[/b]” She offered her hand.
“No... Timothy,[/color]” I foolishly returned. I spent the rest of the day with her. She told me about how she lost her parents in a train crash and how she worked backstage for a wrestling promotion, Fantasy Wrestling Federation. She said that one day; she’d like to see the stars. I felt that she had earned my trust, and so I made her dream come true. I took her to see the stars and the moon and the sun. It was the first time in the year that I have rationally existed that I had experienced what you refer to as friendship. It was marvellous.[/color]
