The Loneliness of the Long Distance Rider (fiction)
Authors Note:
There was a shortlived local 'fiction' site, where you could submit short stories - there was a word limit - I forget how much, something like 1500 words or so.
And I thought it could be fun to try and create a complex and interesting story, while being forced to keep my tendency to waffle, at a minimum. Tell the story as fast as possible, with no wasted words. So this was the result. It more or less worked, a little stodgy at moments, but overall - at least an interesting concept.
-Ian Fraser, 2005
Adolf Hitler died so easily it was ridiculous.
He'd set up the meeting with the young would-be architect, in a small out of the way coffee-house - and after a brief discussion with the pale faced eager young man, under the pretence of showing him the vacant lot where a future house was to be built - he'd led the way through the back alleys, and in the shadows, had cut the young man's throat.
And that was that.
Nothing changed as he walked swiftly from the twitching body, turned a corner and became lost from view in the maze of cobblestoned narrow streets..
The town stayed as it was, and back in the small guesthouse after exchanging pleasantries with the elderly Frau, he'd ascended the stairs to his room, quietly closed the door, and gazed at his reflection in the shaving mirror above the wooden bowl on the sideboard.
There was no going back, he knew that. But even so, the look of disappointment and surprise on the man's face as his life blood gushed out, had disturbed him more than he'd imagined it would.
But there was no going back. He rose and quietly began packing his few possessions.
From the day he'd left his timeline, he knew he was alone forever. They'd explained it all. Time was a river and it flowed one way only - if you went back - you went back into 'another' Time. Not the one you'd left.
The action of altering events in this new Time, splintered the universe, into infinite similar universes and worlds that ultimately were not his. Nothing changed for those left behind in his Time, life went on as it always did. But in the new worlds, the unfolding history would be different.
As to whether it would be better, well - that wasnt for him to say. But at least, he thought, unpacking the transmitter to amplify his brainwaves and begin the process to push him sideways into the next world and the next appointment - at least there would be no death camps in this world.
A dove fluttered to the windowsill and began cleaning itself, as he assumed the lotus position on the threadbare carpet, and began focusing his mind. The thick uneven glass of the windowpanes distorted its shape, and as he mentally approached the required Alpha state for ignition, it seemed as if there were an infinite number of doves - all fluttering and busily fluffing their wing feathers, in each of the squares of glass, unaware of the infinite rooms they perched beside.
A distant church bell tolled, and he shut his eyes.
Dallas, Texas. 1963.
A grubby little CIA agent and oilman, whose code name was Poppy, would not help murder a President soon.
A war in a far off place called Viet-nam would not kill millions this time.
An intelligence agency would soon be split apart and destroyed, and there would be no secret military coup to pervert the shape and ideals of a once great nation.
A shadow government would not covertly spread across the globe like a cancer, and the world would not suffer for decades beneath the yoke of dictators propped up by secret money, oil cartels and death squads.
Poppy would not blackmail his way into the White House this time, or be able to prepare the way for his son, who shared his name.
And his father's infinite ability for evil..
He would see to that.
The dove on the windowsill fluttered briefly, as a soft glow seemed to well up from the room within, and then as time went by and it became clear that the room was empty, it relaxed and resumed its quiet, mindless staring, over the town below.
There was a shortlived local 'fiction' site, where you could submit short stories - there was a word limit - I forget how much, something like 1500 words or so.
And I thought it could be fun to try and create a complex and interesting story, while being forced to keep my tendency to waffle, at a minimum. Tell the story as fast as possible, with no wasted words. So this was the result. It more or less worked, a little stodgy at moments, but overall - at least an interesting concept.
-Ian Fraser, 2005
Adolf Hitler died so easily it was ridiculous.
He'd set up the meeting with the young would-be architect, in a small out of the way coffee-house - and after a brief discussion with the pale faced eager young man, under the pretence of showing him the vacant lot where a future house was to be built - he'd led the way through the back alleys, and in the shadows, had cut the young man's throat.
And that was that.
Nothing changed as he walked swiftly from the twitching body, turned a corner and became lost from view in the maze of cobblestoned narrow streets..
The town stayed as it was, and back in the small guesthouse after exchanging pleasantries with the elderly Frau, he'd ascended the stairs to his room, quietly closed the door, and gazed at his reflection in the shaving mirror above the wooden bowl on the sideboard.
There was no going back, he knew that. But even so, the look of disappointment and surprise on the man's face as his life blood gushed out, had disturbed him more than he'd imagined it would.
But there was no going back. He rose and quietly began packing his few possessions.
From the day he'd left his timeline, he knew he was alone forever. They'd explained it all. Time was a river and it flowed one way only - if you went back - you went back into 'another' Time. Not the one you'd left.
The action of altering events in this new Time, splintered the universe, into infinite similar universes and worlds that ultimately were not his. Nothing changed for those left behind in his Time, life went on as it always did. But in the new worlds, the unfolding history would be different.
As to whether it would be better, well - that wasnt for him to say. But at least, he thought, unpacking the transmitter to amplify his brainwaves and begin the process to push him sideways into the next world and the next appointment - at least there would be no death camps in this world.
A dove fluttered to the windowsill and began cleaning itself, as he assumed the lotus position on the threadbare carpet, and began focusing his mind. The thick uneven glass of the windowpanes distorted its shape, and as he mentally approached the required Alpha state for ignition, it seemed as if there were an infinite number of doves - all fluttering and busily fluffing their wing feathers, in each of the squares of glass, unaware of the infinite rooms they perched beside.
A distant church bell tolled, and he shut his eyes.
Dallas, Texas. 1963.
A grubby little CIA agent and oilman, whose code name was Poppy, would not help murder a President soon.
A war in a far off place called Viet-nam would not kill millions this time.
An intelligence agency would soon be split apart and destroyed, and there would be no secret military coup to pervert the shape and ideals of a once great nation.
A shadow government would not covertly spread across the globe like a cancer, and the world would not suffer for decades beneath the yoke of dictators propped up by secret money, oil cartels and death squads.
Poppy would not blackmail his way into the White House this time, or be able to prepare the way for his son, who shared his name.
And his father's infinite ability for evil..
He would see to that.
The dove on the windowsill fluttered briefly, as a soft glow seemed to well up from the room within, and then as time went by and it became clear that the room was empty, it relaxed and resumed its quiet, mindless staring, over the town below.
posted by * at 8:01 AM
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