The 97-year-old science-fiction writer began to type the final paragraph of his latest novel. In mid-sentence, a distinguished-looking gentleman appeared on the computer-monitor, replacing text.
“What the hell?” the writer growled.
“Greetings,” the monitor-gentleman replied.
“Who are you?”
“Herbert.”
“I don’t know any damn Herbert.”
“I travelled all this way to help.”
“Get lost!”
“I know about these things.”
“What things?”
“Time travel and writing…”
With his last breaths, the writer fought to get the intruder off his computer-monitor. H.G. Wells shook his head mournfully, saying he should have arrived earlier, but had been having trouble mastering electronic time-travel.
First published in Drabble Harvest #7
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Network Error by Kristin Lennox"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Teke Two by Liam Hogan"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Kent Town Station by James M. Rose"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Future’s Reflections by M. Tensor"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>