Time Machine, #IIChallenge - Northern Ireland

Ballyholme Short Story, Time Machine Caroline Gerardo

The do-over spirit arrives in Natalie’s room under a waxing gibbous moon.

“I’m sending you back to a moment in time where you may correct any error,” the ghost says.

Natalie is unable to move her limbs, terror climbs from her toes to her chest, but the pain does not waken her. She cannot roll over and pull the covers over her head.

“Go away, I’m not buying any magazines, ghost.”

The apparition is not lovely, her knotty pine hands touch the smile lines on Natalie’s cheek.

“I’m taking you back to points in your life,  twice you may change the tide of events, a time machine-”

“What do you think this is, a Christmas Carol?” Natalie says.

“No, trust me,” the phantom says.

“I’ve heard that line before, it never leads to good fortune-”

“It is 1980 and you are in Ballyholme, Ashley Gardens. Open your eyes Natalie back in time.”

“Oh, I know the stone façade of the flat- if I could shake myself awake, or put my feet on the floor,” Natalie says.

“Natalie you were in love, Robby does not know you were MI5.”


**

Back in the apartment, a slouching bed rests in the guest bedroom, like a rock swallowed by the sea. Fireplace ashes need clearing, the penetrating smell of soot consumes the confines. In the kitchen, a fit woman cranks the gas meter with twenty-five pence coins. This pays for the stove and hot water. She opens the window to allow the smell of salt air fill her heart. Robby is in the living room with his guitar. His brother Shaun and Michael Connelly (a rough and tumble punk with piercings and tattoos on his upper body) are speaking with sullen tones. Robby is six foot and lean, not as robust as his brother Shaun, the three of them make up the band Moondogs.

“He was such a fool to listen to his older brother, they should have stuck to punk music not politics, damn god and Ulster.”

“So - change what happened-” the spirit says.

“They sent me there with instructions to infiltrate the Blacknecks. I was doing my job as military intelligence,” Natalie answers.

“Didn’t they tell you not to fall in love?”

“Yeah, but they also knew I was incapable of not caring, that and my abilities made me great.”

“Seems like you should’ve known with your code name-” the spirit stops.

“Cumaean,” Natalie sighs remembering the taste of chili-mac dinner that stormy night. “We were poor and the boys thought it exotic compared to potatoes.”

“You have the chance to run, to back away, change what happened-” the spirit offers Natalie an out.

“No. I locked away my abilities with my past. I still analyze; but I never write down dreams. Going back doesn’t change who I am," Natalie says.

“This was your first kill?”

“They planned to bomb Belfast Central Rail Station. The VBIED (Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Device) was already in the trunk. I slashed the tires to stop them, figuring they couldn’t substitute another car in time. I called the car location in. Then they borrowed a van, I had to stop them.”

“Don’t shoot three boys, change the altercation-” the spirit taunts.

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, I lost a love for Queen and Country, but I saved many others. Take me away from the smell of the ocean it makes me regret and feel shame,.” Natalie says.

“Then I direct you Natalie to a time you recall well, it is recent history. Again choose to change the course of events, perhaps better your life.”

Natalie says, “I don’t want to play this game. I have regrets but I’ve made my road.”

“About a year ago, you were betrayed by your fiancé, and made a choice that perhaps was unwise.”

“I don’t regret the geriatric pregnancy. I'm not taking anything back,” Natalie says.

“The Doctors warned you, elevated blood pressure might kill you or cause a stroke.”

“One life is not better or more worthy than my life.”

“Your other children what will they do as orphans? Will Catholic guilt help?”

“I believe in love, and giving unconditional love,” Natalie says.

“But-” the spirit plays devil's advocate.

“No there is no but, point out all the people who have hurt me, those who lied, cheated me and my children. It doesn’t matter, I choose to love, to forgive, every day of my life.”

The ghost grows more white and translucent. Her voice is higher in tone as a child’s, “Natalie you have chosen to stay on this earth.”



**

The doctor removes the disposable gel foam pads and applies gummy candy to the paddle, “hit her again, the foam on the pads are not making a good connection.”

The Defibrillation depolarizes a critical mass of Natalie's heart muscle. The sound of the force punches the delivery room. Her body bounces, the arrhythmia stops, and normal sinus rhythm returns oxygen to Natalie’s cells.

“Welcome back little mother.”

http://indieink.org/writing-challenges/

This was written for the Indie Ink Writing Challenge 9/11/2011 based on
Disease prompt to happen upon a time machine and go back and change something. I thought about the prompt last night, and given the opportunity, there is little I would change, except to grant myself more time.

copyright Caroline Gerardo

Character of Natalie I am developing to start another novel- in early stages noodling - getting to know her.
I would appreciate input about: female character who was a spy now middle aged. Can you like her or is she cold? This female protagonist may have flash backs to this past later in the story.

Indie Ink Writing Challenge

I used the prompt to add a part of Chapter to a novel I am already writing. The emptiness and tedium of the sound of the word prompt was tempting. Ugh has both positive and negative uses
My subject matter is not G rated. If you are under the age of eighteen, I advise you do not to read as the fictional characters talk about drugs.
“Ugh.” is my prompt. 
***
   “Do you want to make some real money Seth?” Joe stands in a black jacket with padded shoulders.
   “Ugh?”
   “I have this buddy who pays for delivery. It is a drive to Miami. Tell your parents you are going on a school field trip or one of those fancy away swim competitions.”
   “My parents don’t care what I do, as long as I don’t talk to them.” Seth answers.
   “Being uninterested is better than a Mom who screams all the time.”
   “Mine just fight with each other.”
   “Can you leave tonight? “
   “No problem. What are we transporting? What is my cut?”
   “Hash. You can have a piece of the action.” Joe puts his palm down from his extended arm. The hand curves as in the statue of Poseidon. The gesture tells Seth not to ask.
   “How are we doing this?” Seth presses him.
   “ I know this guy who is a longshoreman at the docks. Some other people smuggle it into containers.”
   “Where?”
   “It is Broussard Port Everglades, South Florida, where the cruise and cargo ships come in. It is a long drive, one thousand two hundred miles. I can fill you in along the way.”
   Seth walks behind Joe his upper body strutting. Seth occupies more space than before.
   “When do we leave?”
   “Soon. Come on let’s go in here, I need something.” Joe puffs his jacket. He points to the door of a hardware store. “Let’s split up.”
   Seth sees a pair of steel-toed boots sitting on top of stacks of cardboard boxes. The leather is soggy red brown with a notched storm welt. They are size ten, “perfect.” Seth speaks quietly. He looks over his shoulder. Seth puts the boots under his jacket. He steps first with his left foot. Outside the glass double doors, he feels cooling air on his skin. He waits for Joe. His back leans on the unreinforced masonry. He admires the water resistance and electrical shock-proof boots by spitting on the soles. Seth Christens the pair for fortune.
   “Why did you lift those ugly shoes?” Joe startles Seth with a poke.
   “I ‘dunno, just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
   “Look what I got, a .32 short.” The gun still has a price tag on the revolver. Joe opens the barrel. He looks down the solid tunnel. “Didn’t get any ammo, the sales clerk was watching.”
   At 3:00 AM Joe shuts the car’s engine off. He coasts his Impala onto Seth’s driveway. He does not to disturb the family. The sky is indigo. The bitter air seeps into Joe’s bones. He shrugs. Seth walks in the new boots kicking from his hips, toes east and west. His collar is up to hide the cystic boil on the back of his neck. Seth did not have time to lance it with one of the stainless diabetes lances. In his pocket wrapped in sterile foil is a metal sword. The pointed piece of surgical steel encased in plastic is usually used to puncture the skin on one’s finger to take a blood sample. This lancet Seth will use to make a small incision, to drain the acne cyst later. He took a box from his father, the Doctor’s office.
   “I brought some Quaaludes for the trip.”
   “I have some speed and pot. That should do. All we need is some girls.”
   “What do we need girls for Joe?”
   “Entertainment. This is a boring drive. A chick might end your virginity.”
   “I’m no virgin.”
   “Right. Sing it.”
   “I know what you mean about uninteresting, my whole life is dull.”
   They head out on South 476 and on to I-95 south towards Baltimore. Seth watches the moon waning from his leather passenger seat. They are silent. Seth moves the electric window down. He lets his hair spin in the wind. At their first stop for gas, they spot three teen girls waiting outside. They are trying to score some alcohol.
   “Can you buy us some vodka?” The heavy set one asks.
   “I’m only seventeen, no I.D.” Joe’s lips part. He gives the fat girl his row of white teeth.
   She is charmed by the tall V shaped Joe. She giggles. She turns to her two friends. They reapply chap-stick and huddle towards him.
   “But I can get you some anyways.” Joe goes into the station. He takes the hand of the big boned teenager tenderly. He nabs a bottle of Popov, “you beautiful ladies ‘been partying last night?”
   She puts her big toe curled inward as a coryphée might circle behind, “yeah we are supposed to be at a religious camp for the weekend. We snuck out. We can’t find anything to do.”
   “Come on with us to Miami.”
   “Why are you going there?” She looks into Joe’s sapphire eyes.
   “Dropping sonny boy at college.” Joe lies.
   Some gasoline spills on Seth’s hands. He wipes his fingers in the rain on the passenger window. He swiftly pulls the aldehydes through his nostrils.  Seth opens the door for the plump girl to take shotgun.
***
copyright Caroline Gerardo May 15 2011
Indie Ink Writing Challenge