Lila served Gerald the same iced latte in 1892, 2025, and 3041. He never remembered. She always did. “Happenstance,” he said, smiling at the déjà vu. She stirred in grief, knowing he’d forget again before the foam settled. Time bent for him; for her, it only bruised, and always lingered.
AJ Joseph is trying to tame her overgrown garden so that her cats don’t get lost in the weeds.
That woman’s strangely dressed for 1889, the time traveller thinks.
She pulls out a glass rectangle and wordlessly hands it over. He stares, horrified, at an unfamiliar future.
Once he’s returned to whenever he came from, she sits and waits for the next assassin.
Somewhere nearby, a baby boy wails.
Phil W. Bayles has lived in Paris and London, where he’s written everything from movie reviews to mattress adverts. These days he lives in Derbyshire with his wife, his daughter and his cat. He writes very silly stories about very serious ideas, with the occasional poem to mix things up.
Marlon got his first timecake for his 40th birthday. He ate a quarter of it, taking him back to 30 again, a good time for him. He wanted the opportunity to rethink a few decisions made in his mid-thirties… particularly those that led to his new family and the timecake.
This story came to Robert Carlberg in a dream. As these things do, it made more sense in the dream.
2. The last line of this story became the first.
After years of experimenting with wave functions, quantum entanglement, and my home-made particle accelerator, I’d finally conquered it.
Time travel.
Problem was, it applied only to the written word.
This meant two things:
1. My notes were rather messy, and
Lee Nicholas enjoys writing personalised choose-your-own-adventure books for nephews and nieces (even favourite Ukey ones). One day, he hopes to make money doing this.
He timephases into the bank vault. Making the most of his 27 minutes, he empties 63 boxes. Forty seconds left, he tries to phase out. Too late, he discovers time travel is unidirectional, toward the past. There is only one future awaiting him.
And the bank will reopen 9am Monday.
Tery has been an actor, director and a teacher, and is now trying his hand at writing. A cat lover, he is ruled over by Linus, Bela and Fluff.
Even from a distance Herbert could tell the accident hadn’t happened yet. Slipping into the crowd, he quickly scanned their faces, looking for the one. When it came, the noise still startled him, and it wasn’t who he was expecting. He came dangerously close to being involved, as per usual.
This story was written by Brown Sugar Bourbon. It was transcribed and tightened up by Robert Carlberg.
The last hour of the musky Edinburgh afternoon, she stopped discussing Byron, treaded more slowly, inhaled more deeply.
“Goodbye, Todd.”
I stopped.
She smiled, misty-eyed, as I tucked the flowers behind her ear. “I’ll write to you,” I said.
She nodded, quipped about getting on a time machine, and left.
Chelsea Allen wrote this story as a sequel to her piece The Librarian and the Time Machine, previously published here on 50-Word Stories.
She has been here at least eight times before, judging by the number of past selves in the crowd. She carefully keeps herself out of their sight. They must not know that they will fail. They will find out soon enough.
She lifts her blaster and locks onto her target.
Reb Elkin writes science fiction & fantasy, and is slightly obsessed with time travel.
Anne held up the t-shirt. The stain still hadn’t come off. As she hung it, she heard footsteps.
Anne sighed before turning around.
He was wearing the same t-shirt, clean but somewhat creased.
“I’m… sorry,” he muttered.
“Having a time machine doesn’t fix everything,” said Anne. “Try going further back.”
Joey generally doesn’t like stories which feature time travel but he’s not going to go back and undo the few times he has made exceptions.
Being a newsreader is hard. Not only do you have to look great, you must have the most current stories in order to keep ratings up.
This is where I have the jump on my competition. My inventor friend helps me make little trips.
“And now for TOMORROW’S news today!”
Susan Cornford is a retired public servant living in Perth, Western Australia. She has pieces published or forthcoming in 50-Word Stories, Akashic Books, Antipodean Science Fiction, CarpeArte Journal, Ghost Parachute, Medusa’s Laugh, Speculative 66, Subtle Fiction, Switchblade, The Fable Online, The Gambler, The Vignette Review, and The Were-Traveler. She considers herself an emerging flash writer.