Volume 2: Time Travel

Inaccurate Realities

A Young Adult Speculative Fiction Magazine

Volume 2

Time Travel

Inaccurate Realities: A Young Adult Speculative Fiction Magazine

www.inaccuraterealities.com

Volume Two

Editor: Christa Seeley

Assistant Editors: Andrea Modolo, Sara Eagleson

Proofreader: Danielle Webster

Cover Art: Sara Eagleson

Image Credits: Canstock Photo csp15483043, Canstock Photo: csp8873657

Copyright ©2013 The Authors

ISSN: 2292-0056 (Print)

ISSN: 2292-0064 (Online)

ISBN: 9781495212048 (Print)

ISBN: 9781310064951 (Ebook)

Published by Inaccurate Realities at Smashwords

Inaccurate Realities is a quarterly magazine.

Published out of Toronto, Ontario.

Contributor guidelines for writers and artists are available on our website or can be requested through:

submission.inaccuraterealities@gmail.com

Table of Contents

Letter from the Editor

Tip of the Iceberg by Aspen Bassett

This Job is Only Temporary by Lindsey Allyson

Time Twist by Tom Howard

The Time Traveller’s Cat by Ian Kenworthy

Shadows of my Future Self by E C Myers

Interview with Julie Cross

Interview with Rachel Carter

Interview with Tamara Ireland Stone

Book Reviews

Looking for more time travel?

Contributors

Submission Information

Upcoming Issues

Letter from the Editor

It’s hard to imagine it’s been three months since we launched the first volume of Inaccurate Realities. We’ve had some fantastic feedback and I’m excited to introduce you to our sophomore issue, which this time is all about time travel.

Whenever I think of time travel there are some things that inevitably come to mind. Deloreans, a gorgeous man with a thick Scottish accent, the deep melodic thrumming of the Doctor Who theme song. Random, seemingly unrelated things all connected by one theme—time travel. Every time travel story that I read, or watch, or hear is so completely different. How could they be anything but when all of time and space is open to the creator. When they can go anywhere, do anything, re-live any moment.

But when you really think about it there’s something else that seems to run through all of the best time travel stories. Opportunity. The opportunity to set things right, to do things a differently, to see what we become in the future. Time travel opens up all of time and space to us, let’s us imagine there is nothing we can’t accomplish.

That’s one of the best things about this volume of Inaccurate Realities—the variety. The stories you are about to read will take you back in time, they will force you to relive tragedy trying to set things right, they will transport you far into our future. Each one of these five stories is a universe in and of itself.

So whether you’re back for another dose of Inaccurate Realities or if this is your first adventure with us get ready. You’re going to lose yourself in the possibilities

Christa Seeley

Editor

Inaccurate Realities

Tip of the Iceberg

Aspen Bassett

The door wasn’t eloquently designed or painted by a dead artist with a tragic past. There were no undecipherable markings left by a conspiracy leader in hopes that one day, some kid would stumble in and put the world back in balance. In fact, there were no marks at all, apart from one or two scratches from moving day. Just the grain of lightly stained wood. The door handle was simple, round, probably bought on sale at Home Depot. It was my bedroom door. One of dozens within the walls of my family’s modest home. I didn’t think twice about that door until the day it kidnapped me.

It was two in the morning on a Wednesday and I just could not get my high school research paper to tie together. It might have been simpler if it was just about the Titanic. But no, it was about how the Titanic’s fate could have been prevented. So many little details, how they hadn’t done a safety tutorial that day or how the lifeboats were sent out half empty. There was even a theory about how the ship might have been saved if they hit the ice berg head on, but I had to pick the most vital. It was horrible, listing all the ways that tragedy could have been prevented, knowing it was only theory. And after a long morning of comforting my broken hearted best friend, the last thing I had patience for were more depressing thoughts. Already, my brain was shutting down. I needed to take a step back. The stiffness settled in my neck and legs. So I slipped on my cookie-monster slippers and pulled a robe on over my pajamas before reaching for that insignificant bedroom door.

A wave of sea water crashed in, soaking my slippers as stray splashes reached up to my face. The air was sharp with salt, slapping a freezing chill across my cheeks.

I slammed the door closed, thinking those Red Bulls should have a warning. I knew what was on the other side of the chunk of wood and it was not the ocean. It was a hallway, with lilac walls and family pictures Tetris-ed throughout the length. The closest thing to an ocean was the picture outside the Florida Coast. So I wiped the chill from my face and opened the door once more.

In place of a ceiling, there were miles of deep black sky, dotted with stars. Where there should have been walls there were metal rails marking the drop to endless waters. The worn carpet had turned into the deck of a ship, swaying with the soft current. A group of ladies walked past, complaining about the bite in the wind. They were clothed in rich dresses from the early 1900s, in so many layers it was a wonder they felt the wind at all. They were beautiful. Better than the movies. Live action history playing out in front of my door. For a second, I wanted to follow them, to join in their conversation and get away from my paper. I had, after all, wanted some fresh air.

But my eyes were showing me things that couldn’t be. I lived in Cheyenne, WY. The only water was a man-made pond on the other side of town. One of the girls gave a giggle, the sound ringing in my ears just as if it was real. I shook my head to get the sound out, squeezing my eyes shut to restart the senses. It was still there when I looked again. I stepped back to close the door.

Wait! A hand caught the gap and a goofy grin popped in between the door and the frame. He was tall, with wind-blown hair and skin almost too familiar with the sun. Hey, you from, you know, he pointed behind him, at the unfamiliar ship, here? He didn’t wait for an answer. One quick sweep of the eyes round my bedroom and he continued. Good. He widened the door, revealing his mismatched attempt at an outfit. Every piece of clothing was from a different era, from the tan cotton pants and U2 band shirt under a faded British Red Coat uniform. Let’s go.

I gave a quick laugh, which came out more like a squeak. I’m not going anywhere. Not until all that— I waved at the ocean, —turns back into my house.

Can I just ask one question first? Aren’t you curious about what’s going on? There’s really only one way to find out. He offered his hand.

I leaned over to see the group turning a corner, taking a moment to look out at the endless horizon before disappearing. If it was my house, they would have gone into the bathroom. Impossible. Nope. I’ll think of an explanation later. And I slammed the door shut. When I opened it again, the guy just shrugged.

Also, the door won’t reset until you do what they brought you here to do. So, until you’re ready to do that, this door is only going to right here.

And I should believe you because?

Well, you could wait and find out but I personally wouldn’t recommend that route. It would be boring for me. He rolled his weight to the balls of his feet as if this was already taking too long. I took a deep breath, swallowed, and did the only thing possible. I stepped over the threshold.

The sensation could only be described as weird, having half my body in my bedroom and the other half on a ship’s deck in the middle of a storm. A salty breeze caressed half my face while only one foot was struggling to find