Rivulets of time

When I first time-traveled, I couldn’t believe it was happening. I was overwhelmed and could barely take everything in. But the more I did it, the more it become a task, and I could appreciate its subtleties.

For instance, time has a water-like quality. It flows. There are differences in the flow. Some are swift, some are sluggish, some stagnant. And when steering the time-machine, you learn to navigate with the varieties.

And the flow is water like, but is not water. It’s like if light were water. Light actually has a density. It’s not just some flashy thing that brightens a room. And in its flow, it can be a highway for going places in time.

The time-travel highway is something you zip on at the speed of light. That’s why it feels almost instantaneous. But like I said, the more you do it, the more you notice the little things.

For instance you’re ripping down the time-travel highway, and then you turn off on a rivulet of time. Just like an exit off the usual kind of freeway. You can actually hear a time-whoosh, which is the sound of starting to apply the breaks on light.

Everything up till them is light rushing by and it’s hard to see any distinctions. But on the rivulet, details begin to appear. For instance, earlier today I ventured out on a time-travel trip to Paris, France, 22 May 1885. On the highway it was the usual rapids of light flushing by the window. And then as I neared the destination date, there was the whooshing sound, along with details of the city of Paris hazily beginning to appear within the light. It was like looking at the city as if it were on fire.

As the whooshing sounds intensified, the light diminished and there I was parked on Avenue d’Eylau in 1885 Paris.

I got out and entered the address I was looking for. I walked up the stairs and then into a bedroom. There on the bed was the author Victor Hugo. He was dying of pneumonia. He was alert and noticed me. I used Google Translate and said that I had come from the future to visit and cheer him up on his difficult day.

Victor Hugo said, (via the translate), “Yes, it is a trying time, but it is also a time of celebration. I’m sloughing off this tiresome old gent to behold what’s next.”

I then took out three balls from my pocket and began to juggle. Hugo clapped his hands and cheered, “All applause to the sphere manipulator!” (I’d learned from Wikipedia that Hugo loved juggling.)