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[This is my first short story.]
[Please Note: I am Afrikaans (English is not my native language). This is mainly a love story, but it has a sci-fi and fantasy plot as well. The story develops on both ends of the plot.]


PREFACE

And when she entered through that door, I knew that every law was overruled. Magic was in command now. "I'm sorry," I muttered under my breath. Slowly, a smile broke out on my then shocked face, and I stood up, waiting for her to sit next to me. So pure. So real. So alive.



Part I: Wish and Wonder

The phone rang.
         It had that deadly sound to it. The sound you really don’t want to hear. My mother silenced the ringing phone. “Hello ... yes Carrie, is something wrong?” Worry filled her voice as I watched tears burst from her eyes. “No!” she exclaimed, her voice drenched.  I hurried to the living room to see what was wrong. I saw her put the phone down. She looked at me with her blue eyes stained red, trying to speak.
          “W-what is it?” I managed to say.
          “It’s Michelle. She’s dead.”

Then I woke up.
         I sat upright in my bed, my head in my hands. I wanted to scream, to shout. It was the same dream again. A nightmare I have had the past week, ever since Michelle’s car accident.  She took a left on 3rd Avenue, on her way home. Just before that, we had a quarrel on the beach. No, actually it was me being my jerk self and insulted her and left her in front of many people. If I hadn’t, she wouldn't have went to her house. Who knows, maybe we would still be here, together.
         The accident devastated me. Michelle was my all. My every little thing. She was the reason I could get out of bed with a smile. She was the reason that my heart could sing.
         I got out of bed, caught a quick shower, brushed my teeth and went to the kitchen to get my breakfast. It was bacon and eggs, as always. After I finished that meal, I sat down on the sofa, and turned the television on.
         There was nothing interesting on.  After a while my mother made her entrance.
         “Kevin Oliver! What do you think you are doing? You cannot just lay here the whole day doing nothing! You're 18 for crying out loud! You should live your life!”
         “Y-yes Mom. I will live that life in an hour or so. I’m watching TV now.”
         “Sweety, I know this is eating you up. Michelle’s death wasn’t easy on any of us. Especially not on you. I know you loved her, I know.”
         She went on with words for a long time. Speaking of faith, integrity and hope. She have always had that way with words. I don’t know. But listening to her actually made me feel better. The worst bit of all was that she didn’t know how rude I was to Michelle minutes before her death. How I humiliated her.
         “Thanks Mom, I know you are trying to cheer me up. But give me some time please. I will figure it out myself. Just give me my space.”
         She nodded understandingly. “I understand, my child. But remember, her burial is tomorrow. If you don’t want to go, it’s fine by me.”
         “No, I need to go.”
         I think she had more tears in her eyes than me. She just nodded and went to her room. I tried to focus myself. “Don’t think about it,” I told myself, “Don’t think about how it could have been.” I returned my attention to the television. Finally, something interesting. It was a documentary called “Time”. Not the magazine, no, but time travel.
It was about a firm called Omina who was building a time machine that could travel back in time. According to the documentary, their machine worked – or it passed the first tests. This suddenly sparked an idea in my head. What if, no, that couldn’t be possible.  “Leave it in the past,” I told myself. “What happened, happened”. I still needed to know.
         What if I could go back?

I checked every site I could think of. Wikipedia, Yahoo Answers, Ask.com, but none of those websites had any evidence to prove that time travel was possible. All of them had their theories and and similiar elements, but no hard evidence.
         I read about paradoxes, stories and even dreams about people who went back in time or even to the future. All theories. All stories.
         After about an hour, I decided to check Omina’s website. The website was wonderful. Extremely well done. It also had information on the stories, the theories and the paradoxes, but it gave a detailed description of their first test. They set the machine back 3 seconds, and then they threw a stone in the machine. The stone was supposed to land on a specific place. They then travelled to that place and saw the stone laying there. According to their scientists, it was exactly the same stone they threw in.
         News sources,  forums and even blogs all slammed that experiment. They said it was impossible. ‘Ridiculous’ to quote one. They all thought that the experiment was some money-making scheme and the people at Omina were gibbering idiots.
         I spent my whole day searching for more information. There had to be a way. It had to possible. Minutes became hours. Day became night.
         The facts stared me hard in the face. Time travel, my only hope, was impossible. I will never see Michelle again. I will never be able to say I’m sorry.
         Tired and out of hope, I went to my bed. I settled in and stared to the ceiling. What if I never said those words? What if I never were that jerk. The accident was a wake-up call. It changed me. It forced me to think straight. Life doesn’t revolve around me. It did. Until that one fateful turn.
         I finally fell asleep.
         I had that dream again.

Everyone was dressed in black at her funeral. The mood was so sad. So dead. My mother and I arrived at 08:30, even though the funeral was due for 09:00.  We saw Michelle’s mom, Mrs. Watson. I never saw her so weak in my entire life. I have always known her as a strong woman. One who would never shed a single tear. Who would never cry. People went up to her to say their ‘sorries’. She would thank them, hold their hands, and turn away.
         Eventually the priest came and the funeral officially started. I never felt so sad. So exhausted. I loved that girl. I adored her. Now I had to watch her being lowered into the ground where she will stay. Forever.
         I still haven’t shed a single tear.
         My mind was still on the time travel idea.
         It’s impossible! I told myself again.
         And then, finally, out of the blue, a tear rolled down my face.

The funeral ended a while after. We were about to leave when I told my mother I wanted to stay.
         “Why would you do that?” she asked.
         “I need time to think. I want to be alone. I’ll walk home.          Please”.
         Being as kind-hearted as she was, she agreed and went home.
         I ran into the nearby field. Screaming. Crying. I went past bushes and little insects. I eventually sat on a boulder and shouted: “I’m sorry!
         “I’m sorry I hurt you! I’m sorry I did you wrong! I’m sorry I let you go!”
         A little voice in my head told me it was useless. She was gone. Because of me. Because of what I did wrong. There was nobody in sight. Nobody could hear me. Except for some small hut-like structure standing a few metres away from me. I’m sure if somebody was there they would come out by now to see what was going on.
         I put my head in my hands. I thought about going back, to stop myself. The idea of time travel kept popping up in my head. I tried to push it out, to render it impossible. To make myself believe that it couldn’t happen. What’s done is done.
         What if I hadn’t been such a jerk? What if I actually thought about her. Thinking about it, I never asked her how she felt. I never made a quick courtesy call to just say ‘hello’. I never gave her small gifts. I never did any of the nice things she had always done for me.
         I finally lifted my head up again.
         “I’m sorry. If I could go back I would. I promise.”
         As I said that I could see her beautiful face. Her light brown hair with those glimmering brown eyes. Her soft smile and pure white skin. How could I throw all that away? Was I really that stupid?
         Then I heard an odd sound coming from behind.

“Hello, deary,” she said.
         I had a fright and jumped up from the boulder and quickly turned around. An old lady stood there, holding a small basket. She had long, white hair, and her nose look crooked. Her teeth were yellow and almost rotten. All that was missing was a hood.
         “W-who are you?” I eventually asked.
         “I think I can help you,” she told me “just follow me to my hut.”
         My parents taught me never to trust strangers. But I was desperate. I had to do it. I followed her through the field to the old hut.
         “What is your name, deary?” She asked me.
         “Kevin. Kevin Oliver”
         “I am Omina,” she said, “perhaps you have heard of me?”


Part II: Death and Dynamite

“W-what did you say your name was?” I managed to stutter as we walked into the rather small brown hut. From the outside it was hideous, but inside it was beautiful. There were sculptures and rugs and tables, all so authentic-looking, everyone of them had a brilliant brown shine to them.
         “Oh it doesn’t matter, does it now? Tell me about your problem? Something about going back?”
         I immediately began to tell her the story of my life.
         “Yes, a few days ago my best friend died. Horribly. In a car crash.”
         “Oh I see” she said.
         “Yes, and if I hadn’t been such a jerk… You have to be able to send me back. To prevent myself from saying the things I did. To prevent her from taking left on 3rd Avenue. To stop her death. Can’t you do anything? Please. I beg you.”
         “I can send you back, but…no sorry”
         “No, please! I beg you. I’ll pay you. Name your price. Anything. I will never be able to live with myself if I knew somehow somewhere I had the chance to right my biggest wrong.”
         “But…”
         “No! Please no buts. I have to.”
         I had tears in my eyes by then. I wasn’t going to give up this easily. Michelle was beneath Earth’s floor because of me.
         I could see in her face’s expression that she would eventually give in. She looked like someone who cared. She stared at the ground, muttering words to herself. Thinking.
         She finally nodded.
         “You can go. I will send you. But..”
         She muttered words, saying them hard and clear. Explaining rules and what to do and what not to do. But I was lost in a trance. I couldn’t believe it. I would be able to go back. Back.
         “But what if I see myself in that time, how do I prevent him from doing what he, I, did...?” I asked.
         “The moment you touch him…you…he will become you. And you will live the day as him. There will only be one of you.”
         “Thank you. For everything. For understanding.”
         “You're welcome deary. Now close your eyes.”          
          I did.


When I opened them I stood in my own room. For a moment I thought it was some sort of weird dream. Then I saw myself sleeping on the bed. I looked at my watch. 08:27 it read. I would meet Michelle at the restaurant at 09:20. The ‘younger’ me started to wake up. Out of fright I quickly hid in my white cupboard.
         I saw myself through its blinds. I saw myself getting up, spraying deodorant, stretching. My usual routine.
         “The name is Oliver. Kevin Oliver. KO. Knocked you out.” The younger me said.
         I had always thought that was cool. It just sounded cocky.
         “Today’s the day. D-Day. Dynamite Day!” he exclaimed.
‘Or Death Day.’ I thought to myself.
         Then he opened the cupboard. My heart nearly stopped as I stared myself in the eyes. I saw my blonde hair, blue eyes and how I opened my mouth.
         “Who are you?! Me!” he, I, began.
         “Yes. Cheers mate.”
         Then I touched him.
         I opened my eyes and stared at a cupboard with only clothes in it. It had worked. I chose my best shirt and jean for this occasion. This was a day I would never forget.

09:15.
         I was at the Sunny Side Up Restaurant near the park. My heart was beating in my throat. Did this really work? Would Michelle really walk in through that door? Would I see her smile again?
         Then she walked in.
         With her cute blue dress, white purse, and that smile so soft and pure.  My heart skipped a beat.  I nearly began to cry. This was it. The moment I have been waiting for ever since I learned about time travel. It had worked.
         I stood up, gave her a kiss, pulled out her chair, and sat down again. All the things I never usually did for her.
         I could see in her eyes she knew I was different.
         “Hi honey,” she began “Love you lots. How are you?”
         “I’m excellent. Never been better. You look so beautiful today. You always look beautiful.”
         She started to giggle. In a good way. “Why, thank you. I like your shirt.”
         “Thanks. So, what will you be having?” I asked. With every syllable uttered I became closer and closer to tears. She was happy. She was herself. She didn’t know what would have happened. But it won’t. I’ll prevent that. It would not happen!
         “I don’t know. Maybe just a toast. It doesn’t matter. As long I’m with my favourite guy in the whole wide world, I’m fine.”
         Her words drilled a hole into me. I remember so good she said the exact same thing on that day and I ignored it and just smiled. I wouldn’t let it happen again.
         “Same here. I’ll starve for you, baby. You’re my everything. My all. I love you. I always have and I always will.”
         “So sweet” she said and smiled. That perfect smile. The one I would die for.
         Eventually we ordered and our breakfast came. We enjoyed it, we laughed, we told stories, we held hands. We were a couple. For the first time the love came from both sides.
         The waiter brought the bill, I paid, and we went out.
Together, holding hands.


The day went exactly as the real D-Day did.
         We went to the park (her suggestion, but I knew she would say that). We walked, sat on the bench, talked, laughed, got ice cream (her suggestion once again) and then we just sat on the grass. I stared deeply at her deep brown eyes.  They were so beautiful. They had a brilliant shine to them. Just like the stuff in the old lady’s hut.
         Brilliant.
         It was a word I didn’t actually use that often. The more I say it, the better it gets. Brilliant. Just like Michelle.  Everyone in the park seemed happy. Children were playing scavenger hunts, tag, threw boomerangs, laughed, full of joy. I didn’t often see that amount of happiness in people. I have never been that optimistic. I then realised exactly what I have missed my entire life. By putting the shine on me, I missed the brilliance in everything else.
         I looked up in the sky at the white clouds. I thought of how lucky I was to be here with Michelle, once again, but this time to actually enjoy it. I loved it. I looked down again and turned to my right to see her. She was all I needed. Come hell, come high water, I had her. My foundation.
         “Thank you for being here” I finally told her.
         “I wouldn’t miss it for the world” she replied. Smiling.
         “Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for making my life worthwhile. Thank you for carrying me. You really make me stronger.”
         By that time I didn’t know who had more tears in their eyes.
         “You are my life, Kevin. I would die for you.”
         There was a long silence.
         We just stared at each other. Smiling. Realizing what we meant to one another. How could I have thrown this away? How could I have not let this be?
         
Afterwards, we went to the cinema.
         We enjoyed a great movie, ate popcorn together, drank deliciously cold sodas, and once again, we were a couple. We were friends, best friends.  After the movie we agreed to meet each other at the beach an hour later.
         On my arrival home, I immediately went to my room and on my chair in front of the computer. I opened up Blogger.com and logged in. “Saturday 11 October 2008, 18.07:  today was the best day of my life. The last five hours are still to happen. Who knew what love could do to a guy? Who knew how love could change you? Who knew that I was able to love? I am not going into the details of today’s proceedings, but all I can say: I’m in love. And I got my second chance. Thank you beautiful for being in my life.”
         With tears in my eyes, I clicked ‘Save Post’.
         I took a quick shower again, put on my best looking T-shirt, jumped in the car and then I was off. Off to the beach. To Michelle.

I was a few minutes early, but she was already there. Like always. Never on time, but never late either.
She had a glimmering personality. Sparkling. Like the stars in the heavens.
         Our time on the beach had went exactly as D-Day’s did. We chatted, we laughed, we joked, we fooled around, we tickled each other and we built sand castles.
         Then the sun had begun to set. This was where the real D-Day’s fiasco started. I remember myself looking into the sun, the deep red ball of fire, and a spark ignited within me. I remember how I started to insult her, compared her to low life scum and then, finally, I told her it was over. The love was gone, away, lost forever.
         But I was holding her hand so tight and told her that I loved her. I stared at her for about a minute, and then, finally, I sealed the deal with true love’s kiss. It was one of those kisses where nothing else mattered. Nobody was there but us. Me and her. She and I. Together. In love. A couple.

“It’s late, Kevin, I think I need to get home” she stated.
         “No, wait,” I began, I almost screamed, I almost shouted “come with me, to my house. We can build puzzles, eat chips, play board games, we can do anything you like.”
         “Okay, cool, we can do that. Thanks. You don’t know what this means to me.”
         Your life? I thought.
         “But what about my car?” she finally asked.
         “Never mind, we’ll pick it up later. For now, you can come with me.”
         We got in the car, and drove off.
         Today was great. It was truly a dynamite day. D-Day.

The trip home was great and tensing for me.
         Don’t worry, I told myself. You won’t go left.
         We drove for about ten minutes, we chatted, laughed and listened to music. After a while we came to 3rd Avenue.  The road made a natural right actually. You had the choice to continue on it or go left. I just continued onwards.
         I laughed.
         “What’s so funny?” she asked.
         “Nothing, I’m just happy.”
         I took my eyes off the road and stared deep into her eyes. I was lost in a trance.
         Then, suddenly there were bright lights.
         I could feel my world spinning.
         I heard screams, shouts, from me and Michelle. I heard the screeching of tyres.
         Michelle screamed: “Eric! No!”
         There was a collision.
         Then it went black.


Part III: Pride and Promise

“K-Kevin, Kevin honey, are you okay?”
         I opened my eyes slowly only to see a nurse, a doctor and my loving mother standing over me, watching me with stressed eyes.
         “Thank goodness you’re okay!” I heard my mother cry.
         What happened? Where was I? I quickly remembered and answered these questions as I tried to sit up.
         “No, son, you should rest,” the doctor said.
         “What happened to me? Where’s Michelle? Is she okay?” I asked in quickfire.
         “All in good time, you should rest now,” the doctor told me.
         I was too confused; I didn’t know what was happening around me. I could, however, feel the prick of the needle as the nurse sedated me.
         I fell asleep again, but just before that a thought had stricken me.
         Did she die again?
         And why did she call me Eric?
         

A few hours later I was awake again.
         I quickly sat upright. I was in a white room with a rather weird smell. The hospital.
         A moment later the nurse had walked in again. With her, a blonde woman, most probably the nurse’s assistant, also entered the room.
         “How are you feeling today?” the nurse asked.
         Her assistant was rather beautiful. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a very nice smile. But I had Michelle.
         “Better I guess, still dizzy and sore,” I answered.
         It wasn’t until I said that, that I actually realized how sore I was. My neck, back, legs and arms ached every time I moved a single muscle.
         “Well that’s good, isn’t it, Naomi?”
         “Yes, Nurse Parker, it is,” she said in a ‘down-to-business’ voice.
         “And Michelle? How is she? Is she alright?” I asked.
         The look on those two’s faces answered my question.
         It was not the answer that I was looking for.

Naomi came to me a while later.
         Apparently she was a poet struggling to find the right words. The right things to say. My love for Michelle inspired her. She didn’t know the full story of course, but I think she could have gotten enough from my expression. She sat at my bed with a pad and a pen and wrote. She scribbled a lot. I could hear the pen scratching over the poor pad.          
         She asked if me if she could read it to me and of course I said yes.

“You,” she began “ are my all.
“My every morning’s start.
“Together we shall stay,
“Until death do us part.”

         “It’s beautiful” I told her. It really was. With only four lines she said what my heart wanted to pour when I heard of Michelle’s second death. My mother had come in earlier and gave me the news.  Just after that Naomi came and she shared her sympathy with me. Apparently, she too has lost a love one, but she doesn’t know what it feels like to lose them twice.
         ‘Until death do us part’.
         No one would ever know what I have been through.
         Naomi and I have had quite a nice chat during my stay at the hospital. She herself is also 18 years old, but went to the other school.  She loves writing – she has written stories, poems and songs all about love lost. It made me think about Michelle – she wanted to become a writer, write novels and make a lot of money. Naomi just seemed to me like a more complex writer.
But her dream was to become a nurse, it has always been and always will be.
A while later she gave me a letter. She told me to open and read it the next night. There was a great urge from within to open it then and there, but something within me told me it was worth it to wait.

The next day was Michelle’s funeral.
         Again.
         That morning I got out of the hospital. Luckily nothing was broken or permanently damaged. According to the doctors Michelle broke my fall and took most of the beating. I still couldn’t process the fact that she was gone.
         I went back. I managed to be a good boyfriend.
         But why did she have to die again?
         I took right.
         And still a car came crashing into our side killing Michelle instantly. The doctor said that if it wasn’t for her I would have died. She saved my life.
         The other car’s driver had died too, just like the first time.
         It was unknown who he/she was.
         All that is known is that that person was very drunk.
After the funeral, which was held on the same day as before, I went into the field again. I was searching for someone, a certain ‘witch’.
Omina.
I saw the hut. I quickly ran through bushes and fields to get there.
There was nobody.
Then I heard a strange sound coming from behind.

“Hello again, deary,” she said.
         I jumped around and found myself face to face with the person who sent me back in time to relive D-Day. To see Michelle again. To live and to be free of guilt.
         “Do you know who I am?” I asked.
         It wouldn’t make sense if she knew. It was almost exactly the same time that I first saw her. That she met me. How could she know?
         “Well yes of course, the poor kid who needed to travel time,” she answered.
         She really was gifted.
         “Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked.
         “Y-Yes, I need to know what” I started but she cut me off.
         “Oh yes, the accident.”
         “Yes, how, why did it happen again? I didn’t take left. I played safe.”
         “Kevin, if there is one thing you need to know, it is that you cannot cheat death. She had to die. The one way or the other.”
         “But how did the car crash into us? How could there have been two speeding cars? Wouldn’t that have caused more trouble the first time?”
         “It was the same car. The same driver. There is a road that crosses the roads of both left and right from 3rd Avenue. That was where the car came from.”
         “But the first time was a head-on collision. The car didn’t come from the side.”
         “Read Naomi’s letter. It’s the letter Michelle wrote you. It was written before your day together and will explain what happened the first time.”
         So that was what Naomi gave me, but what happened to the letter the first time?
         Omina read my thoughts and told me: “Her mother kept it. She didn’t think you would want to read it. Naomi had thought of you and kept it.”
         My mind was in frenzy.
         Her mother kept something from me?
         Something I deserved to know?
         But what exactly was it?
         I told Omina I needed to go, it was getting late. It was still only 13:00.
         “Remember,” she told me as I headed out “you promised her you would wait until tonight.”
         Oh I remembered, and nodded.
         I always keep my promises.

When I got home I went on the internet.
         I checked Omina’s (the company) website again.
         It wasn’t there. I checked the blogs, forums and other pages searching for the Omina Experiment, but nothing had anything on it.
         It didn’t make sense.
         I checked Answers.com on time paradoxes.
         One of those paradoxes caught my eye.
Obli-Missional Inter-Navigated Area Paradox.
It was if you would go back in time to the same area not too long ago and change something, which would result in something else happening rather different.
Obli-Missional Inter-Navigated Area Paradox.
Omina.

I spent the rest of the day watching television until it was finally evening.
         I hurried up to my room and opened the letter.
         The letter before her accident.

“Dear Kevin,
         I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just tell you: I’m in love with someone else. The past year or so you’ve been a completely different person. I don’t know what has gotten into you, you aren’t the same guy I fell in love with anymore. Eric Davids is such a nice guy. He respects me, he loves me, he gives me little gifts every now and then. When have you ever done something like that for me? I know I will probably delay this letter’s delivery to you until the very last moment. Don’t get me wrong, I do still love you. You are a great guy and you deserve love too.
         It’s just that I’m not the right one for you, as you aren’t the right one for me.
         I hope you understand.
         Love,
         Michelle.”

I read it about five times.
         She wanted to leave me on that day that I was so mean to her.
         She was about to break my heart.
         But I wouldn’t have cared.
         There was a card with that had Naomi’s number on it. She wrote there that I should call her if I needed anything.
         I sat a while and felt something in my pocket.
         It was another letter, folded down the middle. On the one side was written: “This will explain. Omina.”
         As quick as lighting I opened the letter and read.

“Dear Eric,
         Our relationship cannot continue any longer. I was wrong about Kevin. He is such a nice guy and I do think I owe him another chance. He has changed completely. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to play you or to make him jealous or something. You are wonderful, sweet, talented and charming, but I don’t belong with you and you don’t belong with me.
         Love,
         Michelle”

That letter must have been written on the second D-Day.
         She did notice my change.
         She wanted to continue a relationship with me.
         Why did she have to die?
         Why couldn’t we be together?

I called Naomi a few minutes later.
         We chatted for almost an hour. I thanked her for the letter, but I didn’t tell her about Eric.
         She invited me to go sleep at her house that night.
         I accepted the invitation.
         When I got there, we made a nice Christmas bed on the living room floor and finally fell asleep.
         

We were woken up the next morning by her cell phone.
         The hospital called her.
         She greeted quite friendly, chatted, nodded and said OK and put the phone down.
         “It was the morgue,” she started “they identified the person that crashed into you.”
         “Who is it?” I asked quickly.
         “A Davids fellow, his name is Eric.”

I got dizzy, I went blank.
         Eric?
         He crashed into us?
         He was the one who caused Michelle’s death?
         He must have been so drunk when she left him he didn’t think straight. But what about the first time, it must have been him too. Maybe it was just an accident.
         But the second time, was that an accident?
         I believed it was a paradox.
         A time paradox.

Naomi asked me what was wrong.
         She must have seen me staring at the floor with a pale face.
         “Nothing,” I told her.
         “Did you know him?” she asked me.
         “No, I didn’t. But I have heard of him.”
         She nodded and got up to pour us some coffee.
         “How did you sleep? Sweet dreams?” she asked.
         “Yes,” I answered “very sweet. I slept like a baby.”
         I did.
         I didn’t have that nightmare again.

-------------------------------------------------THE END----------------------------------------------


[This story is dedicated to my friend Michelle who died due to a lung infection in May 2008]