I sometimes forget myself, like I am more than what I truly am. It's when I remember how bad I can be at writing that I have the most fun doing it. I think we all do that from time to time, make ourselves nervous or think too much about our next move. Just light a fire, whether it be writing, drawing, creating, or anything, feed it well, even if it isn't a lot, and let it burn.

Timmy the Time Traveler

Timmy had just got done installing the flux grappilator and twisting the screws on the cover plate, insuring no loss of limbs or eyesight during operation. Time travel is super serious shit!

“Dinner’s ready, you little son of a bitch!” came an angry yell from the first floor of a pleasant house meant to raise families together. Usually they just barely avoided killing each other.

He gave a huge smile. Timmy didn’t have to listen to his stupid dad, his stupid mom, his stupid dog, or his stupid teacher anymore. No one could tell him what to do in the future! Or maybe even the past! He could go anywhere he wanted with his newly-invented time machine!

Timmy was just so fucking clever. I mean, how else could a 9 year-old come up with the necessary mechanical and mathematical skills needed to create something capable of warping the time-space continuum? Only Timmy could do such a miraculous feat!

Grabbing his goggles (don’t want to lose your eyeballs by an errant speck of dust or strand of hair flying through your corona at 6 billion M.P.H.), Timmy didn’t care how upset his dad might get. Dad was about to find an empty room for the next 6,000 years!

With a flick of switch and a twist of some loose gears, the machine whirled to life, a waning hum with sporadic, off-tune hiccups. Time travel is no joke! Timmy knew all the precise calculations needed, including the noises such a thing needed to make. Everything had a purpose on Timmy’s time machine!

The bedroom door suddenly burst in splinters, a heavy boot leading the way through.

“I said dinner was done NOW!!!” came the roar just millimeters from the bedroom’s threshold. Dad was not putting up with it tonight.

Timmy just gave a shit-toothed grin, laughing. He put up his middle fingers towards his father, a death sentence signed.

“Ha, ha! Fuck you, dad!” he yelled in his little kid voice.

Timmy hit the time-warp ignition, causing a flash of light that seared his father’s eyeballs out their sockets. It was okay though, his father’s painful screams grew instantly faded. He had done it, he was now travelling through time, toward the year 8,000 Anno Domini!

Lights twirled all about, or whatever else time travel looks like. I think it would be more like a pulsating blur, but it might be different for you. However the imaginative device, Timmy was fast approaching his targeted time.

The machine started to sputter down and Timmy only saw stars and dark. He felt cold, extremely. As he exhaled his breath from the year he came from, he could see it in the expansive dark, growing into a fine mist of ice speckles. His last of oxygen blown into the nether reaches of the expansive nothingness of space.

See, while Timmy had indeed traveled to the year 8,000 A.D., he had forgotten one tiny, extremely important mathematical implication. He forgot about the rotation of the earth.

So, as Timmy realized what he had done, he quickly flipped the switch to the machine, trying desperately for it to start without any fuel. But Timmy’s panicked expression conveyed what we all know: He was screwed, soon to be frozen in space, a floating meat popsicle that was a miracle of science and math.

Timmy’s dad was going to be very upset with him now.