In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley all the way back to England where he discovered that it had been a mistake, he was meant to be in France, 1945. Time travelling isn't as accurate as all that.
Perhaps he would ought to do something a bit different for a change. Go back home. See what changes have been made. Would it be recognisable?
Jack the Ripper decided to return Whitechapel. 1888. London.
Are you sure about this? I'm not sure if I am the only person skeptical of this? It seems that the world is changing, and people are letting others think for them. Everyday, a large amount of laws are approved. The government is a joke. Although they continue to maintain that they have a democracy, this is just not true. Voting corrupt to its core. Candidates supported by the government always win, because citizens are bribed to vote for the puppet candidate. Those who dare to challenge the government are asking for their deaths. Everyone knows about the CIA, but...
It was the last day.
General Richards was tired. Very tired. He had been walking for a long time, and there was still nothing in sight. No city of glass. Not even the path of golden bricks. They were nowhere to be seen.
He sat down in the dirt, even though none of the others were sitting, even though Eliza still had the energy to dance with her nurse. Of course she had the energy; she was the one they had all been giving all their food and water to. She was only a child. She held the future in...
The day after tomorrow, this will all be over. He stood, still in body if not in mind. The wind that brushed past him seemed to pause, as if considering this new obstacle, before gathering the leaves that hunched against the curb and whirling them off in a wild reel. With his head tilted as if listening to a far-off conversation, he tried to pin down the source of his unease. Raising a hand in the dim twilight, he ignored the fine tremor that shook it and re-settled the case strapped across his back. Nerves, then, and nothing to do...
100 feet away Mulder knew the Sasquatch was waiting. This was it, the moment of truth.
Jonas, the new field agent crunched towards him, dry twigs breaking the silence, seeming oblivious to the gestures from his superior to stay still. The shrilling of his cell phone ruined the whole operation.
'Mulder, you know that it couldn't have been what you were hoping.' Scully's eyes told him everything he already knew. He was on his own with this certainty.
His sources were trustworthy.
Next time he would go on his own time. And even if he did find solid evidence he...
I knew that my outfit was risky, the plunging black bra exposing large breasts and cleavage. White sheer dress with black embroidery. The patterned hat, sharp, long painted fingernails and matching blood red lipstick may have looked good in a lounge bar but my fiance's grandmother was not impressed. Her husband was though. He couldn't keep his eyes off my chest and received a withering glance from his wife and got told to make the drinks in another room.
I never guessed that Bob's family were so rich. The white remote gates gave it away. I imagined they would live...
The argument that had started before they left the house – before, even, they had learned that they would have to leave the house at all – continued as they drove. Jacob gripped the steering wheel with white knuckled hands, channelling his anger into the car instead of out at his wife, Barbara.
Barbara sat next to him, seething silently, her own hand wrapped together, her own knuckles just as white as her husband’s. One would soon break the deadlock, but neither wanted to be the first. The air was heavy with upset.
Jacob broke first. “You still not speaking...
She was beautiful, her hair fell in raven waves down to the small of her back, there was a crimson ribbon taming it. She wore a long skirt and a half corset over a white sleeveless blouse, the srimson was the only colour she wore, everything else was dull greys and browns.
He was furious, how could they twist his words this way, corrupt what he wrote. It was his story, it was supposed to be new and revolutionary but all he got was the same tired cliche, over and over again. So much for modern reinterpretation.
So much for...
Elsie, her name was Elsie. She was a big lass. Big arms. 'Big boned' my mum had called her, 'a rough sort', she'd said, 'stay away from her, she's trouble', she'd said. But I never listened to my mum.
I decided from the word go that I wanted to be in Elsie's gang. When I crept up to her side and said
'lo Else, can I be in your gang then?' she'd blown a big bubblegum bubble which popped right in front of my face and sneered
'you'll have to go through 'tha 'nititation beanpole'
Beanpole. I already had a...
I jumped on the bandwagon. Everyone else was going down, and I mean, I thought I knew the basis of the movement, so of course that's what matters, right? So I went downtown. There were all these people there. All this passion. But I slowly realized that I was just there because it was fun. There were a bunch of other kids, my age, maybe older, sort of just there to have a good time, to try and get a rise out of some people. Like people without clothes on, or like doing drugs in the street, really weird stuff...