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by Aryx Noi on Sun Jan 23, 2011 12:10 am
It was a rainy night in a small city. Oh, how he hated the rain. Despite his hatred of the stuff, he never brought along an umbrella. They were just too funny.
āOh, I donāt want to get wet. Iāll bring a portable roof over my head!ā he thought to himself. He chuckled at his joke. He was funny.
He knew this place from somewhere before. This was a memory. He knew it.
He looked up. The clouds blended into a mesh of gray and black, with the occasional flash of lightning and roar of thunder.
The ground was similar, in the sense that it had dark black marks on it, as if it was charred. This further added to his impression on the dilapidation of the city.
This was it. He knew it. He pulled his newspaper from his overcoat pocket.
āMonday, the 31st, 2025. A week after it began,ā he read. āThe metal submarine exploded, killing and wounding hundreds of people, the cause of which is yet to be discoveredā¦ā
He sighed, stuffing the newspaper back into his coat.
āSubmarine,ā he muttered to himself. āCharred streetsā¦ā
He looked at the street sign. Muffle Thorn Row.
He smiled.
āOh goodness, Damien, have you done it,ā he said to himself. Heās talking to himself now. But he didnāt care. Damien Vice, time traveler, had found where it began.
āCome hell,ā he said to the cold air and turned on The Machine.
He traveled back a week ago, to the start. As he materialized into a rainy night (the rainy night), he ran behind a building to hide and watch.
He sat and waited. Hell would come. Oh, how hell would come.
Writer, Musician, and Time Person Of The Year 2006.
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