Time Machines Fly (CLFM 45)

We found the kid riding in circles around a small apartment complex’s parking lot.

He was still sniffling some, although the tears had stopped. The prototype temporal translater, a bronze halo, was on his head.

“I killed her,” he said. Wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve. “It was me”

“You didn’t kill her at all,” I said. “Though messing with that halo screwed thing up a lot of stuff. It’s a bad thing to play with, does a lot of damage.”

“I hate it!”

Before I could stop him the boy had taken the machine off his head and thrown it, heedlessly. I could see the warped temporal leaks and spatial vortexes it created in it’s flight, until it went in through an open window.

A startled yelp from inside let us know there was yet another repair job to be done.

“Go home Tommy,” I ruffled the boy’s hair. “Amelia’s wanting to play with you.”

He looked up suspiciously.

“Honest,” I said, crossing my heart with a cub scout salute. “Go see.”

He peddled the bike away like a maniac.

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