This is me.
Here is a little bit of the story I have been writing.
Enjoy:
The thing about time is, you don't understand it. Nobody does. But it flowed out of God and formed all the stars and planets.
Time isn't something that plods along separate from you and me.
We are time. You and I and everything we touch. And when we touch the same thing, we are in the same moment.
Somewhere in the vast expanse of spacetime, a dark tunnel stretches out—dissolving into darkness.
In this tunnel sits a young woman, alone. She is a small person with big glasses, but a little nose. Her jet-black hair swings about her cheeks.
She wears a slim space suit. On her back is a backpack, and covering her head is a glass bubble helmet.
Strapped to her chest is a short, thick rifle.
She begins to crawl down the tunnel. Tiny lights above light up in front and shut off behind.
She crawls for a long time.
Eventually, the tunnel ends. Beyond it is the vacuum of space.
A blue-green planet can be seen far away.
She takes a few breaths, fogging her helmet for a moment.
Then, she jumps into the vacuum of space.
She falls toward the planet.
Stars on all sides and the planet in front. Only the sound of breathing.
Minutes pass. The planet looms.
The shape of mountain ranges, glaciers, and rivers.
She is headed for a patchwork of green and tan next to a mountain range.
A rush of air. She is entering the atmosphere. Her backpack hums and pulls on her.
She reaches terminal velocity in the atmosphere.
The ground is approaching fast.
She can see the outline of houses, fences, and trees.
Her parachute deploys. With a jerk and a thud, the canopy opens.
She reaches up and removes her helmet, letting it drop.
She hangs in the quiet air.
No time to look around; the ground is almost here. She pulls on the chute strings and prepares for impact.
She tucks and rolls into a field.
Quickly to her knees, she grabs the chute and pulls it to herself.
She unzips the suit—crawling out of it and leaving it on the ground.
Now, she wears a strip of cloth wrapped around her body many times. It changes colors from red to tan to black to leafy green, back to red. She looks like a camouflaged mummy.
She reaches for her backpack on the ground and removes a small bag with a strap.
Written on the side of the bag is: "wound trauma kit."
She slings this across her shoulders, then picks up her rifle.
Finally, she stands up and looks around for the first time.
The sun sits on the horizon. The bottom of its circle kisses the edge of the world. Is it rising, or is it setting?
All around is alien farmland. Square patches of grain fields alternate with patches of dark jungle.
Above each forest canopy, a few giant trees flower like broccoli.
Groups of grey and red birds, like turkeys, roam about. They wander on the edges of the fields, pecking the grain.
She strides through the field, then climbs over a stone wall into a grassy yard.
A giant dome covered in grass bulges out of the middle of the yard.
It is an ancient tumulus.
It stands there, waiting.
Wedged into the side of the tumulus is a sliding door—closed.
Written on the door:
"WARNING: TIME MOVES INDEPENDENTLY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS DOOR."
The door has not been touched for a long time, and the area is overgrown with grass.
She stands in front of the door. The sun still rests on the horizon. Waiting.
Finally, she pushes her glasses back up her nose, centers her shoulders, steps to the door handle, and pulls.
As the door slides away, she steps back and points her rifle through the opening.
The door opens, and light bursts out.
Just inside, a man lies in a pool of blood. He must have died an instant before. His rifle cast to the side. He wears a camo mummy suit, like hers.
With three strides, she leaps inside the room.
She drops her rifle and collapses next to the dead man.
Then, she cries great sobs. Gasping for breath.
Her wound trauma kit slides off her shoulder. It's useless now.
She sits next to the body for a long time, legs curled to the side, as time rips her away from someone she loved.
The evening light fades to night, and moonlight shines through the door.
Eventually, the present world collects back around her. She wipes her cheeks dry.
She closes the man's eyes with two fingers. His face is content and peaceful—as if he knows of some wonderful conclusion to a story.
She stands up and faces the door she had come through—the door to the outside world.
She hesitates.
Moonlight from outside the tumulus highlights her face.
She is lost and has no place to go. At this moment, she feels her story is over.
But she is still alive.
She steps forward and closes the door.
Now, she stands inside the tumulus with the closed door before her.
Written on the inside of the door are the same words that were written on the outside:
"WARNING: TIME MOVES INDEPENDENTLY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS DOOR."
The night sounds of the jungle are gone. Perfect quiet presses into her ears.
She grasps the dead man's arms and pulls him to the center of the tumulus.
Then, she picks up both rifles, slinging one over her back and holding the other.
She takes a deep breath and stands straight, centering her shoulders to the closed door.
She grasps the door handle and pulls the door open.
Stepping back, she swings one rifle up and points it at the opening door.
The door slides open.
An orange glow flickers from outside.
Black smoke billows in. Then, a giant head and powerful body staggers in and stands up.
He is seven feet tall. Smoke swirls around him.
The giant looks at her with a blackened face.
She does not hesitate. She fires.
The rifle shudders, and the giant hurtles backward, flattening against the doorframe, then slides to the ground. Very dead.
The rifle whines, recharging.
But.
Stooping down to get through the door, another figure enters.
It stands erect.
A giant, bigger than the last. Nine feet tall. He wears leather armor with the image of a wild boar on the breastplate.
His left hand is a fist of fire.
In his right, a long, thin knife.
He stands in front of the door, dwarfing it.
Her rifle is still charging. She drops it and starts to swing the other rifle around by the sling.
Too late.
A giant hand pushes her off balance, and she hits the ground.
Then the giant foot flattens on her rifle, pinning her left arm under it.
She cries out in pain.
The giant voice: "You're a fast little one."
But she's not out of the fight.
She reaches into a fold of her mummy cloth, pulls out a push dagger, and buries it into the nearest bit of giant.
The weight on the rifle shifts. She pulls her arm out and dives for the first rifle, fully charged.
Her finger closes around the trigger as the barrel swivels to her target.
The knife swings through the air. The rifle shudders in response.
But she does not wait to see the effect. She jumps up, leaps over the dead giant, and runs out the door.
While she had left the door closed for only a few seconds, a lot of time must have passed outside.
All is quiet, but everything has changed. It's still night, but a battle has happened here.
The grass is burnt. Whips of smoke trail upward where the fire ended.
Parachute canopies lie on the ground—billowing in puffs of breeze.
Bodies also lie about, some giant, some regular-sized, motionless.
Smoke rises.
Drifting away over the horizon are the wrecks of two starships. They consume each other with bright sparks of radiation as they disappear from sight.
Streaks of flame cross the sky.
On the edge of the grassy yard, on the other side of a stone wall, the jungle begins.
She makes a dash for the wall.
She throws her rifle over and tumbles over headfirst, then jumps back up and leaps into the forest.
She stops to listen. Only the sounds of the night in the jungle.
She looks down. Blood pours out of the cloth on her right arm.
She steps into a bit of moonlight and peels back her shoulder wrapping to look.
The knife had caught her where the shoulder meets the neck. She is losing a lot of blood.
She remembers her wound trauma kit, still inside the tumulus.
She peers over the wall at the tumulus.
Light from the open door illuminates the yard.
The light flickers. Someone has moved inside. The larger giant is still alive.
She climbs over the wall, heads back to the door, and peers inside.
Her wound trauma kit lies just past the dead giant.
She points her rifle and steps over the body.
The interior of the tumulus is a round, bare room. In the center, a stone spiral staircase leads down.
The body of her friend still lies where she had dragged him.
At the far side of the room, the larger giant is propped against the wall, breathing heavily.
He looks up at her: "I underestimated you. You're a fast little one."
She doesn't say a word.
She picks up the second rifle and sits on the floor next to the wound trauma kit.
She opens the kit, pulls out a package, and rips it open with her teeth. An odd green bandage falls out—copper wires run all through the fabric, and attached to it is a small battery.
She sucks in her breath and holds it, then peels back her suit and places the bandage. The bandage comes alive and grabs onto the cut—freezing there.
With a gasp, she breathes and pants, leaning against the wall of the tumulus.
The blood pouring out under the bandage ends.
She breathes giant breaths. In and out.
The strange green bandage is doing its work rapidly. It's healing her body, but requiring a lot of her energy.
She blinks.
She forces her eyes back open.
A profound weariness is upon her, now.
Her thoughts drift . . .
A field of stars streaks past. Plummeting her through spacetime. She is falling . . .
She jerks awake.
She has been asleep. She grabs for her rifle.
Something in the room has changed.
The door to the outside is closed. Perfect silence presses into her ears.
The two bodies are gone.
The larger giant is nowhere to be seen.
She stands up.
She pulls off her bandage.
The bandage has done its work, leaving only a white and red scar.
She closes the wound trauma kit and slings it over her shoulder, then slings one rifle to her back and grasps the other.
In the center of the room, the spiral staircase descends.
She points her rifle and peers down the steps.
Below is darkness.
She starts down—her rifle barrel leads the way.
Her shoulder slides along the matte black stone wall as they twist round and round.
The light coming from above is changing color.
She is passing through a rainbow.
The colors shift on the wall and her body as she steps lower and lower.
Round and round. Down and down. Darker and darker.
She touches the final step.
She listens. Her eyes strain into the darkness.
Far away, two lights glow. One red, one blue.
A slight ticking sound, somewhere ahead.
She fumbles her way forward, rifle ready.
She reaches the lights. It's a computer console the size of a refrigerator. Buttons, lights, screens, and levers.
The whole machine angrily flickers, blinks, ticks, and hums.
At the top, it says: "Spacetime Ship Log."
A harsh little voice whispers out of the machine: ". . . spacetime ship log empty . . . please leave log entry, now. . . "
The hum coming from the machine grows stronger, turning into a vibration coming into her shoes and through her body.
The minute the vibration hits her head, she loses consciousness and slips down into the black.
She opens her eyes.
She is standing in a small square room with no doors and one window.
The window looks into the room she had just come from.
She can see her real body still standing there in the computer room next to the computer console—eyes closed and motionless as if frozen in time.
She is inside the computer.
“. . . leave log entry, now . . .”
She speaks for the first time. Her voice shakes and hesitates, but moves forward with purpose: "My name is Shu Zhang. I am a Space Force Paratrooper. I am the last of a great spacetime army. I have outpaced them in time. I'm leaving this message for any fighters who have survived. I'm going to continue forward. Hoping someone will catch up, or I will catch up with someone . . . in time."
Copyright 2025 by Hans Bluedorn. All rights reserved.
Come back later for more of the story.
Tell me what you think: hansbluedorn at gmail dot com
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