Conspiracy Theory

"Let me get this straight: I finally finish my life's work, and you suggest I shouldn't use it?" I said, menacingly pointing at Melody with the pen in my right hand, as though wishing to drive it into her skin.

"All I'm saying is, you don't know if it'll work," she replied and rubbed her gloved hands together, more out of habit than to warm them. "Your calculations and theories are fantastic-brilliant even-but they're still just theories. Who's to say you won't cause a paradox and destroy half of the universe?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "That isn't how paradoxes work. You've been watching too many of those old TV shows." I leaned in, over the counter covered in old newspapers, all from the same year, and said, "Come on, you want to know what happened too, right? We sure as hell know it wasn't North Korea."

My hand rested on the headline of an old New England Patriot. No, not the football team, the newspaper. Written boldly across the top of the paper was the brazen headline, "North Korea Launches Attack on U.S." Below, the incriminating picture of a giant explosion, as seen from satellite, covering nearly the entire Midwest. It had been the surprise of the twenty-first century. Finally, the little kid all the adults thought would amount to nothing followed through on his biggest threat. Of course, North Korea was almost immediately destroyed after that. No self-respecting patriot allowed mercy to creep into his skull when the order was given to nuke them. Parades marched down streets, tossing out free candy to pudgy kids; folks drank like it was Saint Patrick's Day; and even the kindest souls felt some vindication knowing North Korea would soon be wiped off the map.

But it was all a lie. The giant cloud in the picture could not have been caused by any kind of explosive developed over a hundred years ago. The shape was too massive-too irregular. Call me crazy, a conspiracy theorist, a mad scientist, if you will, but I've devoted my entire life to finding out the true cause of the incident, and thirty years ago I decided the only way to discover the truth was to go back and see it for myself. It would beat starving to death out here, anyway.

Melody stared at me like a mother looks at a disobedient child-loving, but firm. "You don't know anything for sure, dad. I just want you to be safe."

"I'll be fine," I said, trying to reassure her. "I'll just pop in a few days before it happens, inspect the area, then come back before everything goes to hell and if I don't find anything out, I'll concede defeat and live out the rest of my days in this dark, frigid, godforsaken place with you, alright?"

"But how do you know you can even come back? You said you only had enough power for one trip."

"I have enough power to go there and come back. I'm sure of it. But beyond that, there won't be enough power in this city to go back again."

Melody tapped her fingers on the counter. "Fine," she said, with indignation rather than acceptance. "You go do that, and I'll go see if Willow needs any help. She's getting better. Doctor says the ash in her lungs is clearing up." She walked to the door, shivering, wrapped her scarf around her neck and over her face, turned back and said, "Goodbye," before stepping over the threshold. I haven't seen her cry in twenty years, not since she got in a big fight at school, but I could have sworn she was holding back tears.

"Alright, you can do this," I said to myself as I walked down hallway to the room I had built my time-machine in. Taking deep, intentional breaths, I tried to calm my quick-beating heart. The last thing I wanted was to die of a heart attack before I even left. I stepped into the room at the end of the hallway on the left.

Inside: my masterpiece. A beauteous feat of engineering appearing on the outside to be just a small, chrome box, barely big enough to fit one old man, but the sheer amount of power and potential the machine had made me shake with pride every time I saw it. Thick, insulated cables ran from the city's power plant straight to the machine. Using the initial voltage as a starter, the machine actually ran on the power of cold-fusion, which, I can assure you, is absolutely possible.

Stepping inside the machine, I closed the heavy, metal door and turned on a small lantern that hung from the ceiling. The entire machine was built only to do one purpose: travel to July 22nd, 2020 at the flick of a switch, and then transport me back to this date, July 22nd, 2164, with a second flick.

In the blue light from the LED lantern, I moved my trembling hand toward the only switch inside the machine. I braced myself for failure, or success, and counted down from ten out loud.

Ten. I was finally going to find out what really happened back then.

Nine. Even if it actually was North Korea, at least I'd know.

Eight. But I hoped to God it was something much more fantastic.

Seven. Aliens? The U.S. government? Hollywood?

Six. It didn't really matter.

Five. At least I'd see someplace other than this ash and snow covered nightmare.

Four. I could tell Melody all about it.

Three. "TV doesn't do the real thing justice," I could say.

Two. "It's warm there."

One. "I wish you could've seen it."

I flipped the switch and a massive surge of electricity excited the nuclear core, charging it. In less than a second, it fully charged and began releasing its energy, creating a wormhole through space and time. The box shook tremendously and the temperature raised nearly a hundred degrees. Suddenly, I felt my body stretching. The ceiling grew taller, and my feet got smaller and smaller until I couldn't see them anymore. I stretched through twists and turns as the box grew hotter and hotter. In all of my calculations, never did I expect to feel so discomforted.

Then, as quickly as it started, the top of my head stopped stretching. My feet came winding behind me like the end of a tape measure when it's stretched out then let go. When they finally reached my body, they stopped with a snap and sent me flying into the ceiling.

I fell back to the floor, holding my probably-concussed head in my hands and wondering why I felt so sweaty. Scrambling to my feet, I opened the door, praying to see Earth and not the middle of a sun.

Bright light beamed through the doorway and nearly blinded me. I was in the Sun. Or so I thought, but it wasn't searing enough to be the Sun, which probably would have killed me instantaneously.

Walking through the doors, I noticed the lush beauty of my surroundings. Yellow fields extended in every direction, with the occasional barn or farmhouse disrupting the perfect sea of wheat. I did it. I was in the Midwest.

I jumped up, involuntarily, and celebrated with a little dance. As I jigged and shuffled, I noticed something odd behind me.

I realized what caused the explosion that day. It wasn't North Korea, or the Government, or terrorists, or anything I had ever suspected. I spun around with a smile that evaporated as fast as a snowball in hell.

Then my machine exploded.