Foundation Of Time-Chapter One

Foundation of Time







Chapter One.







You know the first words in the story are supposed to be the defining moments of it? This always confuses me when I open up Moby Dick and see “Call Me Ishmael?” But I read in an issue of Writer’s Digest that you use the first words to grab the reader, to make him want to read. In that case… did I just waste mine?



Okay, these words do not count.



Let’s start over. Call Me Jill Darrell (Don’t call this plagiarism, I’m just… borrowing.) I am a teenager of many unusual things. First off- I am a blind photographer. Yes, you heard me; A Blind photographer. You see, I’ve been blind for most of my life. My walking is very klutzy. As in “I look like a drunk” klutzy. So most of my time is spent in a wheelchair. How I find what I shoot, you can thank my friend Bridgette for.



Bridgette is a lot more open than I am. You can definitely tell what she thinks, what she’s like, as she seems to say whatever she thinks. This has at some points, saved our friendship, because she is undeniably honest, and at some points, killed her other friendships. But that’s a ways away in this book (about a few paragraphs.)



You see, she’s my best friend. In some respects, my only true friend. I mean, I’ll chat with others but we never seem to be able to stick together. They live somewhere else, we forget to trade phone numbers or they don’t have a fax (My primary form of communication- it prints in Braille.) So, therefore I have trouble keeping friends. But Bridgette is a good friend.



She is into Journalism, so we are stars in the school paper. What we do is, she brings me to a story, and I focus on where the sound is coming from. I feel around (hopefully not hitting anyone in the head) to find out where I am positioned. Then I just shoot. When I come across an inanimate object, I do my drunk walk and feel the shape of the bottom of the building, for example. Then I lay on the ground (all the while looking more and more like a fool) and shoot straight up. It works, or so I hear. One thing that I hate about being blind is never seeing any of my pictures. I mean, imagine if you painted beautiful murals and was never allowed to see them. I’m like Beethoven and the Ode to Joy. He never heard a note of that.



One thing that makes us repel other people is our “goody two shoes” reputation. But hey, that’s a better reputation than a bad reputation. You see, Bridgette and I are relatively devout in our 0.00001% minority faith, Messianic. You see, we take the Old Testament and follow it to the T, following all the laws that Christians deem to be dead. This has given us the identity of being Jews, as we use the name “Yahweh,” “Yahshua” “Messiah,” and “Elohim” in place of the terms “God, Lord, Jesus Christ.” We don’t celebrate most of the typical American Holidays (Except 4th of July and Thanksgiving- the former being an excuse for fireworks and the latter with a heart to expand on.) But we are definitely not Jewish in faith either. You see, they don’t believe Messiah has made it yet. We think he did. We use Christian bibles, as they are in line with ours, depending on Translation. Also, we don’t feel the need for Talmud, since they are 1. Impossible to follow and 2. Manmade. We are almost a combination of the right parts of the two, The Torah and The Messiah.



You see, this gives us backup to the pressure to drink, do drugs, and… you know- all the vices in school. Technically, this is college, but for younger, gifted people. Although the entire academic smarts in the world can’t stop a lot of people from pouring their future in a Beer bottle. It astonishes me. And I try to stop it. But, I have a tendency to, when it comes to this, wear my emotions on my sleeve, like Bridgette does. I try to think "hate the sin, love the sinner," but it just gets me so much that people don't care about tomorrow. I mean, I screw up on a daily basis, but I make sure not to do anything like some of these do.



My least favorite person, however, does not do anything like that. Christi Schrizo’s weapon of choice is words. She messes with people's minds, make them think they have a new friend. Then she goes and trashes them awhile later for no reason, and while they're brokenhearted, why not go ahead and gossip a chock full of lies so that no one wants to befriend them. Just ask Bridgette. Christi was (emphasis on was) her best friend for about a few months. Then the next thing she knows, she misplaces a gosh-forsaken hair clip and the entire friendship is down the toilet. I got to question whether or not there was another reason for that. Ah, but that was a year or two before we ever even met. Three years ago, to be exact.



The day this all started, how to describe it…? Hmm… Average. In fact, I couldn’t find a more normal beginning to a day in the past 3 years Guess Yahweh thought “I need to add some spice to her day.” Boy he sure did. I won’t leave this spicy day without a new friend, enemy, and superpower.

Yes, I said superpower.

No, seriously!

I’m telling the truth!

Okay, fine, don’t believe me!







Anyways, reader let me describe where this day went wrong. Bridgette and I were conversing about local politics when…

What do you mean you find this less believable than the superpower part?

…anyways, we were conversing about local politics. Bridgette and I had to disagree on this one. We’re good friends though, so it wasn’t like a screaming fight. She was partial to incumbent Mayor Milton B. Daniels, who supported strength in police and reduction in pollution. I figured these things were important, but candidate Stanley R. Taylor was only 5 years older with me with big ideas- a new free housing for the homeless to the north of- never mind, I’m probably boring you.

“Jill,” Bridgette was coming to the unintended end of our debate while pushing my wheelchair “if journalism doesn’t work out for us, we should run against each other for school president-“she stopped when she saw Christi Schrizo was studying in the hallway, blocking the hallway like she often does. I’ll hand this to her- sometimes it’s unintentional. But she had this giggle that told us flat out “Screw you, I own this hallway.”

“We need to get by, Christi.” Bridgette spat.

“Don’t talk that way, Bridge.” I complained, wiping spit droplets out of my hair.

“Oops,” she said. Then she refocused on Christi, because I sure hope she wasn’t telling me “Get your prissy self out of the way, you ingrate.”

I don’t think I need to go into how Bridgette and Christi believe in long, overextended painful grudges.

“Screw you, I own this hallway,” she replied, snickering again.

“Christi, at least let me by,” I pleaded. “I never did anything to you.”

“Forget it,” she said.

“Bridgette,” I whispered “We’re going to be late!”

“Why won’t you let us by?” Bridgette started raising her voice at Christi. Yeah, Bridgette, smooth move. Now that you’re yelling, she’ll definitely let us by (read with sarcasm.)

To answer us, I heard a voice similar to Chris Rock. For a second I could have sworn it was him. Then I said to myself “Get Real” and went through the number of people I knew that had that kind of voice. I knew two- Chris Rock and Devon Mill. I went with option number two.

“Hey, any of you seen Robert? He just started running in here and- oh, Christi. This means I got punk’d, huh?”

“Who knows,” I replied. “Robert’s a new kid. He probably got lost.”

You see, The School is divided up into three sections- The Girl’s Learning Hall, The Boys’ Learning Hall, and everything that has to do with daily life, you know, cafeteria, dorms, etc. Not that it stopped much bad from happening, but, hey, it’s a nice thought.

Christi started cracking up, and in an accidental unison, Bridgette, Devon and I said “We’re Screwed.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Christi laughed again. “It’s 7:58am. Classes start at 8. Robert led Devon in here with you two ladies. He’s hopefully back in class by now. You will be late with a guy with the two of you. What worse trouble could you get in?”

“The teacher’s discovering half the bullcrap you do.” Bridgette hissed.

“Oh, look.” Christi said with a lot of fake pleasantness. “It’s time for class.” She trotted off, her high heels audible from a long distance away.

I think she saw Mrs. Greeley, our outspoken Irish teacher, coming right behind us. She said suddenly, with no warning she was there “What are you three doing, huh?”

“Long yet interesting story,” I explained while catching my breath from the scare she gave all of us.

“Ye’re late, and ye’ve let a male in yer hall. This simply will nae do.” She said, and I heard a dreaded ripping of paper, which she used for detention passes. “I did nae think I’d ever have to write Miss Darrell a detention pass.”

That was the end of that moment. I passed out, and woke up a few minutes later, or, to be correct, a few minutes before.

“It’s 7:58 am.” Christi was saying “Classes start at-“

Shaking my momentary sleep off, I growled in my most ferocious voice “Let us pass NOW or we mow you down. Capieche?”

Christi gasped and said “Okay, fine, gosh!” When she was a ways away, Bridgette pushed me as fast as she could run to our classes. Devon, taking our cue, ran out the entrance to his classes as well. We made it on time. Not much else to say, just a sigh of relief.

But I didn’t get too much down. I had acted so fast in the situation I woke up in, all my wonder and thrill was pushed to class on a nice wheelchair. What the heck had just happened?

But I didn’t get too much down. I had acted so fast in the situation I woke up in, all my wonder and thrill was pushed to class on a nice wheelchair. What the heck had just happened?



As I put it, “That was the end of that moment. I passed out, and woke up a few minutes later, or, to be correct, a few minutes before.” To put it in Idiot-Speak, I traveled in time.



This is just the beginning, don’t you worry.