Time Warped

Some say that Mark Welsh lived in England, but I know the truth.

In fact, it wasn't until a week ago that he arrived in Britain for his high school summer vacation.

Mark was a devoted American. He rarely left his homeland, except for a school-related reason, like this one.

Six days after he got off the plane, Mark was in the Royal Archaeology Museum of Britain. He only thought the place mildly cool until the tour guide showed him a small antique carved man.

"NOW, DON'T TOUCH THAT! Yes, that does date back from 1776."

When the guide turned his back, Mark slowly reached forward to touch the little man's nose. When he did, he almost screamed when the nose slid into the body and a voice said,"Time portal, opened. The year 1776."

"And what in the world was that?"

Mark turned around slowly. Would he go to jail? Anything could happen if the guide caught you touching an antique.

Instead of the tour guide, there was a short little man wearing a red uniform. There were no other people around. And to top the weirdness off, the museum had transformed all in a second. Instead of paintings up on the wall and little tags next to them, there was one picture of King George III, above shelves where a merchant was selling things.

How had this happened? But Mark knew. There was just one explanation for it, but when you think of a time machine being the answer, you might think you are dreaming or something.

"Are you just going to stand there, William, or shall I call the guards?"

Playing along with the chubby man's game, Mark answered in his best English accent, "And where'd we be going to, mate?"

"You mean you've forgotten? Yikes! To them stinkin' colonies we're going to! To fight the war those rebels 'ave picked out with good England. You've forgotten? Now bring that silly statue thing that you bought and let's get aboard."

The next thing Mark knew, he was being stuffed into a hot, stuffy red uniform. Soon after that, he was getting seasick traveling over the ocean to fight a war against his home country.

Feeling sweaty, Mark started tearing at the antique man, trying to get the nose outside of the body again. His situation was desperate. He would rather die than... wait- already die at battle.

During the journey to America, he thought about the events that had happened during that weird morning. Why had that man called him William? He had acted like Mark was one to be respected. Of course! William Schekes! The great British fighter! I must have been sent back to take over his body!

"How's it going, Schekes?" asked a man from across the deck.

Proven point.

America.

Land of the Free.

Home of the Brave.

Mark found himself singing softly to himself on board . Luckily no one else was around or else he would be thrown off deck, drowning in a second.

Oh! Say can you see, by the dawn's early light. Mark looked across the bay. There was America, and he remembered his home.

Even when the forceful British officials paraded him off the giant ship toward the sounds of battle, he was dreamy and unfocused.

The first battle was hard. The soldiers never gave in. Mark wanted to give in, yet he also wanted not to. But however much he tried, all he did was act real scared, crawling on the ground (while others paraded past him), shouting, "I SURRENDER."

For this was his first war and he was scared to pieces.

Luckily for Mark, he was not killed, but he was taken prisoner by the forces of George Washington.

Mark was really starting to get angry at America, after he was in prison for more than two weeks. When November came and passed, he was thinking, those hotheads will keep me in prison for my birthday, for Mark's birthday was December sixteenth.

But then Mark thought, I have not even yet been born, so he hardly thought about that topic for a while.

When the jailer came, Mark cried out to him, "I'm not British!"

The jailer did not believe him, threw some bread on the floor, and left.

Later, another prisoner was brought in to the cell right next to his. This Loyalist had a plan to escape. Mark thought it risky, but decided that it might work.

They delayed their escape for one week. The night of the escape was tense and silent. Earlier, the Loyalist had stolen a metal rod from the jailer. He used it as a skeleton key, and his door creaked open.

Mark was scared that someone had heard the noise. But nobody had. Filled with relief, the Loyalist opened Mark's door too. Silently, they crept out of the jailhouse.

From there, they ran. But the Loyalist took Mark, against his will, toward where the British army was gathering.

Standing in the battle line, Mark decided to slip away. He succeeded, heading through snow toward the American forces.

With a hat lowered over his face, so he would not be recognized, he went up to the official in charge.

"I should like to join the Continental Army."

"Good. All I need is your name and birthplace."

Mark wrote down the information, and went to join the uneven lines. All the other soldiers were friendly, chatting with one another, though they seemed ragged and hungry. But Mark didn't know anyone, and he didn't know what to say.

One guy was talking about what the future would be like.

In some ways, the man's guess was surprisingly close to reality. Mark joined in the conversation, saying, "We're going to win this war, you know."

The men looked at him in surprise. "Against the greatest army in the world? Not a chance."

"There's a very great chance we might."

Mark and his fellow soldiers marched across New Jersey. The other men were down in spirits, thinking they would surely lose. But Mark knew that they would win this battle. Cheerfully, he walked ahead of the others, through the bitter cold.

Just the thought of America being free once more (as it had been in his future time), was a joy for Mark. But America still had a long way to go.

Later, Mark pitched his tent by an icy river. To pass the time, he whittled away at a sharp hollow stick to make a fife. When he blew on it, it sounded wonderful and the militia's spirits rose.

Early that morning, at six o'clock by the glance of his highly futuristic watch, the militia was drowsy, but highly energized and ready to fight, though they expected to lose.

Mark tucked the flute in his pocket and strolled over to where the uneven lines where gathering. He saw his new best friend, Future Teller, as he called him, in the third line and went to stand near him.

As always, Future Teller was speaking about carriages that are not horse driven and lights that go on with just a simple button on the wall. All the men were bewildered and wide-eyed at these guesses.

Just then the officers in charge cried out, "Battle lines, men!"

The soldiers lined up, in ready stance, and prepared to march. When the officer gave the order, they marched to the Delaware River. There they met the head official, and Future Teller whispered to Mark, "That's George Washington."

George Washington looked serious and strong, and he certainly appeared fit to lead armies. Mark couldn't wait for this adventure to begin. Wide-eyed, he boarded the boat that would carry him across the freezing waters. His boat was right next to George Washington's boat, and he could see Washington's determined face.

We're going to win this war, Mark thought happily. The other men were worried.

When they reached the other side of the Delaware River, Mark knew he had never been this cold before. It was ten degrees, if not lower.

As they approached the fort, they could hear German voices singing. Mark had studied German in high school, and apparently the soldiers were very drunk and joyful on Christmas night. Washington led his army to the side of the fort, obviously a surprise attack.

Now the German voices were louder. There seemed to be a lot of them, but they would not expect an attack on Christmas. Exactly as Mark had read about it, he now saw it with his own eyes.

The attack began, and the Germans slowly turned around. Sleepily, they brought out their weapons, and approached their attackers. Obviously they had been drinking too much liquor.

Even though many Americans died that day, many more Germans were slaughtered. Washington's men raided the German camp, and took many supplies. Mark, especially at this time, was very happy.

Back at camp, Mark spoke with Future Teller once more. That night he learned Future Teller's real name. His real name was James.

At midnight, Mark was awoken to voices whispering. Slowly, he crept out of bed, and hid near the tent flap to listen.

"You say that's William Scheke, the British fighter? He can't be British!" Mark recognized James's voice.

"Well, you'd better believe it." Now Mark knew the other voice to be the jailer's. "Believe me, he was in my jail for a good two months. I'd recognize him anywhere."

"Well, I don't believe it," James said. "He was a great warrior on our side, next to me at Trenton!"

Mark heard the tent flap open and close. Mark knew why James did not believe it. The jailer was known to have a horrible memory. Mark sat back, and thought for a few minutes. People were suspecting him now, and that was not good. Mark wished he could inherit someone else's body, such as a great American fighter. But, at the worst of luck, he had inherited a British fighter's body.

The next day, Mark noticed that many other soldiers were not talking to him. James was still friendly, but appeared to suspect him, also.

One day, when Mark arrived at the battle lines, James was not there. He asked other soldiers what had happened to James. The other soldiers told him to stay away from James. They said James was very sick and had slept in. Mark did not believe it. James, his best friend, sick with pneumonia? He wanted to see for himself, though he knew he was taking a severe risk in his delicate health.

Once Mark got close to his friend's tent, he realized that James was not in the tent. But he did hear a clattering sound coming from his own tent. That made him wonder. No other soldiers had stayed behind in their tents. Curiously, he went to check who it was. Before he went in the tent flap, he loaded his gun, just to be sure. Then he stuck his head in for a peek. There was a man, with his back to Mark. He was searching through the bag containing the time machine.

Mark said, "Stop! Reveal yourself!"

As the man slowly turned around, Mark realized that it was James.

"James, what are you doing here?" Mark asked.

" I just wanted to....uh....you know-"

Mark looked at James for a second time. He was obviously hiding something behind his back that he did not want Mark to see.

James turned his back in shame. As he did, Mark caught a glimpse of what he was hiding. "Stealin' my souvenir, aren't you?"

"It's not a souvenir, and you know it. It's a time machine, and it used to be mine. I've used it before."

Mark peered at James. "You mean you're from the future, too? No wonder. You always talk about it like you've been there. So you have. Why did you come here? Where did you find the time machine?"

"I made it. I used to be a carver. I guess that statue had some magical edge to it. I come from the l920's. When do you come from?"

Mark could tell from James's searching eyes, that he expected to find out that Mark was from an earlier time than his own.

"I know you'll be really surprised to hear this. But I come from 2010."

James's eyes were wide. But before he could say anything, the military bell clanged, calling everyone to battle.

James and Mark smiled at each other, and went out to battle. At the battle lines, Mark put his gun in ready position, and prepared to march. This will be my final battle. I'll go home after this.

As they began to march, Mark rubbed his flute for good luck.

"Preparez les fusils!" a French official yelled. The official was a French advisor helping to train the colonists. Shouldering his gun, Mark aimed at a snarling Redcoat.

"Fire!"

Shots from the Americans rang out, and many Redcoats fell dead. Mark's gun shook. Then it clattered and fell from his hands. Mark glanced over angrily at the man standing next to him. The man returned the glare. Before, the man had pushed Mark's gun out of the way for some elbow room. Unluckily for Mark, a giant stallion stepped on his shiny musket and broke its handle. And at that moment, the British leader gave the order to charge!

Without his musket, Mark started to run wildly. But as he expected, an officer on a mare soon caught up with him, seeing he had no gun, slid a long black sword from its scabbard. At once he began to swipe at Mark.

Mark was getting really scared. He had just narrowly missed the blade and it was coming again, fast at his neck. Quickly, he ducked but the blade still hit his shoulder and tore at his flesh.

Seeing that Mark was badly injured, the officer slid his black sword back into its scabbard and said, "I'll leave you here to die. I haven't got time for you."

As he turned to leave, Mark gathered up his final strength and took his flute out and stabbed the officer with the sharp end in the back. Then the world slowly seemed to fade before his eyes and blackness engulfed him.

When he woke up, he was lying in a hospital tent with James at his side. James smiled.

"I know you've been fighting hard, and you want to go home. So I got the nose back out of the time machine and all you have to do is push it back in."

"Thanks a lot!" Mark exclaimed. But then he looked at James, who had a sad smile on his face. "I guess," he added. "You're coming, too?"

"No, I actually like it here. Surprisingly, I love adventures. Not the dull future."

As James said this, Mark thought of the adventures he'd had in 1776, all the people he'd met and learned about. Then he thought about the "dull" future that he knew, his small town, his high school, the shopkeeper, his little sister and others.

Mark drew in a short breath. He knew he loved 1776, but he also knew he loved 2010 even more.

James had obviously read his mind and whispered, "Press it," to Mark. "Good luck!" Reluctantly, Mark reached out and nudged the man's nose.

Mark missed the time warp by blinking at that moment, but maybe the next sight was one he didn't want to see.

"Dozed off, did ya? Well while you're at it, please take your hand off that antique. It's worth some bucks, you know. Oh! We just figured something new about that! It's not from 1776. We've got some records that some guy in 1920 claimed he sculpted it himself!" Mark recognized the voice as the guide.

That's James, I guess he decided to go back to the future, after all. Just like me. I'm happy to be home again.

The End