An Idea...

[Amateur]

This, my friends, is why it is a bad idea to watch Monty Python, Sliders and Quantum Leap in quick succession - it allows ideas like this to form.

Now, I've not done any real creative writing since A level; so I'm a little rusty. Plus I've tried to infuse some comedy deep into the narrative (I like laughing :)), so this is not to everyones taste.

Basic story is about dimension jumping and whatnot - though I haven't got to that part yet.

There seems to be a wave of fanfics at the mo', but I don't know if this really counts...I won't tell if you don't :lol:

I've attached it as .pdf on this document and enclosed it in the following spoiler...



World: 1

There are some people who must be forced out of bed, people who would groggily ask the firemen hammering down the door to combat a roaring inferno for just another five minutes sleep. Now, I’m not usually like that – I like to be up and ready before my alarm stops ringing. But not today.
I didn’t want to wake up today, I just wanted to stay in my little cloth cocoon I had fashioned from my duvet and sleep a peaceful sleep. Unfortunately my alarm, with the inhuman preciseness of a single quartz crystal, had a different idea.

Its relentless, shrill whine eventually forced me to free my hand and fumble around for the snooze button that was hiding somewhere on the plastic shell. With the slightest grunt of triumph I pressed the button and settled down to a further five minutes of blissful sleep…

…Before the alarm starts again, and the snooze won’t work again. I considered ignoring it, but there was something about its tone that seemed reproachful with a slight hint of menace – as if a gang of clockmakers would leave a horse’s head on my kitchen table with a note showing their displeasure if I simply ignored it. Sighing into a pillow hastily pressed into service as an earmuff, I managed to work my way to a sitting position and glare at the offending clock. Its cheery red demeanour didn’t fool me – this was personal.

With eyes deadened by sleep I managed to squint at the display and make out a seven and two zeroes. After a swift burst of mental effort I drew two possible conclusions – either it was seven in the morning or I was a secret agent on Her Majesty’s Service. A second glance gave me the order that the numbers were in, and I was able to determine that it was – in fact – seven o’clock. The time I usually wake up.

Curse my foresight! A memory of adjusting my alarm in anticipation of procrastination came flooding back. Sometimes it’s hard being brilliant.
With a final glare at the clock I turned off the alarm and nodded satisfactorily at my ability to command silence from inanimate household objects.

I rubbed my eyes to clear the last vestiges of the night’s sleep before slowly crawling my way to my feet and stumbling towards the bathroom and the huge porcelain bowl that was calling me.

I don’t think I need to mention what I did next, but suffice it to say that it created a feeling of immense relief.

The mirror held a picture of what appeared to be a troll - dark hair clumped together at ungainly angles rose from a mass of loose curls and a few strands that seemed impervious to the effect of gravity came along for the ride. One eye was still slightly closed from sleep and a large ferocious growl contorted two crusted lips.

After I had finished yawning and prodded my face a few times to make sure that I was actually looking at myself I set about correcting the demonic visage that I had adopted in the course of the night.

With a determination fuelled by vanity I seized my toothbrush – most stalwart of defenders against halitosis – and furnished it with a white blob of toothpaste in a burst of minty freshness. A few minutes of heavy duty brushing left my mouth feeling much fresher, a quick mouthwash ensuring oral hygiene for at least twelve hours.

After I’d washed my face and managed to overcome rebellious hair with a spray of water and shampoo I returned – now wide awake and operating at full capacity – to my room and had a quick look at my calendar.
With a slight whimper I sat on the bed and started feeling sorry for myself.


I suppose I should use this opportunity, while I’m not doing much apart from undergoing a severe emotional crisis, to say a little but about myself.

My name is Hollins. Paul Hollins – and putting my second name first is about as debonair and suave as ever I’m going to be. You see, I’m a physicist. A good one I might add – but there are limits to how far reality will stretch.

Today, as you may have guessed, is not going to be a very good day for me. You see, today is the turning point for my life – I can either get the necessary funding to complete my research on finding actual scientific evidence on the multiple universe theory, or I can be rejected and forced to find alternative employment.

That is why, at this moment, I am having an emotional breakdown on my bed and…yes, I’ve started blubbing. Gods, this is embarrassing. Tell you what; I’m just going to skip this…


After I had regained my composure – which never faltered for a second, I should add – I stood once more and mustered up as much confidence as I could. It didn’t take long.

My suit was hanging just behind the door, and I contemplated putting it on now. Say what you like about me, but I look good in a suit - so a plus side for today’s meeting was that I was required to wear one.

At the same time, however, I hadn’t yet had breakfast – and I didn’t really want to spill milk down me at this crucial point in my life.

Resolving myself, I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen. There was a box of well-known cereals with a tiger on the front waiting for me, right where I’d left them. The bowl and milk were quickly fetched from their dens of the cupboard and fridge respectively; and I was soon devouring a bowl of frosted flakes. They were great.

Now nourished, I cast a glance at the clock on the wall and gave another sigh. Twenty past seven – I had ten minutes to get ready.


Time for another break, methinks. Not a lot happened after that, so I won’t bore you with how I got dressed, left the house, got on the bus and arrived at work – I’ll just skip to the meeting. Well, the build-up to the meeting.

But before I do I should probably add that my life gets much, much more interesting soon. Yes, it is rather boring at the moment but that’s just for now. Promise!


“Ah yes, here you are,” said the secretary, peering at her computer screen. The wooden panelled room was more frightening than a torture chamber - although, admittedly, better furnished. No amount of leather upholstery or tasteful watercolours could disguise the purpose of the room however - it was to disorientate the frail victims waiting inside.

And I had been waiting, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. The secretary, a blonde young women who seemed to have less personality than the average mollusc, had just got back from an extended break taken under the auspices of ‘union rules’; and because of that I was now five minutes late.

“Yes, I am here,” I replied, with as much self control as I could manage. I couldn‘t stop my fingers making expansive gestures and pointing however, “that’s rather the point - I was supposed to be in there,” finger point, “five minutes ago. Now if you would kindly cease bumbling about like a dehydrated camel in the Sahara and mark me in.”

The secretary looked taken aback. She pursed her lips with a very definite slowness, suddenly making her young pleasant features take on a serious mask. Scary, even.

“Well, I’m sorry Mr. Hollins,” she said icily, “but I am required to take a break after every hour or one thousand keystrokes - whichever comes first. You can’t expect me to stay in this little room all day, can you?”

I bit back a rather witty remark about me waiting, instead picking up on something that was quite picky. I was in a picky mood.

“Doctor Hollins, if you would be so kind.”

“Well I can’t go back in time and make it any quicker, but I can show you in now. Mr. Smith is waiting for you now. Please feel free to leave.”

Admittedly, my social skills were not the most developed in the world, but even I couldn’t miss the thinly veiled imperative on the end of the sentence. It was all I could do to not click my heels and salute.

“Thank you,” I stammered with as much icy disdain as I could manage. The door behind the desk seemed to glare hungrily at me, which is quite an accomplishment for what is practically a solid block of wood.

I knocked before entering, and was bidden to enter by a rather gruff voice. There was no ‘please, come in’ or ‘oh, sorry about the wait’ just a very, very final ‘enter’.

My bowels took the opportunity to hand in their advance notice to my brain - they could be leaving anytime soon.

This room was clearly the office of a man who cared a little too much about work and efficiency. There was a framed certificate in management or something on the wall behind the desk, and a large and very mathematical flowchart on pinned next to it. The desk itself had a commanding, mahogany presence - and I could quite easily imagine someone passing sentence from behind it.

The small chair sitting in front of it seemed pathetically small compared to the leather backed monster behind. No doubt this was intentional, but it was the first time I had ever felt sympathy for something that existed only to hold peoples bums off the ground.

“Dr. Hollins, I presume?” Asked the voice, from around the regions of the chair. I nodded, realised this was a stupid thing to do to the back of a chair, and then cleared my throat.

“Yes,” I replied with a voice that I assumed was tough and manly. It wasn’t.
The chair slowly turned with a creak that wouldn’t sound out of place in Castle Dracula. The letter that my bowels had sent was backed up by another, cheerily informing me that they were packing their bags and just had to wait for the right moment.

As the chair ground to a halt I nearly did a double take. The man sitting in front of me was half my size and was engulfed in the black leather. His face was framed by extensive, well-groomed facial hair that blended into his thick mop. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was ginger.

“I expected you five minutes ago, doctor. I presume you have a reason for your lack of punctuality?” It’s a good job that I didn’t do a double take when I saw him, as now that I heard him properly I needed every ounce of incredulity that I could spare. His voice sounded like a train yard – deep, gravelly and with a hint of well-known killing grounds for the mafia.

“Well? Do you have an answer?”

So it was going to be one of those kinds of meetings. Oh goody. Lucky, lucky me.

“Yes, I do actually - your secretary wasn’t here and I couldn’t…”

“So you are saying that my secretary should be burdened with your blame, is that it?”

“Wait, what?”

“I must say Doctor Hollins that I had hoped you to be above that.” The most terrifying thing I have ever seen happened next.

He made a note.

Just a small one on a small piece of paper with – ironically – a massive pencil; but his expression said it all. It said that he had found a fault; and he didn’t want to forget it.

“But I suppose that is immaterial now,” he continued, “no doubt you are aware why you are here?”

I knew that this was not an invitation for metaphysical debate, no line of philosophical intrigue – a perfectly straightforward question.

“The annual funding review?”

“The annual funding review,” he repeated, “the sole restraint we have on you…intellectuals.”

The word stung. Normally I would consider it an obvious statement – or, at most, a compliment – but the way he said it made ‘fascist pig’ sound like higher praise.

“Tell me what you do, doctor.”

“Well…I’m a physicist… I think about problems and attempt to solve the mysteries of the universe…”

“So you don’t actually do anything? Doctor Hollins I could buy sixteen thousand paperclips for the money I am forced to expend on you and your…experiments… every week. Sixteen thousand, doctor. That means I can hold at least thirty two thousand bits of paper together. Can you do the same?”

“Not as such…” I began, but was quickly cut off.

“No? Well then what use are you to me?” He stood up from his chair, and walked around to stand next to me. His tiny legs pounded with a deep, dramatic sound.

“What branch of physics are you working on, Paul?”

The use of my first name took me by surprise – but I was determined not to show it. Now came the hard bit.

“The multiple universe theory,” I said, hoping that he would have at least some knowledge of what he was supposed to be overseeing.

By now, I should have learned that hope never works.

“Come again?”

I sighed inwardly, and set the communication dial in my brain to ‘layman’ level. This was quite a step down from my normally sesquipedalian method of speaking.

“The theory of multiple universes, Mr. Smith – the idea that there are an infinite number of universes here every single possible combination of causes and effects are played out independent of our own existence.”

Across from me, Smith blinked slowly.

“Well?” He asked after a short while.

“Well what?”

“Well…is that it?”

“…yes.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Smith took the opportunity to move back to his chair.

“So you’re telling me that we spend two thousand pounds a week on something that you already know?”

“No…”

“You just explained your entire line of work to me, doctor!”

“No, I simply outlined the theory…”

“And what – exactly – are the commercial possibilities of this theory?”

“Well, I don’t think there are any…” I said, my honesty landing me in trouble quicker than a forgetful adulterer.

“Sorry, you’ve lost me – can you improve the theory?”

“Improve it?” By now, I was starting to lose my temper with the man. Here he was, in charge of one of the country’s leading science establishments, and he didn’t even know the value that knowledge had. It made me sick. Not literally of course, but in a very figuratively real sense I was emptying my guts over his ignorance.

“Yes. You know – make it more efficient.”

“It. Does. Not. Work. Like. That.” I said, with deliberate slowness as if talking to a mentally handicapped squirrel that had recently had its brain removed by a short-sighted hippo. At night.

“Yes. Yes, it does. There is a team working on improving the internal combustion engine – making it better. If they succeed, we get money and then I can pay them to make us more money.

“My predecessor seemed content to let you live in your little fantasies but I just don’t see why you pursue this course of action. What use to the world is a theory? Can we sell it? No. Can we make money from it? No. In other words, Doctor Hollins, I am giving you money to throw away.”

“It advances the cause of science!” I added, falling to the last bastion of defence that reason offered.

“Science, doctor, is an anachronism. Money makes the world go around – not, as Darwin suggested, quantum gravity bosons.”

That last bit did it for me, the shear ignorance of the fool was simply unbelievable. This was a man who could understand the complexities of the accountancy world; make numbers dance and spin around to hide their true movements and could probably work out exactly how much wood a woodchuck would chuck if it did, as the name implied, actually chuck wood in a productive working environment.

What came after, however, was shear lunacy.

“Monkeys, Hollins – they are the future. There is a team of biologists eager to get their hands on your lab area so that they can breed and train monkeys to act as butlers. Think of the commercial opportunities, doctor. We will corner the market on simian sanitary services.

“That is why, as of now, your tenure here is cancelled. You have one hour to clear your lab. The equipment, of course, stays here – but you, your team and your so-called research are to leave Cheerio.”

And that was that. I walked out of the office in an almost morbid fashion, ignoring the snide look that the secretary gave me and the monkey sitting in the waiting room. Part of me died in that office – a big part of me. Not all of it though.

That came after, when I was hit by a bus while crossing the road.