1623 - 24 Hour Short Story Contest

gaby-crb (59)in #twentyfourhourshortstory • 6 years ago

1623

The laptop whirred as it turned on. Its owner took a sip from his water bottle, as the home screen flickered into view.

The man assessed the contents of his bag and regretted not having taken the time to pack it properly. He had been in rather a hurry to escape his previous predicament.

However he now found himself in an unusual situation.

The laptop accepted his password and began honing in on his location. He checked the numbers that appeared on the screen, they were still the ones he had typed in.

There is one he hadn’t seen before, 1623, he wonders what it could mean.

He looked at his surroundings with indifference, he knew that experiments went wrong more than they went right. He maintained a logical head as he reasoned that the machine had not transported him to the correct location, despite what the screen was telling him.

He inspected his surroundings for any immediate threats, there was nothing.

He put the laptop away and hoisted the bag onto his back. He chided himself for not having a change of clothes ready, he remembered thinking his costume for the works summer party was going to be funny, however he hadn’t been the only one dressed that way and now he was regretting the cheap flip flops.

He walked through, what appeared to be a jungle. His flimsy shoes getting caught on roots and the thick brush. He made his way to a clearing and decided to take a short break.

He drank the rest of his water, making finding more the top of his priorities. He hoped there’s a shop somewhere nearby as he was also getting hungry.

Zipping up his bag he heard an unusual noise behind him, he looked over his shoulder and was knocked unconscious before he could see anything.

The strange man wearing strange clothes opened his eyes slowly, his head still reeling from being hit. He sat up slowly noticing his hands and feet are tied. His bag was gone.

He’s in the centre of a village, of a people he has not heard of, speaking a language he doesn’t understand, not that he’s surprised about that, although he had hoped they would be speaking Spanish, the only other language he knows besides English.

A small group of the people come to surround him, they begin a chanting song that sounds complex to his ears.

Before he can begin to decipher their motives the eldest man, the chief of the tribe cut his throat. Blood oozed from the cut as his life drained away. His last thought was for the technology he had carried with him, the transportation device was revolutionary for his time and now no one would know about it.

The tribal people continued to dance around a fire all evening, spilling the foreigners blood over the ground as a way to appease their Gods.

The revolutionary technology left discarded in the jungle being of no use to the people.