Death lingers at a bedside table, perusing the demons escaping the hand of a shriveled up old man. His Paradise Lost is no longer a concern; John Milton had long ago sifted through the ideas of spirituality and the unknown afterlife to come out with a soul practically gleaming, these demons were not his own. A Bible lay open to Psalms 104, eyes continuously seeking a place of rest between the passage and an ink smudged atonement, a final promise to a friend thirty years dead. Softly he spoke to the air, “”You fixed the earth on its foundation, never to be moved. The ocean covered it like a garment; above the mountains stood the waters. At your roar they took flight; at the sound of your thunder they fled.”, finally I see where your struggles commenced Galileo, to the allurement of a poem no less.”
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I may die before I finish this, so if I don’t succeed, maybe somebody will find this before it rots and know the truth about time travel. I hope it doesn’t come to that.
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A fictional diary chronicling the life of someone who has been genetically engineered.

September 16, 2106 (Second Grade)

I started second grade today. My teacher wants us to practice our writing in our journals in class. My teacher last year taught us how to write a little. The other kids are not writing right now. I don’t mind writing. It’s not very hard to me. I learned it quickly.

Finally, the long voyage was over. Days on a ship had not been well on my health. I had been sea sick almost the entire time, emptying my stomach over the side of the ship on several occasions. It would be good to set foot on solid ground once again. By the way, let me introduce myself. I am George Williams, a student and future scientist. After publishing On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, Darwin had emerged as a revolutionary, brilliant scientist. I was one of a few extremely lucky students from the University of Oxford that was allowed to travel back to the Galapagos with Darwin himself. Here we would observe nature in its untouched, isolated form.
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Merwyn leaped out of bed and hurriedly wrapped himself in his simple robes. There was much work to be done. Today was the day he would reveal the fruits of his labor to the world. Fruits of my labor, he thought with a chuckle. Yes, today he would present his figurative and literal ‘fruits’ to the Council of Dolt and to the Merchant’s Guild. They would dub him Merwyn the Great, Merwyn the Savior, and maybe, he daresay, Merwyn the Wise for being the one to end world hunger. The council would finally recognize him as a Master of the art of magic and the merchants would offer him a handsome reward in exchange for the secrets behind the processes he had devised through his years of study.
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