Meddle 4.1


Franks presses a finger against the pedestal’s display. The date and time are already flashing. No last minute change of destination found here.

The display pulses and the line around the perimeter pulses too. A doorway forms.

“You can’t go home again,” he tells himself. He steels his nerve and steps up to the portal. He squints to get a better view of the other side, but it’s no use.

He steps through.

The film of the portal shimmers and catches at his clothes. He has a sensation of liquid immediately dry.

He squints against morning sunshine.


Categories: Fiction, Meddle

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Engage The Hofflebrock

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