Acme Time Travel Incorporated - Volume 1

John could hear the birds singing outside his bedroom window. He rolled onto his back, turning over to watch the morning sunlight slowly creep along his bedroom wall. The wallpaper had small flowers on it, in pale pinks and pastels. His father had wallpapered his bedroom when John was just a child, maybe 25 years ago. The wallpaper had never been changed in all that time. John supposed that since he had never offered an opinion on it, no-one had felt the need to change it. John was grateful for that. He had found that by staring at the small flowers, and then pushing his gaze past them, the disparate flower patterns assumed strange and intricate designs. He had found the face of his father within those whorls. He had also found the face of his brother, Robert, peering down at him. He looked young, maybe about 12 years old. A cheeky smile, and always caring ... always caring.

John dearly missed his brother, so the smiling face within the small flowers gave him comfort.

John heard his mother walking down the hall to his room. She would be coming to get him up. To get him ready for the new day. Maybe Mary would come to visit. Maybe they would go for a walk. He very much hoped so.

His bedroom door opened, and his mother walked into his room.

“Good morning, John,” Margaret said.

She always tried to sound bright and cheery for John. Maybe it meant something to him ... but how could you ever really know.

“It’s a beautiful day today,” she continued.

She looked towards the bed with a growing sense of disbelief. With the exception of holding Mary’s hand the other day, he had made no voluntary bodily movements in his entire life.

But John was sitting up in bed, looking over at his mother, and smiling a wonderful smile.

“G ... g ...,” John said, haltingly.

Margaret looked at John, panic in her eyes. John never made any sounds. Not unless he was in pain, in which case he sometimes uttered low whimpers.

“G ... g ... g ... goo ... good,” he said.

Margaret knelt by John’s bedside. She caught hold of his hands, grasping them tightly. She pressed her face against his.

John released himself from her hands, then gently lifted her face up. He was looking into her eyes. He was smiling.

“Good morn ... good morning mum,” John said.

His voice was pleasantly deep but sounding like someone who had just learned to speak, feeling a little unsure of themselves. It reminded her of the time some Polish airmen had been stationed nearby. They had spoken very little English, but then one day, one of them had obviously learned a few words. He had come into the town to practice them. John reminded her of that day, and the way that the airman had spoken. Unsure, but inherently very proud.

John looked over at his mother. She was looking shocked.

“Are you ... are you alright, mum?” John asked.

Margret took him into her arms.

She buried her face into his shoulder.

She began to sob quietly.