LOST IN TIME
Dust swirled around me. The air was thick with the scent of soil and the sound of pounding hooves. My heart raced as I took in the sight before me: a massive army armed to the teeth, their weapons gleaming ominously. Leading them was a majestic elephant adorned in gold and jewels, carrying an imposing figure on its back.
Sweat poured down my face. My mind spun with fear, offering me three grim choices: to die at their hands, to agree to marry the Sultana under her terms, or to pin all my hopes on my time machine reactivating and whisking me home.
You might be thinking, What trouble have I gotten myself into? Let me take you back to where it all began.
When I turned my mobile phone into a time machine, it felt like I had conquered the impossible. The flashlight of my device became the source of a radiant doorway—one that could traverse time itself. But before embarking on my journey, I needed proof that it worked.
One evening, I slipped out of my house with my phone in hand. I went to the nearby park, where I placed a small keychain—a simple trinket I had won at a school fair—on the ground. With my heart pounding, I activated the portal and set the coordinates for the next morning. The light-filled doorway appeared, shimmering with energy.
I shut the portal and hurried back home, unable to sleep that night. At dawn, I returned to the park. My eyes scanned the area, and there it was—the keychain, exactly where I had left it. My chest swelled with pride. It worked!
But curiosity gnawed at me. Could it send objects to the past? I placed an old coin through the portal, setting it to appear five days earlier. When I checked, the coin was there, nestled under a bush as though it had always been. My confidence grew, but so did my questions.
Would it work on living beings? Could it transport something alive without harm?
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As I wrestled with this dilemma, my dog, Bruno, trotted into my room. His tail wagged enthusiastically, his large brown eyes full of trust and love. An idea struck me—a terrifying, reckless idea. I could use Bruno to test the time machine.
But the thought of putting him in danger made my stomach churn. I paced the room, debating with myself. Finally, I crouched down beside him and said, "Bruno, I don't want to do this, but if this works, it could change everything. I promise I'll keep you safe."
Tears prickled at my eyes as I hugged him tightly. Grabbing my phone, I opened a portal in the park and walked Bruno there. The golden light of the doorway bathed us as I whispered, "I'm sorry," and nudged him forward.
Bruno hesitated, looking back at me one last time before stepping through. The portal closed, and I stood there, staring at the now-empty space.
---
Hours passed. I checked the park repeatedly, but Bruno was nowhere to be found. Dread settled over me like a heavy fog. "What have I done?" I muttered, blaming myself for being so careless.
I trudged home, my heart heavy with guilt. Locking myself in my room, I lay on my bed, consumed by shame. How could I have risked Bruno's life for an experiment? That night, my mom called me down for dinner.
I dragged myself to the dining table, my appetite gone. But as I entered the room, I froze. There, sitting beside my mom, was Bruno, wagging his tail as if nothing had happened.
"Bruno!" I exclaimed, falling to my knees and hugging him tightly.
Mom smiled, clearly confused by my reaction. "I found him in the park this morning during my walk. He must have gotten loose somehow. Thank God I was there to bring him home."
Tears of relief streamed down my face. I buried my face in Bruno's fur, silently thanking every higher power for bringing him back.
As I sat in my room that night, I was sure of one thing: my machine worked. It wasn't luck or coincidence. It had successfully transported objects and even a living being. The possibilities overwhelmed me, but one thought stood out: I had to see the past for myself.
Picking up a history book, I flipped through the pages, wondering where to go. Nothing seemed to catch my eye until I heard a song on TV about the Taj Mahal. I turned to see the screen, and it hit me—I would visit the Mughal era and meet Shah Jahan himself.
Excitement bubbled inside me as I prepared. My parents were away, and the summer holidays gave me the perfect opportunity. Double-checking my calculations, I set the coordinates and activated the portal.
A golden doorway appeared before me, pulsing with energy. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through, my heart pounding with anticipation.
But as I emerged, I realized something was wrong. Instead of lush gardens or magnificent palaces, I found myself surrounded by sand dunes. The searing heat and the sight of a colossal pyramid in the distance told me one thing: I wasn't in Mughal India.
---
Relief and joy washed over me. My experiment had technically worked, and Bruno was safe. Now, I was more confident than ever about my time machine.
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Confident in his machine's success, I decided it was time to travel to the past. I set the destination on my mobile: Mughal Era. A bright, light-filled door materialized before me. With a deep breath, I grabbed my bag, stepped through, and shut the portal behind me by turning off my phone.
Instead of the regal courts of the Mughal Empire, I found myself in a dense forest. Confusion quickly set in as I stumbled through the trees, my excitement giving way to doubt. Eventually, the forest opened into a vast expanse of sand—endless dunes stretched as far as the eye could see.
This wasn't India. This was... somewhere else entirely.
I trudged forward until I spotted an enormous stone gate carved with intricate designs and inscriptions in Arabic. I dared not speak for fear of revealing my strangeness, so I stayed silent, blending into the background as best I could. The area was bustling with activity—mosques and market stalls lined the streets, their vibrant colors contrasting against the golden sands.
I stopped a child and gestured, hoping to learn where I was. He responded with gestures of his own, pointing toward a massive structure in the distance. When I turned to look, my breath caught in my throat—a pyramid loomed against the horizon, its silhouette unmistakable.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I had made a critical error. In my haste, I had typed Mughal Era but neglected to specify a location or time. Somehow, I had landed in ancient Egypt.