There was a time in which all men wanted the achievement of invention, the glory that others proclaim for their abilities, and the attention of both men and women alike. Doctor Martin Belsey was no different. A very proud and regal man of mediocre prestige, he preferred to keep to himself rather than engage in the more trivial matters of day to day life in 1887. Although he enjoyed none of the joys of wealth that came with being a physician, he was a man of literature, of poetry. This love for language, and studies of the language of love, did not quench his thirst for invention; to strive to create a world of perfection rather than a world of sickness and filth that littered the streets of the city. His affinity for the written word drew him to Leonardo Da Vinci and his blueprints of the machines that eluded him in his lifetime. He adored these sketches and dreams of a new utopia, but there was one thing he adored more.

Dr. Belsey did not enjoy the presence of the hoi polloi surrounding him in the great city of London, England. In fact, he found very few joys within the wretched society of the city, a view in which its inhabitants reflected back to him.

He preferred the company of himself and his workshop, except for one, Sheilagh Edwards; a lovely, lower-class woman that ran a flower stand on the corner of Baelview Avenue. Every day, he took a few moments away from his tinkering to distract himself. His stomach erupted with excitement, almost as if his tiny metal inventions had burst to life in his abdomen. They nearly ate him alive if he waited, too, long to hear her honey voice or gaze longingly into her eyes from across the larkspurs. He loved her and, yet, he hadn’t loved anyone even half as much his entire life. She, however, loved all and was loved by all. She was the picture of approachable: petite, round-faced, and hair the color of the roses she peddled. All who met her were entranced by her innocent gaze and the musical tones of her voice. Martin, on the other hand, had the nose of a hawk and walked like a finch. The people of the city suggested he was rather ‘flighty’ in his mannerisms, had very little style or swagger and, in general, was no match for the jewel that was Sheilagh Edwards. Sheilagh, on the other hand, happened to adore birds, and the flight risks they entailed, so she boasted that she was unafraid of her flight risk lover.

Against all odds, she was smitten by him. Every day, she looked forward to seeing him wander up to her flower stand and pick up a few lilies for the dinner table that day. While others never seemed to breach the surface of polite conversation, Martin spoke on a deeper level than the weather or the different types of flowers she sold. She didn’t fancy him for wealth or looks, both of which eluded him, but for him and his love for her. But, alas, he was poor and had no money to pay for a dowry and lacked the confidence to ask her parents for her hand.

“One day, my love,” he mused, “When I sell my machine to the money hungry men of this city, I promise.”

“My dear Martin, do not think that I doubt you. I trust that you are trying,” her voice floated through the air like a simple melody sung by a lark.

In his basement, he hid away a curious machine, a small, telephone booth looking object. Big enough to fit one man, and one man alone. His greatest invention, his magnum opus, his key to a perfect world.

This was his time machine.

But he didn’t like to call it a time machine, no. This was the Da Vinci. His claim to beauty and fame. This simple bit of tangled wires and copper beams was his ticket to Sheilagh Edwards’, nay, Sheilagh Belsey’s hand in marriage. It took him many months to get this far, pining over the dream of traveling through time and stressing over the tiniest detail. Though time went by quickly, Martin Belsey knew and accepted that every day he was not Sheilagh’s and Sheilagh was not his, that was one day less that he could be married to her. It was not a want to finish this invention, but a need.

He knew his machine looked amateur at best, made out of scrap material discarded from a shut-down textile factory. Others in town called his machine a glorified sewing machine, jumping at the chance to laugh at the madman with a Frankenstein sewing machine in his basement and holes in the elbows of his waistcoat.

This invention, in all its rusted glory, did work. That is, it worked in theory. He never tried it himself, of course, but that would all change in due time. Going to the future, in his mind, was the easy part. Proving it was a whole other story.

He tinkered alone in the dim workshop, lit only by the oil lamp left hanging to the left of his desk. The darkness was calming, and the mouse he fed from time to time did not judge him as the others on the outside did.

Every so often, his housemates brought him food the landlady prepared, finding him enthralled by scraps of metal and miscellaneous bolts and screws. Their curiosity was fleeting, so most visits were ephemeral. He was determined, working day and night, week after week all for Sheilagh, all for the Da Vinci machine.

Then, it was time.

Martin Belsey stepped back to marvel at his creation. It was done and it was perfect. In his eyes, the beauty of his amalgamation rivaled only that of his sweetheart.

Stepping into the contraption, he checked his pocket watch, assuring himself that it was indeed half-past nine. This was the night he was to test it, to catapult himself into the future.

The door shut with a loud creak as his shaking hands pulled it closed. Pausing for a moment, Dr. Belsey looked at the simple switchboard in front of him. He held his hand around the levers, made up of the old bobbin winders and pedals of the sold Singers that he so unceremoniously tore apart. He closed his eyes, resting his hand on the rather large red lever. After a shaky breath, he pushed it forward ever so slightly.

Silence.

Let down, and slightly annoyed, the reserved Dr. Belsey threw the door open and slumped down in his desk chair. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at his machine, studying the cords leading from the wall to- the floor. He hastily jumped from his stupor, rushing to reattach the cord. Stepping back to marvel at his moment of stupidity, he realized that he was, in fact, no failure after all.

Closing the squeaky door behind him once again, he took a deep breath before pushing the lever forward ever so slightly.

And there it was, the whirring. A slight hmmm coming from below his feet and reverberating through his head. Then, the shaking, a quaking. The boards began to creak under the immense stress and his spine felt as if it was stretching upwards with all the force of a steam engine at full speed. The light flickered and the whirring grew more powerful. His confidence faltered and he ripped the lever back into place and, in an instant, everything stopped. No more quaking, no more humming. The lightbulb was off, and the smell of salt and oil wafted through the cracks in the wood.

Loosening his tie, the honorable Dr. Belsey took a few shaky breaths before reaching for the door. As he stepped out, he was hit by the fresh scent of the year 2014. The air thick with the smell of plastic and fish, and the sky grey with an immense cityscape rising around him. The Thames was the only semblance of what he had known and more people than he ever met in his whole life were walking along the street.

Normally, he would hate this. However, rather remarkably, no one looked up; no one said hello. The only people who talked were talking to a small grey box. He wondered if the human race had been taken over or if this was just the future of invention, but he did not care.

Every person had this little grey box. Some had a white string hanging from their ears and others seemed unable to rip their eyes away from it. It was at that moment that he knew that this item could be his proof. He needed one.

Glancing around, he attempted to find someone who wasn’t attached to this item. This was a feat in itself, taking him until a quarter past ten to eventually spot a young man strutting down the street in curious attire.

Dr. Belsey approached the man excitedly, a wild smile growing under his reddened nose that was running from the scent of plastic that hung in the air.

“Can I help ya?” The boy asked, giving Martin a strange look.

“Yes, my lad. Do you have one of those boxes?” Martin pointed to one of the boxes in a passerby’s hand.

“Yeah, you mean my phone?”

Martin nodded, his excitement growing in his stomach.

“I’m not gonna give ya mine, man. But I can take you to the store so you can get one,” The boy continued with a skeptical eyebrow raised at Martin. Martin agreed, following the boy to the large store on the corner filled with people.

Dr. Belsey thanked the young man before rushing in, a blast of frigid air hitting his face as soon as he entered. The sight was amazing, everything was white, pristine, and people were huddled around some of the boxes.

“Hello!” Martin gasped as a woman in slacks appeared behind him, “Can I help you, sir?”

“I-I would like a box,” He managed to squeak out, astonished at her immodesty.

“You mean a phone? Of course,” she smiled kindly, leading him over to a display. It took him nearly an hour to get one of these boxes, but he did. Triumphantly exiting the pristine store, he was ready to go home to his lady love.

The door to his machine squeaked shut once more as he leaned against the back of the box with an exhale of elation. Checking the time, this time on a phone, he hovered his hand over the switchboard before pulling the lever back once more. His eyes were fixed on his watch as he traveled through time. But this time, something wasn’t right. Time kept passing, it wasn’t going back.

Panicking, he yanked the lever back into place. He was out of breath, nauseated, and his heart was pounding. Something was wrong. He was terrified. He figured out how to go forward but going back apparently did not work the same way. Ripping open the door, he once again saw great tall buildings rising around him. Everything he once knew had long since died, and as he checked his pocket watch, and the phone he had stuffed in his pocket, he found that it was half-past two of the year 2060.

Martin felt a tear roll down his face, suddenly missing the time he once loathed. He missed the things he hated, the people, the cobblestone streets, the taunts, and insults. The thought that their taunts were right, that he was indeed a flight risk, hit him like a train. He thought of her, waiting for him at the flower stand, the beautiful, heartbroken Sheilagh, now forgotten to all but himself. He could not bear to live without her. He felt the heartache in his chest spread to his fingers, the dull pain of reality sinking into his joints.

Every step away from his box was agony.

Every step away from her was agony.

He couldn’t go back, that much was decided for him. He couldn’t stay here, not without Sheilagh. The only option for Martin Belsey was forward. Dr. Belsey shakily closed the door with a loud squeak once again. This time, he stared at the lever with fury burning in his eyes before pushing it all the way forward.

The hands of his watch spun rapidly as a tear rolled silently down his face. The screen of the phone shattered in his hands as he watched the screen seize and glitch. A bone chilling rattling came around the year 4802, then a loud bang. It was hot, too hot. Martin threw the lever into the stop position, jerking forward as the machine came to a sudden halt. He peered out of the cracks of the wooden walls, watching the sky as it glowed red, engulfed by the Sun. Everything on Earth was cloaked in a warm blue hue that seemed to glitter against the auburn sky. The ground was desolate. There was nothing left, just the haunting memories of what once was.

If he couldn’t go back, he would die as he was in life, alone and with the Da Vinci machine. He said a solemn few words for death to take him quickly before shutting the door to his beloved machine one last time, the loud squeak now the loudest sound on Earth. His shaky breath rattled in his lungs as the glorious death of the Sun burned his retinas. The Sun smiled as she felt his presence, happy that she didn’t have to die alone. She took her last breath, flaring one last time, taking Dr. Martin Belsey with her.

The siren song of the Sun sounded like that of a familiar lark to Martin, allowing his soul to leave a body with a smile on his face as he greeted death like an old friend.

It was cold and quick, but it was magnificent.