handwriting and felt a chill. “Time travel works,” the note said, “but only one-way to the past.” I recognized my own
feet which kept moving—backwards. I tried to stop thinking but couldn’t. I wrongly identified the problem as my
head which no longer had control. “You’re the boss,” I said to myself, but snickered at my
inability to really understand the mechanics in this place. This I considered the true phenomenon, my
beast, the metal behemoth. I didn’t understand the power of the
mysterious until a note appeared on my desk one day. I had always held upon a pedestal the
intellect, proud of impending scientific achievement. Then I recognized my own

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