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Message-ID: <40572asstr$1043363403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [004/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Thu, 23 Jan 2003 18:10:03 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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There is story below the rather long preface. Page down if you must,
but don't blame me if you end up offended. The preface was written
for a reason. Ignore it at your own risk.

====================================================================
Author's Preface:
====================================================================

Four years ago, I wrote a novel that some of you may have read,
entitled "Time Out Of Time". In the following four years, some have
been disturbed by the work, and some have been enthusiastic. Some
have even requested a sequel.

"Dawn of Time" is not a sequel, in a strict sense, nor was it
intended to be. In some ways, I think "Dawn of Time" is a more
mature piece that investigates different themes, and provides a new
perspective on fantasy and reality, and things that might or might
not be. I hope that I have learned a little by some of my failures
in "Time Out of Time". But you'll have to judge the effectiveness
of that yourselves.

Please be warned: "Dawn of Time" is unlike my other works. It is
harsher and grittier, necessarily differing from my short stories.
As writers, sometimes it is necessary to explore ourselves in unique
ways. If this kind of writing is not your cup of tea, please pass
this story by. Despite its novel length, and the sweat that went
into its creation, I will not be disappointed if you decline to read
it. It is not my wish to offend anyone. To make one think, perhaps,
and to make one consider the implications of strange situations,
yes, but offend -- no.

This story does contain scenes with sexually charged content. It
contains situations that are questionable in terms of consensual
behaviour and eroticism that are probably only suitable for adults,
and then only to a subset of those that happen to understand
responsibility. Please don't assume that a scene described in a work
of fiction is safe in reality. Play safe. Please. (Do I really need
to hold your hand and tell you this?)

Like my short stories, "Dawn of Time" is not overly explicit. There
is more to Eros than pumping hydraulics and instant gratification,
and this novel encompasses this. For a piece of writing of 157
chapters, there is remarkably little explicit sex. If you are
looking for a quick stroke piece, you should probably wander
elsewhere.

Unlike many serial stories posted here, "Dawn of Time" is complete.
It took me the better part of a year to write and self-edit it -- an
exhausting but fulfilling endeavour. While I choose for sanity
reasons to release it slowly, be assured that all 157 chapters are
complete and will be posted. Please also note that this was not
proofed by outside counsel due to its length. I wouldn't push such a
task on anyone voluntarily. However, as readers: caveat emptor. I've
probably missed many silly language mistakes.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or
dead, is purely a coincidence. Well, for the most part anyway.
Those that lived through the story are very unlikely to admit it.
The universe does not accept paradox.

This is an original work, copyrighted by the author, Crimson Dragon.
Please do not use it as if it were your own. Enjoy the writing, but
do not archive or sell it in any manner without my written
permission. I'm easy to contact if you wish to redistribute my
words.

Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy hearing from people reading any of my
stories. Feel free to contact me with raves, rants, encouragement or
dissertation (note the lack of invitation for spam). I do try to
reply to all who are kind enough to drop me a note.

Now, if you are still with me, onto the story,
 - Crimson
   (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

====================================================================

Dawn of Time - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

Chapter 4

====================================================================

(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

====================================================================

Success.

Four times the word had graced the bottom of the orange monitor in
front of him. This last time, he'd pressed the "Return" key with
relish, smiling and waiting for the computer to churn out its
inevitable result.

His stomach in knots, he clasped his hands behind his neck and
inhaled deeply. The output from the computer scrolled up the screen,
on a journey to somewhere outside of existence. Of course, those
letters and numbers of diagnostics were composed of fleeting
electromagnetism, phosphors lighting and dimming with the passage of
time.

"But time is fluid, isn't it?" he mused. And then aloud, he
whispered to himself, his voice barely louder than the fans that
surrounded him. One word. "Success."

The butterflies in his stomach arose en masse, fluttering, making
him shake.

It was time.

He glanced at the clock.

12:18

Most people would be on their lunch, enjoying the warmth of the new
spring, enjoying the sunlight. Not Sandra, not her. She'd be
working industriously in her office across from the lab, but
everyone else. The world waited, blissfully unaware of this
unassuming man, sitting in front of the unassuming word.

"Success."

Without conscious decision. If he thought about it, he might second
guess himself. It had been long enough that he wondered if it might
have all been a wonderful, exciting dream.

"Success."

He didn't know why, but he watched the second hand sweep across the
face of the clock, ticking down the moments. It was so normal, so
utterly normal. He would change all that.

He was going to wait until the second hand touched the twelve, until
it pointed straight up.

Foolish, he berated himself. Foolish.

The second hand kissed the numeral nine and fell somewhere between
that and the ten. 12:18:47.

He closed his eyes, mind whirling, envisioning the images that had
haunted him for so very long. Images that graced the pages of the
notebook, his handwriting scribbled across its pages, still buried
in his briefcase. Equations, numbers, symbols, and thought became
meshed with the fabric of existence around him, air swirling for a
moment, static crackles permeating the air. He shivered
involuntarily as lights flashed behind his closed lids. Without
warning, nausea engulfed him and he felt himself falling. Falling.
Falling.

                         <---===***===--->

"What's the matter, Kate?"

The red-haired girl stood by her locker, her fingers idly swinging
the door back and forth, listening to its hinges creak. She turned
slowly; Karen, who had addressed her, stood a few metres away,
shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot. The other girl wore
a little too much makeup, and her skirt perhaps showed a little too
much leg. But she could carry it off, as could most of Kate's
friends. The other girl knew what the matter was, of course. Most
of the school probably knew.

Kate gathered in her breath, let it out in a long sigh.

"Darren ..."

Darren, had pursued her. He wasn't unusual in that. But she'd agreed
to go out with him a few times. They'd had fun, she was even
beginning to like the guy, more than she should, perhaps. The
problem with Darren was that he also pursued other girls, Karen
included. They hadn't been exclusive or anything, she hadn't wanted
that -- or at least she didn't think she had -- but then she'd seen
Darren kissing Karen before first period.

Karen nodded. "Kate, you know, don't you?"

Kate nodded. She wasn't angry at Karen, Karen was as much a looker
as Kate was -- but with blonde hair, not fiery red like Kate's. She
was going to miss Darren. At least a little.

"I didn't know he was going out with you. Honestly. I dropped him,
you know?"

Kate's voice was monotone. "You didn't need to do that."

Karen shifted her weight again.

"I did. And I wanted you to know." Karen paused for a moment.

Kate sighed, decided to stop torturing Karen.

"We're still friends. Don't sweat it."

Karen's face visibly brightened. "Go for a smoke?"

Kate shook her head, her hair dancing across her shoulders. She
pushed the locker door shut with her palm, her fingers engaging her
combination lock and automatically spinning the dial.

"I don't smoke, you know that," Kate admonished. "And you shouldn't
either. Makes you smell."

Karen laughed. "Doesn't seem to deter the boys, and I thought after
this morning, you might want to take it up."

Kate shook her head again. She knew a few boys that disliked the
smell of cigarette smoke, though to be honest she doubted if any
would turn down a date with Karen over it.

"I just want to be alone for a while," she said.

Karen nodded understandingly. "Catch you later, then?"

Kate sighed and waved her off. Karen was itching for a smoke, could
see it in her posture. At the wave, Karen walked swiftly down the
hall, grabbing a few others that didn't mind the stink as she
hurried down the hall. Her voice carried in the quiet corridor as
she rounded the corner.

"Yeah, she's still the same old Kate. She's okay ..."

Kate wet her lips, and walked slowly in the opposite direction,
towards the front of the school. The front doors swung open and the
fresh air swirled around her. The front of the school was usually
abandoned, the students favouring the back where there was a field,
and smoking area for the older students and staff.

The front of the school featured a few oak trees, and the main drive
leading to the school. Kate settled to the grass under one of the
oak trees, her fingers finding a stray leaf, perhaps left over from
autumn. Slowly, she began to tear the leaf along its veins,
listening to the slow drone of cars and the crackle of the brittle
leaf in her hands.

She'd miss him, a little. They'd had fun.

The transition was sharp, no smoke, no flashing lights.

The breeze stilled, the BMW passing down the road halted without so
much as a protest. The sun continued to beat down, but its slow
motion across the sky stopped as though the wings of Mercury had
been clipped. Kate, frozen with everything else, continued to stare
down at the leaf in her fingers.

Preternatural silence engulfed the universe.

                         <---===***===--->

She'd been up until all hours, unable to sleep, her mind awhirl. If
it wasn't Dean, it was Darren. If it wasn't Darren, it was math, or
science, or history, or French. Sometimes it happened; sleep refused
to cooperate, refused to descend, refused to permit her rest. An
overactive imagination? Hah. More like adolescent torment. Her eyes
drooped, her chin cupped in her hands, her elbows supporting her
against the scarred surface of the small desk.

Leigh sighed and tried to pay attention. She furtively glanced at
the clock, whose refusal to move more quickly vexed her. Class
should have finished at 12:15, lunchtime, and she was supposed to
meet Dean, and Janice, and Tim in the cafeteria for Euchre. She
didn't want them to start without her, but she supposed that they
probably wouldn't find a fourth all that quickly. It was 12:16 now.
Some geek had asked Miss Waters to explain something to do with some
old Greek guy, Pythagoras? At any other time, she might have been
interested in the discussion, but with the second hand relentlessly
sweeping, Leigh only wanted to get to lunch and forget about school
for an hour.

The hard green chair under her bottom numbed her. Her eyes began to
close.

"Come, on. Come on," she willed the teacher who obliviously stood in
front of the blackboard drawing right triangles and talking about
hypotenuses. The class was beginning to get restless around her. Her
attention faltered again and she forced her eyes to open.

Finally, the teacher turned towards the class, her eyes resting on
the clock for a moment.

"Unfortunately, it appears our time is up. Class dismissed."

The woman dropped the chalk to the ledge below the chalkboard and
dusted her hands as she walked back towards her desk, as the
students began to rise, some with utterances of relief.

The transition was smooth, even if inaccurately portrayed upon the
institutional overhead clock.

The second hand on the clock stopped mid-way between 12:17 and
12:18, nearly a full minute and a half inaccurate. The teacher's
footsteps quieted, the voices and movements of the students in the
class stopped with the rest of the world. Leigh halted halfway out
of her chair, her mouth open to speak some words to her neighbour,
her finger absently brushing a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear.

Preternatural silence engulfed the universe.


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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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