Creative Writing Competition : Grand Prize
Grand Prize Winner:
Name: Wilbur Bryant Dublin
Name: Wilbur Bryant Dublin
Course: Cambridge A Levels
Title: Causality
Causality
15th May 2032.
A day remembered in infamy. A day that shocked nations and individuals alike.
Thirty years have passed since the incident but the memories are still as strong as ever. Now, where the disaster was, a park lies with a memorial, right in the middle of the park, which served as the collective tombstone of seven hundred and eighty-one thousand souls.
Now, on the thirtieth year, a memorial service was held right on the north face of the memorial where everyone affected by the disaster met up and people wanting to pay their respects. Aside from there, the rest of the park was empty.
Mostly empty.
On a bench on the south face, an old man sat. He had a simple tweed jacket and trousers on and beside him, a desert camouflaged cap sat. He sipped some coffee as he thought to himself.
“Hello there Professor,” called a voice behind him. The professor turned around to find a young woman, dressed a bit too formally for a casual meeting, standing with a clipboard in hand.
He took out his glasses out of his coat pocket and once he recognised her, he responded. “Ah! Amanda.” The professor shifted a bit to the left and Amanda sat down next to him. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, just reopening a cold case,” she said.
“And how does it involve me?” the professor asked, taking another sip from his coffee.
“It’s regarding the disappearance of Thomas Springer twenty years ago,” she said gravely. The professor froze as if he was in a trance as memories flooded back to him. “Some new evidence has come to light and you were the last person to see him.”
The professor snapped back to reality. “What is this new evidence you speak of?” he said stumbling over his words slightly. Amanda flipped through her clipboard filled with rows and rows of unintelligible writing.
“The new owners of his residence found a canister of neurotoxins under the floorboards.” She continued flipping through the notes. “In addition, a few notes were found with this writing on it.” She pointed to a page with symbols that look more like a cat just stepped on the paper. “Do you recognise it?”
The professor took a closer look at the scribbles. “Yes,” he said.
“Can you tell me what they mean?” asked Amanda hopefully. The professor just shook his head.
“I need my notes in order to tell you that.” Amanda sighed in disapproval. “In the meantime, tell me, what are your current conclusions about his disappearance?”
She flipped through her notes again. “We assume he took his own life via poisoning.”
The professor chuckled. “Yes and no,” he said sombrely.
“What do you mean yes an-,” she said quizzically before she stopped. There was silence as she put two and two together before she spoke again. “You know what happened to him?” The professor simply nodded in response.
Amanda was stunned for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell anyone before?” she said. The professor kept quiet, staring blankly into oblivion.
“Look,” she said, agitatedly, “I want to know what happened to my uncle, okay.”
The professor leaned closer to her and whispered.
“It’s best we talk in private,” he said. “Follow me.” He stood up, put his coffee on the bench and headed for the memorial. Amanda quietly followed him, clipboard in hand.
The professor stopped in front of the foliage covered building. He looked at it, scratching his chin before pushing on random areas of the monument in a seemingly orderly manner. He stepped back and a loud creaking sound was made which made Amanda jump slightly. The professor pushed through the foliage and Amanda followed him into a dark corridor.
“What is this place?” Amanda asked. The professor kept quiet as he flicked a switch somewhere in the darkness and the corridor lit up. As a large vault door creaked closed behind them, the professor spoke.
“What I’m about to tell you are government secrets,” he said. “You are not to publish them just yet. Understand?”
Amanda nodded.
“Okay,” said the professor. He thought of how he would word his sentence wisely before he spoke. “Your uncle was a happy man right?” He started to walk down the corridor, the iron floor creaking under his weight.
“Yes,” Amanda said. “At least until the expl…”
“The explosion,” continued the professor. Amanda felt a shiver up her spine as the disaster was mentioned.
“Do you remember the reported cause of the explosion?” he asked.
“Terrorist attack.”
“He enlisted in the army,” said the professor, “Only to destroy the people who killed the people he loved.” Amanda was stunned at this relegation.
“He slowly became the man he swore to destroy.”
They walked until they reached a spiral staircase, desperately in need of repair, that led down into a foggy abyss.
As they descended, Amanda could start to hear whispers that almost seemed to be coming from the walls and with every step down, they got louder.
Just as Amanda was about to ask the professor about the whispers, the professor spoke. “Ignore it,” he said, “They would just get louder as we get closer.”
“Closer to what?” Amanda asked but her question got no reply from the professor.
“Your uncle left the army for he felt it was pointless. He knew he will never defeat the terrorists so he joined my research team.”
“What research would that be?” Amanda asked. The whispers were now starting to get louder to a conversation-like volume. It was still incoherent though.
“Time travel,” the professor said. Amanda was at a loss for words. At first she thought it was a joke but the seriousness in his tone quickly disproved that theory.
“Time travel?” she asked, mind still spinning.
“Yes.”
“He was a major contributor to the project.” Looking down, the bottom of the staircase could vaguely be seen through the mist. “Until he discovered the full potential of the invention.”
“That being?”
“He could change the past.”
Right at the bottom of the stairwell, was yet another long corridor but unlike the rusty iron interior of the staircase, it was covered with foliage.
“He never dared to attempt anything of the sort but when his daughter died, his mind snapped,” the professor said but at this point, the voices were deafeningly loud and Amanda cupped her hands around her ears as they walked on.
They reached the end of the corridor and as they walked through the doorway, the room suddenly became silent. The massive plant covered room was circular with a plaque on the far end of the room.
“Why is it suddenly so quiet?” she asked, removing her hands from her head.
“The eye of the storm is almost always calm,” he said, slowly walking to the plaque.
“Anyway,” he continued, “After the death of his daughter by another attack, he went mad. Thoroughly bent on changing the past.”
“If all of this is true,” said Amanda, looking through her notes for any correlation between them and his story. “How does it explain all that we found?”
“Knowing that he would not return, he made it seem like he committed suicide but the notes,” he said, pausing to catch his breath, “were actually part of his greater plan.”
“I found this place where he was about to launch a time machine into the past to alter it.” The professor stopped in his tracks, right in front of the plaque. “But I failed to talk him out of it.”
“But if he went to the past,” wondered Amanda, “Why are we still here?”
“He may have built the machine but he can’t fly it,” responded the professor, brushing off the plant matter off the plaque so it clearly read: ‘Final resting place of Thomas Springer.’
“I made this in his memory,” he said, trying to hold back tears.
“So what happened?” Amanda took out her pen and flipped to a fresh page on her clipboard,
The professor took a deep berth and continued. “There was a failure and he had to make a forced landing.”
After scribbling down some notes, Amanda made a realization. “If he made a forced landing, then he could still be alive,” she said, beaming with hope. The professor just sighed and shook his head.
“The transponder on the machine was deactivated and a catastrophic failure was detected,” he said, “He would have been destroyed on exit.”
“But even so,” argued Amanda, “Even the slightest change in the past can lead to large differences in the future. I’m sure you are familiar with the Butterfly Effect.” The professor only nodded.
She scratched her head, trying to understand. “I still don’t get how history was not altered.”
“The answer you are looking for is right on that plaque,” he said, pointing at it before he walked back to the corridor. Amanda turned back to the plaque for a moment and when she turned back, the professor had disappeared into the fog.
“And one final thing,” said the professor from the distance, “The true number is seven hundred and eighty-one thousand and one.”
“What does he mean?” she wondered. She brushed off more of the foliage to reveal more of the plaque.
‘Loving father, husband and friend to all’
Amanda worked her way down, revealing a long list of surviving relatives he left, her name included,
‘Born: 24th October 2001’
‘Disappeared on the 26th of April 2042’
As she saw the final piece of the plaque, the whole image became clear. She gasped at what she had uncovered before scribbling the last bits of her conclusion on her notes before she took off, the last few words still echoing in her mind.
‘Died: 15th May 2032.’
A day remembered in infamy. A day that shocked nations and individuals alike.
Thirty years have passed since the incident but the memories are still as strong as ever. Now, where the disaster was, a park lies with a memorial, right in the middle of the park, which served as the collective tombstone of seven hundred and eighty-one thousand souls.
Now, on the thirtieth year, a memorial service was held right on the north face of the memorial where everyone affected by the disaster met up and people wanting to pay their respects. Aside from there, the rest of the park was empty.
Mostly empty.
On a bench on the south face, an old man sat. He had a simple tweed jacket and trousers on and beside him, a desert camouflaged cap sat. He sipped some coffee as he thought to himself.
“Hello there Professor,” called a voice behind him. The professor turned around to find a young woman, dressed a bit too formally for a casual meeting, standing with a clipboard in hand.
He took out his glasses out of his coat pocket and once he recognised her, he responded. “Ah! Amanda.” The professor shifted a bit to the left and Amanda sat down next to him. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, just reopening a cold case,” she said.
“And how does it involve me?” the professor asked, taking another sip from his coffee.
“It’s regarding the disappearance of Thomas Springer twenty years ago,” she said gravely. The professor froze as if he was in a trance as memories flooded back to him. “Some new evidence has come to light and you were the last person to see him.”
The professor snapped back to reality. “What is this new evidence you speak of?” he said stumbling over his words slightly. Amanda flipped through her clipboard filled with rows and rows of unintelligible writing.
“The new owners of his residence found a canister of neurotoxins under the floorboards.” She continued flipping through the notes. “In addition, a few notes were found with this writing on it.” She pointed to a page with symbols that look more like a cat just stepped on the paper. “Do you recognise it?”
The professor took a closer look at the scribbles. “Yes,” he said.
“Can you tell me what they mean?” asked Amanda hopefully. The professor just shook his head.
“I need my notes in order to tell you that.” Amanda sighed in disapproval. “In the meantime, tell me, what are your current conclusions about his disappearance?”
She flipped through her notes again. “We assume he took his own life via poisoning.”
The professor chuckled. “Yes and no,” he said sombrely.
“What do you mean yes an-,” she said quizzically before she stopped. There was silence as she put two and two together before she spoke again. “You know what happened to him?” The professor simply nodded in response.
Amanda was stunned for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell anyone before?” she said. The professor kept quiet, staring blankly into oblivion.
“Look,” she said, agitatedly, “I want to know what happened to my uncle, okay.”
The professor leaned closer to her and whispered.
“It’s best we talk in private,” he said. “Follow me.” He stood up, put his coffee on the bench and headed for the memorial. Amanda quietly followed him, clipboard in hand.
The professor stopped in front of the foliage covered building. He looked at it, scratching his chin before pushing on random areas of the monument in a seemingly orderly manner. He stepped back and a loud creaking sound was made which made Amanda jump slightly. The professor pushed through the foliage and Amanda followed him into a dark corridor.
“What is this place?” Amanda asked. The professor kept quiet as he flicked a switch somewhere in the darkness and the corridor lit up. As a large vault door creaked closed behind them, the professor spoke.
“What I’m about to tell you are government secrets,” he said. “You are not to publish them just yet. Understand?”
Amanda nodded.
“Okay,” said the professor. He thought of how he would word his sentence wisely before he spoke. “Your uncle was a happy man right?” He started to walk down the corridor, the iron floor creaking under his weight.
“Yes,” Amanda said. “At least until the expl…”
“The explosion,” continued the professor. Amanda felt a shiver up her spine as the disaster was mentioned.
“Do you remember the reported cause of the explosion?” he asked.
“Terrorist attack.”
“He enlisted in the army,” said the professor, “Only to destroy the people who killed the people he loved.” Amanda was stunned at this relegation.
“He slowly became the man he swore to destroy.”
They walked until they reached a spiral staircase, desperately in need of repair, that led down into a foggy abyss.
As they descended, Amanda could start to hear whispers that almost seemed to be coming from the walls and with every step down, they got louder.
Just as Amanda was about to ask the professor about the whispers, the professor spoke. “Ignore it,” he said, “They would just get louder as we get closer.”
“Closer to what?” Amanda asked but her question got no reply from the professor.
“Your uncle left the army for he felt it was pointless. He knew he will never defeat the terrorists so he joined my research team.”
“What research would that be?” Amanda asked. The whispers were now starting to get louder to a conversation-like volume. It was still incoherent though.
“Time travel,” the professor said. Amanda was at a loss for words. At first she thought it was a joke but the seriousness in his tone quickly disproved that theory.
“Time travel?” she asked, mind still spinning.
“Yes.”
“He was a major contributor to the project.” Looking down, the bottom of the staircase could vaguely be seen through the mist. “Until he discovered the full potential of the invention.”
“That being?”
“He could change the past.”
Right at the bottom of the stairwell, was yet another long corridor but unlike the rusty iron interior of the staircase, it was covered with foliage.
“He never dared to attempt anything of the sort but when his daughter died, his mind snapped,” the professor said but at this point, the voices were deafeningly loud and Amanda cupped her hands around her ears as they walked on.
They reached the end of the corridor and as they walked through the doorway, the room suddenly became silent. The massive plant covered room was circular with a plaque on the far end of the room.
“Why is it suddenly so quiet?” she asked, removing her hands from her head.
“The eye of the storm is almost always calm,” he said, slowly walking to the plaque.
“Anyway,” he continued, “After the death of his daughter by another attack, he went mad. Thoroughly bent on changing the past.”
“If all of this is true,” said Amanda, looking through her notes for any correlation between them and his story. “How does it explain all that we found?”
“Knowing that he would not return, he made it seem like he committed suicide but the notes,” he said, pausing to catch his breath, “were actually part of his greater plan.”
“I found this place where he was about to launch a time machine into the past to alter it.” The professor stopped in his tracks, right in front of the plaque. “But I failed to talk him out of it.”
“But if he went to the past,” wondered Amanda, “Why are we still here?”
“He may have built the machine but he can’t fly it,” responded the professor, brushing off the plant matter off the plaque so it clearly read: ‘Final resting place of Thomas Springer.’
“I made this in his memory,” he said, trying to hold back tears.
“So what happened?” Amanda took out her pen and flipped to a fresh page on her clipboard,
The professor took a deep berth and continued. “There was a failure and he had to make a forced landing.”
After scribbling down some notes, Amanda made a realization. “If he made a forced landing, then he could still be alive,” she said, beaming with hope. The professor just sighed and shook his head.
“The transponder on the machine was deactivated and a catastrophic failure was detected,” he said, “He would have been destroyed on exit.”
“But even so,” argued Amanda, “Even the slightest change in the past can lead to large differences in the future. I’m sure you are familiar with the Butterfly Effect.” The professor only nodded.
She scratched her head, trying to understand. “I still don’t get how history was not altered.”
“The answer you are looking for is right on that plaque,” he said, pointing at it before he walked back to the corridor. Amanda turned back to the plaque for a moment and when she turned back, the professor had disappeared into the fog.
“And one final thing,” said the professor from the distance, “The true number is seven hundred and eighty-one thousand and one.”
“What does he mean?” she wondered. She brushed off more of the foliage to reveal more of the plaque.
‘Loving father, husband and friend to all’
Amanda worked her way down, revealing a long list of surviving relatives he left, her name included,
‘Born: 24th October 2001’
‘Disappeared on the 26th of April 2042’
As she saw the final piece of the plaque, the whole image became clear. She gasped at what she had uncovered before scribbling the last bits of her conclusion on her notes before she took off, the last few words still echoing in her mind.
‘Died: 15th May 2032.’
