“We have begun work on a time machine.” I stood out before the mass press informing them of our discoveries.

“You should change the world!”

“You should change History as we know it!”

“You should stop the dark moments of the world!”

“You should…”

“You should…”

“Can’t you all just shut up! Don’t you understand it is never that easy!” I bellowed, my patience for the crowd dissipated with each of their demands. The press drew silent the world deafened.

I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t want to be here. I’m a scientist, not a politician!

“You can’t change history. Maybe you stop 9/11 but something different will happen in its place. We are not God! Don’t you understand!” I had to catch my breath, even with a microphone I felt a need to shout. I unconsciously believed the loudness would help.

“We can now better understand history, we can complete the records of history lost to the sands of time. That is the goal, changing history was never the desire.” I informed, hopefully maybe it wouldn’t fall on deaf ears.

“Why? Why not change history? Why not stop the events that plunged our lives into chaos?” It had.

“We are not God. History is not ours to control.” I descended from the stage back to my lab, there was still work to be done.

Every conference had the same outcome, a temptation with every outing. Slowly it corrupted my view, skewed my initial intentions. I began to trust their outcries. Their hopes, and dreams of such a creation.

I became flustered to complete it ahead of schedule, to show them it’s possibilities. I began reading document after article after novel about the horrendous things that plagued our history of humanity.

I stood before the final creation, the rushed creation.

I turned and walked towards the press conference for the final time, how many times have I given updates now?

“It’s completed!” I jubilantly exclaimed to the crowd.

“Are you going to change the world?”

“No, I’m going to record it.” I still believed in that inherent goal, recording history.

“Are you going to stop the bloodshed?”

“No, I’m going to record it.”

“Do you want to change history?”

“No, I want…Sorry, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you want to change history?”

“I’m still to come to terms with the idea. I’ll get back to you.”

“What happened to the passionate shouts of the man who proclaimed we weren’t God?”

“I’ve changed.” How hollow are my eyes? How scruffy is my beard? How hunched my back? How greasy my hair? How much have I change since the inauguration?

I walked away from the podium, only hesitant. Do I want to change history? Yes of course, but I know it to be impossible. History is not ours to command. But why isn’t it? If we are there why not stop it? Are we complacent in the crime we just stand by? Are we onlookers unable to justify our status? Or are we no ones willing to record the tragedy? Who are we? Who are you? I want to stand for something. I want to be someone.

I stood before the machine; my eyes filled with hope. I walked through, my destination up to fate. The world went black, but I stayed the same.

Where I found myself when the light came through was the middle of Manhattan. I looked up at the sky towers all around me. The peaks speckling the sky like stars. I walked just enjoying the view, when two building entered my gaze, stole my gaze. A pair, twins, left me in a stupor, fate brought me here. I bolted down the street, my eyes locked with the first newspaper that came into sight, September 9^th, 2001. Am I willing to change history? I don’t know.