It's peaceful in Washington.
That's a lie.
It's quiet.
That's a lie, too.
It is neither peaceful nor quiet in Washington. The streets are vacant, the sky is dark, and police sirens can be heard in the distance amid the squawking of crows and muffled shouting.
Another lie; the roads aren't completely empty. There is one person, small and slouched under the weight of a large knapsack. She's sitting on the ground, out in the open. The wet grass is soaking through her jeans. It's uncomfortable, but she doesn't move. She'll be on her way in a few moments. In her hands is a spiral-ring notebook.
There is a theory, She writes, that there are ten or eleven dimensions to reality.
She pauses a moment, unsure of how to progress from there.
The first dimension is simple enough to understand- it's simply a point. If you were by some unfortunate chance graphing this information, you could represent this with a simple dot. You could place it neatly just over the point of two intersecting lines, for expediency's sake. That's all there is to know about the first dimension; it's a place in which something could exist.
The second dimension is only slightly more interesting. It is a second dot. Difference being, it is connected to the first dot. It gives the first dot perspectives, something to work with. The second dimension is made up entirely of these simple lines; in this space of existence, there can exist two dimensional shapes. Squares, for example. Nothing can live in this dimension though, because only two sides exist- Front and back. A living, breathing creature would be cut in half by the track of it's own digestive system. This is why we, as humans, reside solely in the third dimension. We are to the second dimension as a cube is to a square; we have both front, back, and side. Inside being the most particularly important, seeing as we do have a rather incredible dependency on our internal organs and their continued function.
These are the three primary dimensions. It is from this point that things begin to get complicated.
Maybe that sounds a little pretentious, but she supposes it's good enough.
The fourth dimension, for example, is a particularly sticky area. This would be symbolized by the existence of a cube, from the creation to the inevitable destruction thereof. One could theorize that as the fourth dimension is separate from the third dimension, each frame of the third dimensional object's existence within the fourth dimension's domain is a frame unto it's own, not unlike a frame painted for an old-time cartoon in which thousands upon thousands of individual pictures exist to create a whole.
And so, we are left with a video of a cube, compiled of millions of separate pictures.
It would be tiresome and dull for many to continue in explanation beyond this point; from here, the strings compiling the tapestry become even further convoluted in their organized chaos. Perhaps then, it may only be said that time as we know it is very much alike to a very long picture show, of which each slide that creates the illusion of movement is solely under it's own control and may at any moment slip from a bright romantic comedy to a dull and dreary tragedy undreamed of by poets and authors alike.
It is a delicate balance, and as all balances may fall victim to force so too may destiny be warped by action. There is a message to be found with understanding the passage of time and space in our existence; time is much less like space than it is like time as we know it as, and the past is affected by the future just as easily as opposite if one simply has the means and comprehension.
But, perhaps I wax philosophical. It doesn't truly matter what you understand. A bird doesn't require a complete knowledge of aerodynamic evolution to fly, after all.
She erases and rewrites that last line a few times before it starts to sound right.
There I go again, she acknowledges at some length, I don't mean to be condescending. It's just that I have a lot on my mind right now. I'm sorry.
The date where I am is 20030, November 14, 5:36 PM. My GPS location is- She rummages in her bag, eventually pulling out a small circular device at the end of a long cord. 38.889463,-77.035237, it reads, and she writes it down. I have something I need to do.
Again, she erases a line and rephrases.
In hindsight, that sounds a little dramatic. I have somewhere I need to find.
I speak of dimensions and reality- this one is doomed. My kind are victim to a genocide that cannot be stopped- it is too late for this reality. The best I can hope for is that I may escape , to find a destiny that is more hopeful than this and the ones before it.
This will be the last time I try.
Still too dramatic, she thinks, but she leaves it as it is.
To my friends, to Magicio and Dust and Magma and Spike, I'm sorry I had to witness your passings again. I never wanted to see you die. I'll try harder this time.
And Des-
A pause.
If I find you again, we won't be friends.
I don't think I can do that again. I'm sorry.
I'm going to try this again.
I'm going to find the right universe, where everything turns out okay.
That's it. It seems there's nothing left to write.
I'm sorry.
The notebook disappears back into a bag. She stands.
Are the sirens getting louder?
Probably.
No matter.
She blinks, and the sky is clear. The roads are no longer empty. She lifts her bag and resumes walking, unnoticed by those around her excepting the odd glance.
She can't help but wonder at how different everything looks, here in the 90's.
The buildings are shorter, she notes. And the air is-
Cleaner, oddly enough.
A short walk takes her to what moments before had been a smoldering crater in the distance. Now though. it stands as a fortress untouched by battle.
She slides an envelope between the bars of a shiny-new wrought-iron gate, and presses the buzzer.
Leaning in, she speaks into the receiver.
"Call for Charles Xavier, front entrance please," she says, then disappears.
Maybe this time, things will be better.
One more time, she hopes, watching as the sun flickers by a thousand times at lightening speed. Just one more try.