To Swim the Stream to DieTo Swim the Stream to Die by Michael Sweeney
  Professor Andrew Stevens sat on his stool and stared at the papers in front of 
  him. The papers were spread across a wide wooden board. The wooden board was 
  in turn sitting on the bathroom sink. 
  The papers were, in fact, newspaper clippings. Several were large headlines. 
  One read: Scientist Invents Time Travel! Another read: Famed Prof Goes to 
  Court! And still another read: Inventor Dissappears After Legal Loss.
  As Stevens stared at the papers his face contorted with hate. Suddenly he 
  jumped up, causing the stool to clatter to the floor. Violently he swept his 
  arm across the make shift table. The paper clippings flew up and fluttered 
  around the bathroom. One landed in the toilet. As the paper became saturated 
  it slowly sank. Stevens leaned over, reaching for the flush lever. The 
  headline caught his eye. 
  Scientist Awarded Presidents Achievment! 
  Anger swelled up inside. He jabbed the lever viscously. The clipping swirled 
  around several times and whipped down the drain.
  How fitting, he mused to himself, I couldn't have put it better myself.
  Slowly a dull sensation swept over his body. A pain replaced the anger. He 
  kneeled down and began picking up the commentary on his lifes great 
  accomplishment.
  As he picked up the papers, an old thought returned to him. 
  I did it before! I can do it again! He thought, I'll show those bastards who 
  their dealing with! They may have taken one of my ideas, but hell I still have 
  others.
  He stopped picking up the papers and stood. He put the papers he held down on 
  the makeshift table. He turned and opened the bathroom door. 
  The door opened to the other room of the small apartment. There was a 
  hide-a-way bed that swung up and away against the wall. There was a single 
  chair and a set of boxes in one corner. Aside from an unshaded lamp that sat 
  in the other corner the room was bare. A single window, facing a brick wall, 
  allowed light into the room. 
  The bare wood floor creaked as he stalked across it. Stevens came up to the 
  chair and sat down. He was careful not to sit to hard. It was quite a task 
  with the weight of his heart. 
  He turned the chair slightly and pulled the box closer to him. He pulled the 
  box's flaps open and peer cautiously inside. Gingerly he put his hand in the 
  box. He treatedit like a set bear trap. Slowly he pulled out an item. It was a 
  twine wrapped folder. 
  It was covered heavily with dust. Stevens blew on the folder and a cloud of 
  dust exploded up and out. He coughed lightly and unwrapped the folder. The 
  twine came undone with some extra effort. the knots had been made in an 
  angered haste. The twine slid away allowing access to the yellowed folder. 
  Stevens opened the folder and felt a lump form in his throat.
  These were the original hand drawn prototypes for that god awful Time 
  Generator, as it now was called. The headlines had it all wrong. It was not 
  time travel. More of travel by time. An engine, powered not by gasoline or 
  hydrogen, but by contolled time. After all, they said time was fluid. And it 
  was always moving. Why not harness the movement to create power.
  It had been a brilliant idea. It had once gotten him so excited and kept him 
  up all night. So many sleepless nights and energized days. Papers, more 
  papers, interviews, more interviews.
  Finaly somebody with money listened and the firt one was built. Just outside 
  Omaha, Nebraska in a small laboratory. There wasn't a whole lot of funding, so 
  skrimping and saving had been the letter. But it was built. And more 
  importantly, it worked. It worked so well it powered the entire lab. And then 
  the nearby homes. Another on was built. It was larger than the first and was 
  even more efficient. Together they powered the whole county.
  To say the least, success came quickly. But so to did defeat. Not defeat of 
  the idea. No, that lived on, prospered and grew. It was defeat of the man 
  behind the idea.
  He had become quite rich off the original spoils. However, that was not 
  enough. He had wanted total control. He tried to take back the rights he had 
  given away. A viscous legal battle ensued. He lost.
  Stevens put the folder down on the bare floor and looked around him. Desolate. 
  Empty. He looked down into the box again and reached in. His hand moved 
  several items out of the way and started to pull out a bottle. There was a 
  clinking noise of glass on glass. Stevens stopped. He reached in with his 
  other hand and pulled out two things.
  In his left hand he held a bottle of malt whisky. In his right hand he 
  carefully cradled a framed photogragh. Stevens unscrewed the bottle top and to 
  a long swig. He put the bottle in the crook of his arm and rested his eyes on 
  the photo.
  The picture was of a pretty brunette in her early thirties. She had posed for 
  the picture a few weeks before his success. They had been living fairly well 
  on research grants and were very happy. Very happy. 
  Stevens drank from the dark bottle again. He thought back to those few weeks 
  and a sadness poured over him. He had been such a fool. After his success he 
  barely spent any time with her. Aside from coming home late to cold dinners, 
  he hardly even saw her. So many times she had complained of being lonely. So 
  many time he had promised it would better soon. It did get better, of course. 
  Financialy. Emotionaly, it went down hill.
  No, it wasn't loneliness. It had just been lack of husbandly attentions. A 
  kind word. A gentle touch.
  Stevens sneered at himself. Hell, sitting down and having dinner would have 
  probebly done it. But after all that lack, the publicity blizzard and the 
  yo-yoing moneys, she left. The note he found had be thoughtful and business 
  like. Reading between the lines he saw the intense sadness coupled with anger. 
  He had cried all night.
  Slowly a creeping sensation moved up Stevens's chest and up across his face. 
  His legs and arms numbed. His mind moved sluggishly. With great effort he 
  placed the picture and the bottle gently on the floor. He sat, slumped in the 
  chair. The horrible weight of existance was replaced with a gentle lightness 
  of being. Stevens looked around again very slowly. A sad smile crept across 
  his face. As his eyelids drooped, a thought rang in his mind.
  World renown inventor turns broken drunk.



  When he awoke the next morning, he had fallen out of his chair. He laid 
  sprawled out on the floor. Slowly he picked himself up off the floor. It was 
  dark in the room. He crawled across the floor in the direction of the lamp. He 
  reached the lamp and pulled the cord. Light sprung from the bulb and danced 
  around the room. More importantly it danced straight into Stevens eyes and 
  blinded him. 
  He stood up blinking his eyes with a passion. His skull pounded with a sudden 
  terible fury. He held his head and walked toward the bathroom. There was an 
  old bottle of asperin in the medicine closet above the sink. His foot hit 
  something. A clunking noise sounded out as the bottle was knocked aside and 
  fell over. What was left of the contents spilled out onto the floor. Stevens 
  quickly bent over and grasped at where the bottle was. His eyes still had a 
  big splotch but he managed to get the bottle straight again. Using touch to 
  help his addeled sight. The bottle had spilled a fair amount onto the wood. 
  Stevens stood and went into the bathroom. He emerged with a towel and two 
  asperin. He took the asperin with a drink from the whisky bottle and mopped up 
  the spill. Sowm of the whisky had gotten on the picture. Stevens tried to wipe 
  it off but the liquid had soaked through the backing. 
  The picture discolored slightly. The combinatio of cheap film and stiff 
  alcohol had broken it down. He sat down heavily on the wooden floor and was 
  rewarded with several squeaks of dismay. He held the picture in front of him. 
  A great wave of anger flowed through him. He slammed the picture down on the 
  wood floor, face up. The glass cracked. He then reached out snagged the 
  bottle, took a long last swig and smashed the bottle, bottom first, into the 
  framed picture.
  Stevens looked away as glass shards flew up. The bottle broke in his hand. 
  Pieces of the frame skidded across the room. After the noise stopped ringing 
  in his ears, he opened his eyes and looked. His hand was swimming in blood. It 
  streamed down and dripped into a puddle. It mixed with the broken glass and 
  alcohol. Stevens quickly grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his hand. He 
  almost screamed in pain.
  The towel was soaked in alcohol. A searing pain rushed up his hand and arm. He 
  almost fell over. Instead he got up and sat on the chair. He barely managed to 
  stay upright. He held his hand between his legs and swore at his own 
  stupidity. Between clenched and teary eyes he caught his distorted reflection 
  in one of the larger pieces of glass. It was sitting on top of the destroyed 
  picture. The light from the lamp and the glass shape made the reflection blent 
  with the magnified picture piece.
  Stevens felt a tingling at the nap of his neck. Discounting blood loss as the 
  source, he remembered the last time he had this sensation. Stevens thought 
  about what he saw. He turned the problem over in hs mind. Seeking a lower 
  point a small stream of whisky and blood moved across the picture. This added 
  to the colors in the reflection. The image almost seemed three dimensional. 
  It struck Stevens as odd that the picture wasn't three dimensional originaly. 
  The complete picture had been two dimensional. It had only length and width. 
  There was some attempt a depth but not a true representation. It then occured 
  to him that there was another dimension ommited.
  Time. It had to be represented as well. Slowly Stevens mind began to churn. 
  Long dormant brain cells screamed into service. Stevens stood immediatly. A 
  piercing pain bellowed up his arm. He looked down at the small pool of blood 
  and the blood soaked towel. 
  Stevens walked to the bathroom and took care of his injuries. He was suddenly 
  very excited.



  With his hand bandaged it was difficuly to mix the chemicals. The pans of 
  mixtures sat in the bathtub. Stevens poured a tiny amount of one mixture into 
  a small glass beaker. He turned and peered at the contents in the light. The 
  mixture glistened in the bright lights. His lips trembled with excitment. He 
  could barely contain himself.
  He had ran down to the hardware store and the chemists and gotten the supplies 
  he needed. He then set up a makeshift lab in the bathroom. He had had to buy a 
  new light for the bathroom. The supplies were expensive. His cash situation 
  was not looking good. However, this did not dampen his spirits. 
  Still looking at the beaker, he stood and turned off the light. The beaker 
  glowed dimly. He flipped the light back on and turned to the makeshift table. 
  On it were sever pans and a notebook with scribbles all over it. In one of the 
  pans a sheet of blank paper sat in quarter inch deep water.
  Stevens leaned over the pan and carefuly dripped the mixture onto the paper. 
  It dripped slowly and the drips spread out equaly slow. Stevens emptied the 
  beaker into the pan and stirred the liqiud with a metal rod. The two liquids 
  mixed throughly. He put down the metal rod and beaker. He picked up some 
  tongs. He used the tongs to pick the paper out of the water. He held the tongs 
  with his bandaged left hand and rummaged in his pocket for something. He 
  pulled out a magnetic clip and stuck it to the medicine cabinet. He then 
  clipped the paper up. The polluted water drained off the paper into the pan. 
  Procuing more of the dull glowing mixture, Stevens repeated the prcedure with 
  the other pan. He then had two sheets of prepared paper. he stood while they 
  dried. When he thought they were done, he unclipped them and held them 
  togenther with the tongs. He then grabbed a small vile that sat in the middle 
  of the makeshift table. He put the vial in his pocket, opened the door an 
  dstepped into the other room.
  In the middle of the room, sitting up on a tripod sat a box with a camera lens 
  protruding from the front it. An old style flash bulb jutted out of one side. 
  A cord with a button on the end hung at the side.
  Stevens walked over to standing oddity. He pulled off the the top and affixed 
  one of the papers to clamps on the sides in the middle of the box. The clamps 
  held the paper vertical facing the attached lens. There was several pieces of 
  electronics in the box as well. Electro-magnets lined the box. A power cord 
  snaked out of the box and plugged in to the wall.
  Stevens replaced the top and looked down the middle of the box. It lined up 
  perfectly with the lens. Stevens smiled and looked around for a subject. He 
  realized the only real oject in the room was the chair. He draged the chair 
  over and place it neatly in front of the box. He stood back.
  It was a bit plain. Stevens walked over to the corner with the box. Next to 
  the bow sat a brown bag. Stevens opened the bag and pulled out a red apple. He 
  returned to the box and chair. He carefully place the apple in the dead center 
  of the chair. He stepped back behind the box and lined up the sights. He 
  grasped the cord with the button and held up.
  It seemed a fitting subject. Still life in Four Dimensions. He pushed the 
  button. The flash light up.



  The flash died instantly, having given its life for science. Stevens waited 
  eagerly for several minutes before he removed the paper with the tongs. There 
  was a very faint image on the paper. Stevens jumped the gap to the bathroom. 
  Inside he emptied one of the pans into the toilet. He place the paper, or 
  film, in the pan. He rummaged in his pocket and brought out the vial. He 
  uncorked the vial and poured the contents onto the film. The liquid ran like 
  hot honey. It covered the paper. Instantly color jumped from the film. Stevens 
  pushed the film around with the metal rod. Once the film was totaly covered, 
  he used the tongs and hung it up, The excess liquid ran off the film back into 
  the pan. The image on the film lept out from its place in length, width depth 
  and finaly time.
  The science of temporal chemistry had not been a new one. It had been ten 
  years since the discovey of four dimensional atoms. These atoms very structure 
  or matrix extended into the fourth dimension. This allowed chemists to play 
  with the atoms and watch reactions before they had done anything. However, it 
  had not been an exact science, merely a novelty item. Until of course 
  Professor Stevens major breakthrough with the time generator. Now every 
  tinkerer in the ReUnited States had a batch of Timatoms or Time Atoms. 
  Unfortunatly for them, they could not made them work.
  Stevens stood in front of the film and stare. The image was unbelievable. It 
  was so life like. The contrast was perfect. The color was perfect. The chair 
  in the picture looked solid and real. One could almost sit on it. Stevens 
  reached out and let his hand pass through where the image appeared to be. 
  Nothing but empty space. As his fingers interupted the image it appeared to 
  shrink back to just behind them. This caused the chair to be severly disorted. 
  But it was a perfectly real appearing distortion. Like someone had melted a 
  wax chair. It sent shivers down Stevens spine.
  He took the picture down and walked into the other room. It was then that he 
  noticed it. The apple that sat on the real chair was missing from the picture. 
  In its place was a crumpled piece of yellow paper. Stevens stopped cold and 
  quickly glanced back and forth from the real to the picture. He checked it 
  several times. Sure enough, in the picture there was no apple but a wad of 
  yellow paper. Inreal life there was an apple and no paper. Stevens took 
  several steps back. He dropped the film. It wisked away and floated to the 
  floor. Stevens leaned stiffly against the wall.
  Suddenly there was a loud banging st the door. Stevens nearly jumped out of 
  his skin. 
  "Okay buster, I know your in there, I can see your feet from under the door." 
  It was the land lord. Stevens heart race a hundred miles an hour. "Come on 
  Stevens! Open up! You can't hide forever." He ended with another volly of 
  banging on the door. Stevens edged his way over to the door and unlocked it. 
  He opened it slowly. The fat man on the other side was preparing to bang 
again.
  "Yes?" Stevens said weakly.
  "Finaly! I had imagined you dead or something!" The man stood on his tiptoes 
  and looked over Stevens shoulder. Directly behind Stevens stood the camera. 
  "Oh! Were you in the middle of something?" He didn't wait for an answer and 
  pushed past Stevens. Stevens just sood in the doorway, dumbfounded. The fat 
  man leaned over the camera. He stood up and grunted his approval. "So you into 
  Photography? I wondered what you did. Never leaving the room and all." he 
  glanced up sharply. "You haven't done anything to the bathroom have you?"
  "I, I, well, I replaced the lamp." Stevens stammered.
  Across the hall a door opened. Marked Two-B it revealed an old man in evening 
  wear.
  "Dog bast it! I already paid for my paper this week! No a moment of peace!" he 
  muttered. He looked into the hall. He put his hand on his hip.
  "Well isn't that just a pickle. Damnation! Knicker- knockers!" He cursed again 
  and began to close the door. The land lord called out to him.
  "Sorry Major! That was me, not the paperboy." He Major looked across the 
  hallway and squinted.
  "What?"
  "I said that was me!"
  "No, I do not want tea! I want to sit down to my paper and enjoy some quiet, 
  God durn-it." He stepped back to close to door again. The land lord called 
out.
  "I said it was me! It was I!"
  The old man squinted again.
  "Yes, it is a very nice tie." The old man slammed the door shut. Stevens heart 
  was still doing One hundred miles per hour. The land lord smiled at Stevens. 
  Stevens smiled weakly. 
  "Old people." Stevens said. The land lord must have agreed with the statement, 
  because he nodded. 
  "Well, its quite an interesting set up you got here. I..." He stopped talking 
  and leaned over toward the chair. Stevens muscles stiffened, he held his 
  breath. The fat man reached out and grabbed the apple off the chair. He put 
  his other hand is his pocket and pulled out a piec of paper. He deposited what 
  looked like gum on to the paper and wadded it up. He put the trash on the 
  chair and shined the apple on his shirt. He then took a bite. He then stopped, 
  looked at the apple and then looked at Stevens.
  "I'm sorry, were you using this?" he asked with a mouthful of apple. Stevens 
  swung his head back and forth violenlty.
  "Whatsamatta? You gotta nervous tick or somethin?" the fat man slurred between 
  bites on the apple. Stevens mumbled an affirmative. The land lord stood for a 
  second and walked back out into the hallway. "Okay Stevens. Your okay. But 
  don't think I won't kick you out if I don't get the rent." He glanced at the 
  old mans door and chuckled.
  "Old people. I'll have to remember that one." He then swaggered off down the 
  hall.
  Stevens shut the door and leaned against it. He gave a long sigh of relief. he 
  stood there and stared at the camera. Then he change his stare and stared at 
  the chair. Then he notice the wad of yellow paper that had been placed on the 
  chair. 
  The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He had seen that before. He sprung 
  forward and swooped up the film that had been lying face down of the floor. 
  Held it with two fingers and looked at the picture. It jumped out at him 
  again. A chair with a wad of yellow paper on it. He ckecked the real chair. 
  The two images, real and film, matched perfectly. 
  A little light in the back of Stevens mind light up. It flared brightly, 
  causing the former fear to disappear. Stevens stood very still and let his 
  mind wander. He glanced at his watch. He estimated that thirty minutes had 
  pass since the image was taken. That ment that the film was an image of 
  something that was to happen half an hour in the future. Or at least 
  thirty-five minutes ago it was.
  Stevens mind quickly ran through all the impications that that entailed. An 
  image of the future. He began to wonder if he get the image to be farther in 
  the future. Was it the chemicals or the exposure that determined it.
  He put the film on top of the camera and ran into the bathroom. He reemerged 
  with a pen and notepad. He had to to find out which it was. He sat on the 
  chair. He looked at the camera. It looked back with its one watching eye. A 
  shiver went down Stevens spine.



  He had spent the entire night testing. He finaly figured out it was the amount 
  of original chemical used to make the paper film. All night long he mixed 
  chemicals and remixed. He was dead tired.
  It was early morning, light was just breaking. Stevens glanced at his watch. 
  It was just after five. He thought that he would do one more expieriment and 
  tell the future of the outside world.
  He knew that the old man across the hall got the paper every day. Stevens 
  smiled a tired smile and began mixing a new batch of film. He mixed it so that 
  it would probebly look forward about two hours. He would get a sneak preview 
  of the future headlines. If he did this for Magic shows he'd make a fortune.
  He dragged the 'time camera', as he now thought of it, over to the door. He 
  opened his door and aimed the camera at the bottom stoop of the door across 
  the hall. He got a piece of paper and wrote on it. He taped it to the door 
  where a paperboy would read it. It read: 
  Please put paper face up! No kidding!
  Stevens giggled at the note and stepped behind the camera. he lined it up and 
  snapped the picture. He then dragged the camera back to the middle of the room 
  and closed the door. He then went into the bathroom to develop the film.
  He poured the developer onto the picture. Slowly a solid image crept out of 
  its place and solidified. Stevens found it strange that it took longer to 
  develop the farter ahead it looked. That meant there was some limit to how far 
  ahead you could look. He frowned at that thought. The frown turned to look of 
  horror. The image was not yet done, but he could stil read it. The main 
  headline read:
  Famed Inventor Found Poisened!
  As the image cleared the sub headline read:
  Professor Andrew Stevens Found Dead in Apartment! Stevens backed away from the 
  image. It continued to develop. Stevens backed to far and almost fell into the 
  bathtub. He caught himself with his bandaged hand. Pain seared through his 
  arm. He flailed to regain his balance. He knocked several chemical bottles 
  over. Stevens got himself standing and wiped some powder off his hand. He held 
  his bandaged hand as it throbbed with pain. 
  The image on the film had begun to overdevelop. Only the headlin and 
  subheadlind was legible. Stevens grabbed the tongs and snatched the film out 
  of the pan. He hung it to dry. He was shivering.
  Dear God, he thought. I have seen my own obituary. I am to die this very day. 
  He looked down at his hand. There was a fine white powder clinging to it. He 
  nearly screamed. 
  Poisoned! he thought 
  He lunged for the toilet. He plunged he hand into it, desperately trying to 
  wash the powder off. He stripped the bandage of his other hand. The wounds 
  began bleeding again. He stood quickly and tore off his shirt. He threw down 
  his shirt and flung open the door. He hopped into the other room as he clawed 
  to get his shoes off. With one shoe off, he pulled off his pants. 
  Got to get these cloths off! he thought, They're covered with chemicals! 
  He took off all his cloths and threw them in one corner. He then put on fresh 
  cloths from his belongings box. Carefully, he went back into the bathroom. He 
  squatted down in front of the toilet. He cupped his unhurt hand and collected 
  some water. He poured the water over his hands and arms. The water stung the 
  wounds. He did not think of this as washing but it was something. 
  He then carefully went back into the other room and sat on the chair. 
  Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His heart was racing madly. If he didn't 
  know it'd be poisoning he would probably die of a heart attack. He couldn't 
  sit still. He glanced at his watch. It wasn't on his arm. He had taken it off 
  with all the other stuff. He glanced over at the clothes in the corner. He did 
  not want to go rifling through them. 
  I have about a half an hour at least. Its much lighter now. Must be six. he 
  thought, That means they would find me by six thirty. The paper would run the 
  story late. Probably a last second change. Throwing out a boring story for an 
  eye catching one. At least my death will benefit someone other than the 
  morgue. He thought morbidly. 
  Stevens went back in his mind. He carefully tried to recall all the chemicals 
  he had been dealing with. Were any of them that toxic? Think Stevens, think! 
  After a short while he stopped thinking about himself. He started thinking 
  about his lost wife. Any children they might of had. The pony he had always 
  wanted. Many things drifted to mind. 
  It suddenly occurred to him to go to a hospital. At least he wouldn't die 
  alone. Stevens stood and marched to the door. He opened it. Standing in the 
  hallway was the paperboy. Stevens almost screamed. Instead he grabbed the boy 
  by the shoulder. 
  "Hey Mister Leggo! Your not on my route! You want Tommy Regis!" the boy 
  whined. 
  "Are you delivering the paper?" Stevens asked. 
  "Of course, stupid! Do I look like a Girl Scout with cookies?" The boy 
  answered sarcastically. Stevens released the boy. The boy dusted the shoulder 
  Stevens had touched. 
  "Give me a paper!" 
  "No way! These aren't free! I gotta deliver 'em!" The boy whined again. 
  "I'll give you ten bucks." Stevens searched for his wallet. It was in his 
  other pants. He sprinted across the room and grabbed the other pants. He 
  pulled out the wallet and plucked out a ten dollar bill. He sprinted back to 
  the door. The boy stood there with a paper in his hand. He was about to put it 
  down for the old guy. Instead he swapped it and took the ten spot. The Boy 
  skipped off down the hall. 
  Stevens ripped the plastic cover off the paper. 



  The headline read: 
  Democrats Expected To Win White house. 

  Stevens heart nearly skipped a beat. 
  He read the paper several times. It did not change. The hairs on the back of 
  his neck stood on end. Slowly he walked over to the bathroom. He peered 
  inside. Everything appeared normal. He stepped over to the hanging film and 
  geld up the paper. 
  Except for the headline, they appeared to be identical. The date. Volume 
  number and issue number were all pretty fuzzy on the picture but they looked 
  the same. 
  Here I am. Alive. Looking at one paper that says I'm dead and another that 
  doesn't say anything. he thought, Have I changed what was to come. 
  Stevens stomach growled. He looked down at his belly and spoke aloud. 
  "Yes, your higher functions agree. It is very odd." Stevens walked back into 
  the main room with the paper and the picture. He stood in back of the camera. 
  A rough voice called to him. 
  "Hey you! You seen the stupid paper boy? I want my paper, tar nation have it!" 

  Stevens turned quickly, surprised. The old codger stood in his open doorway, 
  squinting at him. 
  "A bit jumpy aren't ya? Who'd ya expect? Lucifer?" The old man jabbed 
  pleasantly. Stevens raised the papers that he was holding. 
  "Major? Do you see any similarity between these two papers?" Stevens asked. 
  "You been talkin' to that fat fool land lord?" the old man said. Stevens 
  nodded. The old man stepped forward and looked at the real newspaper. "He's 
  the only one who calls me that. Fat fool. Thinks I'm deaf! Fancy that!" He 
  then looked at the four dimensional picture. "My, that's a real fancy picture 
  you got there. Some kinda hologramy whats-its. Almost thought it was real!" 
  The old man stopped peering at the two papers. 
  "Whatsa matter boy? Ya tongue tied er somethin''?" 
  "Do you say anything the same about these two things?" Stevens jiggled his 
  hands. 
  "Well, they're the same paper in name. But this one has a real depressing 
  headline." he was pointing to the real newspaper. "Are you done with at? 
  That's this mornings ain't it?" 
  "They are both this mornings newspaper." 
  The old man looked at Stevens and then at the four dimensional picture. 
  Stevens stomach growled again and gave a sharp pain. He winced. The old man 
  looked back at Stevens. 
  "Whatsa matta? You got gas? I hate it when I get gas." 
  "No, just a pain. In my stomach." He winced again. The pain was sharper this 
  time. 
  "You okay, sonny?" the old man looked concerned. 
  "I'm fine." Stevens felt as if his stomach was going to explode. The room 
  began to spin. The old man spoke, 
  "You know that hola-gramy thing is real nice, but you can tell it ain't real." 

  "Why? Why?" Stevens felt his legs begin to turn to rubber. The old man pointed 
  to the four dimension picture. 
  "Cause that's supposed to be this evening's paper silly." 
  The old man grabbed the newspaper out of Stevens hand. 
  "I'll get this back to you. Have a nice day." 
  Stevens stumbled backward. The world seemed far away. He was looking down a 
  long black tunnel with the world at one end. He heard the old man reading 
  aloud. 
  "Says hear there's been a scare of bad salmon. Says not to drink whisky with 
  your salmon tin." the voice seemed so far away. "Personally, I detest the 
  stuff. Salmon, I mean." 
  The voice disappeared behind a door. Trying desperately to keep his balance 
  Stevens bumped into his 'time camera'. He fell. Air whistled by his ears. He 
  felt himself hit the floor. Darkness.