From: fishbone@astro.ocis.temple.edu (Greg Fishbone)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: Re: Three Word Story Game (12/4/92)
Date: 12 Dec 92 23:28:36 GMT
Organization: Temple University
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL5


     Under normal circumstances, Norman would never have even considered
Ammy for the job.  First of all, she was scarcely older than the students
in her class -- she claimed to be "somewhere around eighteen, though it's
hard to keep track."  She had no college degree.  In fact, she couldn't
even produce a high school diploma.
     But she had references.  Boy did she ever have references!  Benjamin
Franklin, George Washington, Albert Einstein, Abraham Lincoln, Charlemange, 
Robert the Bruce...  Norman had, of course, taken them to be the girl's way 
of showing him the knowledge and creativity she would apply to the job.  On 
a lark, he had given the letters to a friend of his in the antiques 
business, expecting to hear nothing more about them.
     Norman had given her the job because she had been in the right place 
at the right time -- scarcely five minutes after Ms. Weatherspoon's stroke, 
the girl had shown up looking for the job.  Ammy's timing was uncanny, and 
it didn't hurt that she was a fast talker, and a real looker besides!  Her 
eyes were bright blue, and her blonde hair was longer than any he had ever 
seen.  And when she walked, she somehow seemed to defy gravity.
     Norman knew little more about her after three weeks than on the first 
day she had appeared.  She still resolutely refused to tell anyone her full 
name.  "Amythist," she would say, when asked.  "Ammy for short, no last 
name."  And when anyone asked her where she came from, she give the cryptic 
response, "My mother was born in London," and nothing more.  Once, she told 
Ms. Quince something about her being a princess back home, which seemed 
about as plausible as anything else she had ever said.
     There had been some objections from the staff about Ammy's habit of 
sliding down the banisters in the stairwells, and from the school board 
about her inability to produce a birth certificate or passport, but he had 
heard nothing but the highest praise from her students.  Any time he saw 
her in the hallways or cafeteria, there were at least half a dozen students 
latched onto her, asking her questions about various history assignments.  
Every student he had spoken to said the same thing; they all loved Ammy for 
the way she "made history come alive."  Ammy often brought items into class 
to illustrate her lessons -- rifles from the civil war, silverware made by 
Paul Revere, an inkwell used by Thomas Jefferson, a cannonball fired from 
the USS Constitution during the War of 1812 -- things that could not 
possibly be authentic, or so Norman had thought until this morning.
     Now, he sat behind his desk in the principal's office, listening to 
his friend, George, from the antique store, yapping at him like an excited 
puppy.  George had apparently taken Ammy's references to a university 
professor who specialized in historical documents, and he had verified that 
they were genuine.  At least, that's what Norman got out of George's 
disorganized speech before the man started hyperventalating.
     "Have some of this," said Norman, offering his friend a small bottle 
of clear liquid from the middle drawer of the desk.
     "Thanks," said George.  He took a long draught, then spit it up and 
made a sour face.  "Water?"
     "I gave up the hard stuff last year, remember?"
     "Maybe you should consider taking it up again.  This history teacher 
of yours is an honest-to-goodness time traveller!"
     "Don't talk nonsense."
     "Listen, this one's my favorite..."  George took one of the pages out 
of his briefcase and began to read.  "'I have learned more about time, 
space, and dimensions from Amythist in the past few hours than I have ever 
dreamed about before.  I must work more on these ideas if I ever hope to 
reach a high enough level of understanding to communicate these theories to 
the scientific community...'  The handwriting is genuine, and if the date 
is right it couldn't have been more than a few hours before Einstein's 
death."
     "He deserved to have the whole thing explained to him before he went."  
The two men turned to see Amythist standing in the corner of the room, 
though neither had heard the door open or close.  "My assignment here is 
finished now," she said to Norman.
     "You?  You're the one?" asked George with an expression of awe.
     "Are you leaving us, Ammy?" asked Norman.
     "Ms. Weatherspoon has recovered from her stroke and wants to come back 
to work.  She'll be calling you about it later this afternoon."
     "Very well.  If you need another reference, I'd be honored to add one 
to your collection.  We've never had a more able history teacher."
     "That would be great."
     "Wait," George protested.  "You're just going to let her walk out?  
Just like that?  SHE'S A TIME TRAVELLER!  WE'VE PROVEN THAT THEY EXIST!"
     "Well, I didn't make it too hard for you to figure it out," said Ammy, 
removing her references from his briefcase.  "Would you like a medal or 
something?"
     "Listen, I've devoted my life to collecting bits and pieces of other 
eras," said the antiques dealer.  "If there were some way I could go back 
in time-- to actually visit the past...  Please..."
     "Time travel isn't something that's done on a whim," Ammy told him.  
"It's a serious thing!"
     "What were you doing here, Ammy?" Norman asked.
     "Oh, I had some vacation time coming and I've always enjoyed the late 
twentieth century.  Are you done with that reference?"
     "Yes, here it is."
     "Great.  Don't forget me when you're famous," she said.  Then she spun 
around in place and vanished.
     George was jumping up and down, screaming something, but Norman just 
ignored him.  "Famous, eh?" he thought.  "Maybe one of my novels will 
finally sell..."
Newsgroups: alt.prose