"Out of Time" Short Story, Part 3

From what he could make out of the writing on the crumpled paper, Sam knew that his old friend had stumbled upon something extraordinary. After a laying the body on the table, he left his friend behind and went into his office down the hall. The small office seemed even smaller with all of the artifacts, documents and personal treasures that Mata had collected throughout the years. He bagman to search through the organized mess in search of something that might give him some insight into what his mentor had discovered. He searched through piles of notes, cluttered shelves and stacks of boxes and found nothing out of the ordinary. 

His frustration was now getting the better of him. He looked over the paper over and over again but couldn't make sense of the why Mata had this piece of a growing puzzle. He thought back at the time he had spent here a few years ago and all of the things this man had taught him. He thought about the carved rock and the god king that stared back at him. Just then, he shot up from the seat of his teachers desk. He remembered what the god king had left behind. A secret chamber was discovered underneath Zoomorph B in 1902. It contained personal possessions of the king which included flint blades and decorative jewelry and several small carved stones. One of the stones was that of the Mayan symbol for "time."

Sam ran out of the office and into the small museum of the cultural center.  The carved stones had been on display here for only the last decade. He had seen them in the case many times but had never inspected them himself. He grabbed an imported Chinese replica of a Mayan stone Stela from the museums gift shop and smashed the glass of the display case. He grabbed the rocks and examined them closely to try and see what Mata had seen. The carvings were glyphs of the symbols of time, the human man, an eye from heaven, and the earth. With these images running through his head he thought of any connections with the stone stela.   

"Out of Time" Short Story, Part 2

        The hot air filled his lungs as he sprinted toward a gap in the gate. This had to be where they came in, Sam thought as he examined the tire tracks that led back down the path that had brought him here. The path through the jungle was only known by the scientists and researchers who worked on the site. Questions like, "Who would do this?," and "how could anyone enter a protected site unnoticed?" raced through his mind. Sam ran through the trees, past giant monument to men long since dead. He had always had the feeling that the stone eyes were watching him whenever he walked the grounds of the ancient city. As he ran toward the conservation center, an absent stare suddenly stopped him in his tracks. The multi-ton boulder, known as Zoomorph B, was no longer at the center of the great plaza. His stomach turned at the throughout of one Mayan histories earliest treasures was gone without a trace. A new question filled his mind, "who could move a 13 ton rock from the middle of the Guatemalan jungle?"
        The sun was now peaking over the trees as he looked into the empty space. The moment of shock was now passing, as he snapped back into reality. He bolted for the conservation center in search for anyone who could help him answer his questions. As he turned the corner of the modern building he saw the door to the main office was pried open. Without hesitation, he ran through the door only to be shacked once again. He had found the guards who where on watch that night, their bodies lay strewn about the floor. They had all been shot through the head and their blood was now pooling around the center of the room. He had seen dead bodies before, but these where not wrapped in ceremonial cloth or buried deep within Egyptian tombs. 

  He recoiled back into the adjacent board room still dark with drawn curtains. He tried to catch his breath as he searched for the light switch. He walked around the long table to the switch plate across the room. As he searched through the dark with his hands, his feet stumbled over something strange. He reached the switch on the far wall, as he flicked it on he turned to see what was there. He could see the hands of a man sticking out from under the long oak table. His heart still racing, he slowly walked around the black chairs that surrounded the room. He could see the body now, and reached for the shoulder to turn the mans limp body over. As he turned the body, he could see the bloody and bruised face. Through the red and purple he began to recognize the face beneath it.
        It was his friend and colleague Dr. Rodrigo Mata, a local anthropologist who taken him under his wing when he first came here as a novice archeologist. He held his lifeless friend and mentor in his lap for a moment, and as he stared at the his friends battered body he noticed a lump under his shirt. Sam reached under his red stained shirt and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He opened the wad and glanced over the hand written notes that had been torn out of a journal or diary. He examined the words and symbols written in the familiar scribble he had learned to decipher years ago. His eyes stopped at a few words surrounding the Mayan symbol for "time."

"Out of Time" Short Story Part 1

As he sat in the darkened room of the basement of the Society for American Archeology, Sam Freese could only wonder what his friends where doing on a Friday night. He was at the top of his graduating class at Harvard but, as the rookie, he was forced to work odd hours and night shifts. The years of study, research, and accolade for his field research and the only work he could find was monitoring the satellite feed from the Global Heritage Fund, a multi-million dollar organization for the preservation of endangers cultural sites. His explosive article on archeological looting of major dig sites was a scandal around the world. The scathing report, which named some of the world’s top archeologists, accused them of improprieties such as destroying ancient structures and looting sites for personal collections. This article blacklisted him from any major operations which resulted in him losing the funding for his research. This is also how he ended up in the basement of the Society in Memphis, Tennessee.

Since the article was published in the March issue of National Geographic, his once burgeoning career as a protector of history had now waned into that of a security guard. He knew what he had written was the truth and he was willing to anything to get his reputation back. As he watched the screens for any kind of unusual activity, he couldn't help but wonder how this would do the world any good. This "armchair archeology" wasn't what he had in mind when he was working on his masters at Oxford. 

The 12 screens flickered as they scrolled through the 600 sites worldwide. He stared at the screens and wished he could be at one of these exotic places, imagining he was walking through the jungle or charting a course through the desert. He could almost see himself walking through the Mayan ruins of Quirigua, when suddenly he realized he wasn't imagining things. He could see that there was someone there, someone who isn't supposed to be there at 2 AM. He could see the flickering of the flashlight….then another….and another. He zoomed in on the site and began to stare in amazement to see the small group of men converging on the site and he knew he had to do something.

He immediately sent an alert through the Global Heritage Network and picked up the phone to contact the authorities in Quirigua. The phone line rang as he waited for someone to answer. It felt like an eternity as the phone continued to ring unanswered. He tried again and again but no one was there. He had to do something. He grabbed his bag and ran through the door. As he drove down the highway toward the airport he knew he would never get there in time, but he had to try. The plane trip would only take two hours, and it would take another hour to get to the site. Racing now, at over 90 miles per hour, he soon made it to the airport and booked the first flight to Guatemala City. 

As soon as the airplane doors opened he bolted through the terminal. He knew he didn't have time for a cab or to rent a car so he took the first car he could get. He didn't know what he would find at the site, if the men would still be there, or if he did all of this for nothing. He went with his instinct and was no going on the adrenaline running through his body. The old car wasn't as fast as he had hoped but it was getting him closer and closer to his goal. He had been here many times before, so he knew his way through the narrow roads of the covered jungle. It was a shortcut he had taken to avoid the tourist riddled main highway. Now, he's taking it to see what was done to his beloved Mayan stale. These massive stone carvings were said to be monument to their kings as gods and used as calendars to map world events. The 84' Datsun cut through the jungle as fast as it could go and, as the sun came up, he finally made it to the city of Quirigua.

"Repent, Harlequin!" Said the Ticktockman

"Repent, Harlequin!" Said the Ticktockman

"Repent, Harlequin!" Said the Ticktockman

Establishing Shot

News of the Bizarre

Spy satellites watch ancient ruins

http://www.usatoday.com/tech/science/columnist/vergano/2011-04-15-archeology-satellites_N.htm

The Film That Affected Me the Most

   As a child in the 80's, I had a lot of influences in art, music and film that shaped the way I see the world. But it wasn't until 1993 that an animated film affected me so much, that I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. When my parents took me to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, it was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. This film brought together art, music, animation and a unique story that I still love to this day. It gave me a model for the way I wanted to express myself through art by blending all forms of art into a beautifully presented film. 

   We can all relate to the protagonist,Jack Skellington, in some way. We all get tired of our everyday lives until someone shows us that our lives really aren't as bad as at seems. No matter how hard we think it is or how boring life can get, we always have friends to save us from our own bad choices. Just like Jack, we can all get a little carried away with an idea or an obsession that really isn't the best for us. Its only when we have people around us who care enough to tell us when we're wrong, that we can begin to see how wrong we are. 

   I love this film for the great characters, music and an original story that has affected the way I see the world. It has showed me how to bring together opposing ideas to create a successful way to tell and unusual story