Illusions Of Time

"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."–Albert Einstein.

15 of March, 1926

I do not know for how much longer I shall be able to resist the surreal illusions of time, for they are the haunting reflection of an irresistible guise of a conspicuous reality that I cannot confirm, to be the actual form of my existential world. I have made the meticulous decision to write down in my journal, every significant detail or event that has been occurring to me, ever since I had first discovered this anomalous force of nature. It has been over a week that I have been experimenting, with the topic of time and its correlation to the material reality that we form a part of its construed composition. As a physicist, I have followed in the conscientious steps of others who have adapted the study of physics, such as Einstein, Bohr, Heisenberg amongst others, as the compass to my research. What I have learnt has filled my mind entirely, with episodes of sudden terror and frisson that no man should experience their contretemps. My name is Antoine Duval, a Frenchman by birth and descent.

I have always considered myself an adventurous man of science, but the unnatural phenomenon I was confronting was something, whose derivation was beyond the scope of human comprehension. For some unknown reason it had corresponded with my present reality. I have still not been able to determine with my precise acumen and assiduity, the thing that had triggered the insoluble consequences of events that ensued thereafter. All that I have managed to construct in the elaboration of my thoughts have been approximations of reality, but I am strongly convinced that I am on the verge of discovering the quintessential element that will prove my theory on time, as it relates to the common notion established of physics. I have come too far to relinquish that of which I have already entered, the inusitate realm of the universe. Science should never be presumed superannuated.

20 of March, 1926

While I was at my residence in Paris, undergoing an experiment, I had begun to perceive the perplexing intervals of time as they materialised. To some more opined physicists there is the belief that, while we experience time as being real, time is not fundamentally real in its absolute essence. At the profound foundations of nature, time is not an arcane, irreducible element required to construct the concept of reality. The idea that time is not real is counterintuitive in the supposition. In 1905, Einstein proved that time, as it had been understood by physics was merely fiction. He had realised that it was abstracted from our experience, with palpable phenomena and contingencies. If time is a progression of events from the past to the future, it must manifest in some capacity. It must be integral to the manner in which humans perceive the present world. If time moves only in a singular direction and does not move backwards in its sequence, then how did I return to the past? Several scientists have the proclaimed belief that time is not a fixed and objective reality, but rather a subjective and human-made illusion conceived. I was well-informed about how time functioned in different places in the world and with different perceptions and observations. If I could only determine the space that permitted time to connect with our operative reality.

Is it possible to imagine one day that we could advance in time enough to particularly regress to the past somehow? What if time was construed to be projected, as real as space and presumed to be the fourth dimension in the cosmos? Is time an emergent property then developed by the course of action? Could time be actually rendered as an imminent paradox? The theory of relativity and quantum mechanics had recently emerged throughout the early 20th century. I had grown up with Newton's laws of motion that had required time to have many specific features elaborated. As true observers in principle, we must agree on the sequence in which certain events occur and are dictated. Regardless of when or where the events occur, we could know whether they happen before, after or simultaneously with any other relatable event or cause in the universe that has manifested as coetaneous. Thus, time provides a complete order of all the demonstrative events in the world in its chronology. Time must be continual so that we can define the property of velocity. It must also have the inclusion of the elements of duration and acceleration.

25 of March 1926

I woke up from the most horrendous nightmare, and I have felt a pricking anxiety billow like a raging surf, ever since that nightmare. The indelible images conjured in my mind have persisted, with a regularity that would compel me to believe that what I had seen were actual moments in time developed. It was impossible to extract the supernumerary thoughts I have perceived and not assumed of their ultimate horrors. I have documented every occasion that has presented me, with an ambiguous situation that has left a ponderous impression upon my psyche. If I could only determine the intermittent level of the intervals of the interface between reality and time, I would be capable of establishing the pertinent connection that binds them to the world of mortals. According to Einstein's theory of time travel, if a person were to travel at the speed of light, time on Earth would appear to slow down. What if cosmic time coincided with reality in the greater scheme?

I have found myself at times, inside the revolving matrix or vortex that has allowed me to enter the surreptitious dimensions of time and reality that were universal in their composition, but accessible to me through the advent of a vintage clock that I had built to permit the influx of light to pass and the recording of time. It was not my interest to emphasise the time of the clock. What I was more concerned about achieving was the probability of effecting reality, with the time that was not recorded by the clock. In other words, the motion of time and its manifestation that were existential and universal. What is meant by that analogy, is that time in the cosmos is infinitely incomparable to the time that we record with our clocks and watches. If it is true that the contrast between the two types of time is variable, then that would suggest that time from the past and future could be altered in some incredible mechanism of transitiveness. The question I had pondered was, could they meet for a brief period, at a door that was of a revolving nature? How fascinating that was to me.

30 March, 1926

The eerie sounds of Parisian life are reaching my ears day and night, causing me many sleepless nights and discomforts. My acute senses are those of heightened awareness, and they have allowed me to hear and perceive things that normal people could not reach that level of activated sentience. I know that there is no rationality that could elucidate the unusual occurrences and their unpredictable nature. However, within the entries of my journal, I acknowledge that I have begun to find myself emerged in the particular process of change. I had discovered that I left the front door open the previous night, when I had remembered locking it. I had found myself sleeping on the canapé the morning after, when I had slept in the bed of my room. There were pieces of furniture that were gone and replaced, by other indeterminate objects that were not recognised by me, or so I was led to believe in my keen assumption. It was a telling moment of déjà vu.

A music box had been playing music. I had seen this music box before at the displayed window in one of the antique shops, near the Marché aux Puces de la Porte de Vanves. The strange thing was that I was unaware that I had purchased that item. Had I inadvertently travelled to the past a day earlier, or had my memory failed me? There was a phonograph that appeared to be from the late 19th century. There was something much more disturbing and revealing. In my room, there was a peculiar device that I had never seen before. It was some kind of radio that had no wires attached to it, and its design was futuristic and dated from the year of 2026. Was this solid proof that I had somehow travelled into the past and future, or was it an anachronism? But how was this feasible? There had to be a contingent factor within the commonality of reality that brought this phenomenon to its sudden materialisation.

02 April, 1926

I had pondered in my mind incessantly during the day, the intrinsic essence of how I was able to traverse time and not be fully aware of its consequence and congruity? The constant thoughts and speculations had begun to dull my senses and cause me to seek the discipline of retrospection to resolve this abnormality. There was something about the contrast between the conscious and subconscious realms that were still evasive to the rationale of my judicious comprehensibility. If time was permitting me to traverse its illimitable dimension, then how could I attempt to describe with precision, the probability of such an occurrence, unless it was something that had involved an intricate portal? This if probable, could explain the unusual nature of the distinction presented in time that was universal, and that which was our elaborated time that was constructed. To imagine such a thing was involute in its contemplation.

There had to be an irrefutable pattern in the appearance of the reality of these events of inexplicability that I had assumed were broadly connected to each other. I was determined that I would not only study this supposed pattern in depth, but I would also, study the indubitable clues that were left behind, as a remaining vestige of these occurrences. As a devoted man of science, I had depended on its observation and knowledge to make my clear interpretations. I was only certain of one thing, and that was the recurring effects of the passage of time. I was uncertain about the manner in which I had initiated the travels through time. The more that I had cogitated, the more that I became restless. There were objects that were appearing that I could not know, where and when they were either purchased or given to me exactly in their date.

05 April, 1926

I spent the day attempting to interpret my calculations and theories about time travelling. The toilsome thought that I had deduced had caused a certain reaction in me that was perhaps more analytical than surmisant. It was conducive to the notion that time was relegated to our construct of its essence, and how it was genuinely still an abstraction that compels us to reduce its effects to our basis of existence. This was obviously, nothing more than a reflection of the limited amount of accuracy in our knowledge to project the materialisation of time. The distinct pattern of the course of time could only be explicated, by the emerging teachings of the physics of the early 20th century. Not even a man of cyclopedic knowledge could ascertain to a great degree through mathematical equations, the ultimate answers to the mystery of time.

Despite the evolution of physics and science for that matter, there were many things that were yet indistinct and had constrained the progress of physicists. I had read and read countless books on the subject of time travelling, but none were close to resolving the enigma. The encroachment of time upon reality was something that scientists had attempted to devise theories that could approximate the difference in real time and abstract time that would allow time travelling. If I could capture the precise moment in which cosmic time and reality met, then I could demonstrate the complexity of its nature, with the introduction of tangible proof. It would have to be evidence that was not only incontrovertible, but as well measured by the realm of existence. The key was that existence was what could allow this process to be analysed more efficaciously. I was curious about the impending force of time that was behind the presumed portal and its possible dilatation.

08 April 1926

I had invited my good friend and fellow physicist Professor Laurent Moreau to my residence, to discuss the topic that was troubling me, which was time travelling. When he had arrived, I immediately commenced the conversation, with my thoughts on the subject. It was significant to me that I could trust the thinking of other intellectual men of science and concur with their observations and opinions. He would eventually be the person that would make me see the distinctive nature, between reality and surreality. We were both firm exponents of physics and its advancement. However, we had diverged in the theory of time postulated. I chose to believe that time was indeed in its actuality comprised of our time and cosmic time. Professor Moreau was under the impression that time was merely abstract and that it was a creation of our adaption to the cosmos. He had discussed the issue of temporal paradoxes to me.

I did not dispute the notion of time as an abstraction. What I differed was the possibility of that abstract time linking with our present reality. The professor could not accept that time travelling was a probability, but I had tried to convince him otherwise. I was bold enough to show him the objects that I had in my possession. At first, this did not sway him to believe my narrative. It would take more unusual evidence to make him accept my admission and perceive my argument with scientific validity. These anonymous oddities, that I was experiencing were still unclear or unexplained. I needed more time to apply and elaborate my innovative concepts and theories. The importance that I had accentuated was associated to the progress and mergence of recorded time and the time that corresponded, with the undiscovered dimensions of the cosmos. I had explained to him that if time was one dimension but congruous, like the spatial dimensions, then the prevailing laws of nature would distinguish between time and the other dimensions. Perhaps, between various timelike dimensions and diverse spacelike dimensions. Thus time would remain one-dimensional, because no two timelike dimensions are ever orthogonal in their structure. This would imply that time could be perceived, as being different, when in reality it is only different in the perception. In the end Professor Moreau was as much intrigued as I was, with the mysterious nature of time and its surreptitious origin.

12 April, 1926

After another week had passed, I was still enthralled with the occurrences. The vraisemblance with the episodes and events concluded had caused me to be more unnerved and consternated. I had visited the office of Dr Bernard Charbonnier who I was recommended to ask him about the boundaries of the mind and its limitations. I was constantly wondering about the state of my rationality. It was not that I thought I was losing my mind completely, but more could my mind be conjuring images or forgetting through lapses of memory, the precise events that were unfolding? I had to be certain of what I was experimenting was factual. After the consultation, there was nothing of extreme relevance, except that I was prescribed rest and medication to control my flights of anxiety and fantasy. Dr Chabonnier was puzzled by my behaviour, and he had suggested that I be put under hypnosis to which I told him that I would think about it. I was hesitant about that unique procedure.

Tonight, I had fallen asleep after my return that evening to find myself sleeping in the canapé once more, instead of my usual bed. I had awakened in a profound perspiration that was covering my face, but there was something else that would startle me and discompose my genuine expression. My clothes were totally wet and so were my shoes. How could this be? It had not been raining when I left my home and returned. I went to remove my articles of clothing, and a newspaper had fallen from the pocket of my trench coat. I did not remember wearing one in the first place. Once I had picked up the newspaper, it had the exact year printed of 1945. This was implausible and unfathomable. It meant that I had somehow either travelled to the year 1945 or had retrieved a newspaper that had an obvious misprint of the date. The difference in the present, past and future were becoming obfuscating to me. How could I make sense of this remarkable discovery and unsettling irony?

15 April, 1926

I have begun to establish the necessary perimeters of my mind and corroboration of my thoughts with the study of physics. If I am capable of transcending beyond the realm of my physicality, am I also exceeding the boundaries of my subconsciousness and consciousness? How could I prove such a thing, without trapping myself in the matrix that was cosmic time? If perchance, my motion was indeed connected to the motions of interstellar time travelling, then this would permit me to reach for a brief interval at least, the secret and unknown realm of cosmic time. But if cosmic time cannot revert to the past and only to the future, then how have I managed to achieve such a possibility? My experience was mostly in the future. Thus, I cannot admit with a certitude what time travelling is veraciously in the past. What I can be more aware of is the fact that I have traversed through a portal of illimitable time of cosmicity.

It was frightening to imagine such an extraordinary situation, and at the same time it was exhilarating to be a witness of these unpredictable events. I had tried to rationalise everything with the concepts of science. However, what I was failing to realise was that science alone cannot solve the delicate intricacies of this world we call reality. I could spend innumerable hours devising formulas to decipher the complexities of time travelling. None of these formulas could equate to an irrefutable probability in its final outcome. That would only result in being a strong assumption at best. I had no actual precedence or equivalence to make the comparison of my inusitate experience to another phenomenon that was shared by another living individual. That was until I had met Madame Camille Garnier.

18 April, 1926

Upon this early spring morning of the day, I had received a suspicious knock on my front door. It was a certain woman, who had promptly identified herself. I had no idea who she was in earnest. Nor did I suspect what strange relation that would unite us in our search for the elusive truth. Afterwards, I had allowed her to enter my residence, whereupon we began to reveal to each other our peculiar but particular accounts of events. In the beginning, she was somewhat discreet, but then she was more indiscreet as she had continued talking. The unnatural experiences that she was enduring were almost the same ones that I was confronting. Although they were not identical, they were still nonetheless, very vivid and demonstrative. I could sense in her, a terrifying and riveting look in her eyes and in her natural expressions emoted.

There was an immediate reaction, when I had told her about my unexplained encounters with time travelling. We both were time travellers to some degree, and we both had concluded that whatever was transpiring to us it was bewildering in its essence. I had to calm her, so that she could relate more information in concise details that were relevant. I did not need her to be incoherent with her words. Thereafter, she admitted to me that she was afraid of what would ultimately happen to her. Her emphasis on not being able to understand her occurrences would make me give her valuable advice that was to be heeded. I was curious to know, how she had found me and why did she come to me? She would tell me that she had met me in the future. This confession would send deep chills running down my spine forthwith.

20 April, 1926

I have spent the morning still pacing in repetitive circles in my home, with the firm impression stuck in my brain of the incredible testimony of Madame Garnier, who had affirmed experimenting similar episodes of time travelling. There is so much about time to discover, and little time afforded to me to solve this evasive predicament of mine. How many other persons have experienced this rare phenomenon? It was impossible to know with accuracy, the totality of numbers. The only thing that I could do was to continue to write down and record in my journal, these abnormal events that were occurring to others in the world and me. Despite the doubts, I was convinced that time was pivotal to existential reality. The intervention of man and his invention of time were unparalleled to cosmic relevance, when speaking of the essence of how the universe operates in its structure.

If I could approximate the sequence that had allowed my time travelling, then I would be able to measure the reality of its accelerated passage and make it consequential. This would require more keen observation and comprehension of what exactly had caused this remarkable phenomenon in the first place. If change was a qualitative difference between temporal parts of something, then the quondam foundation of that something would be altered. Its essence would remain the same. I had relied on the study of physics to guide me, but it was not sufficient to resolve all the answers to my pending questions. In the meantime, I would have to accept that I was an unknown participant of something that was unnatural and at the same time conceived as being actual. My perception was changing by the minute. It still did not permit me to entirely realise the considerable capacity of time travelling. I grew even more restless and impatient, with the ambiguity of time.

25 April, 1926

The whole day it was raining, and I could hear the distinct peal of thunder, until it had been reduced to a fading growl. I was forced to stay inside during the day. It had allowed me to collect my thoughts and conduct an experiment that was essential to my theory. If what I was enduring was a mere coincidence than a contingency, then what could trigger the portal of time travelling? But if it was more related to a contingent factor, then this would imply that existential time would have to meet with existential reality. How could I prove either one of these suppositions scientifically? I thought of the giant clock in the corridor and began to count how long would it take for me to notice, any difference in time elapsed that was not similar to our designed time? It was when an hour and a half had passed that something indeterminant had begun to occur.

I had perceived the gradation of time. The large hand on the clock had been slowed down, as did the smaller hand in a manner that was conspicuous. Everything then began to reduce in motion, as if something had abruptly affected time. Even my movement was reduced to a lentitude. It was a reciprocal of velocity, but it would ultimately initiate the process of my time travel. Thereafter, I had found myself in the middle of the streets of Paris in what appeared to be the year 1942. There were German soldiers, who I had learnt were Nazis that were patrolling the streets with strict vigilance. What I had discovered then, was the fact that the Germans had taken the city of Paris. It was the historic period of World War II. Fortunately, for me, my stay would be brief and determined. I hid behind a nearby building, until I had returned to my time, the year of 1926 with even more incertitude.

30 April, 1926

I had visited the home of Professor Moreau. I had an urgency to speak to him about what had happened to me. I could not remain tranquil, knowing that I had triggered a sequence that I was conscious of its undeniable occurrence. Unlike with the previous experiences this was definitely perceived with all my acute senses activated at once. Thus, it was paramount that I could describe in scientific terms, the nature of these episodes in time, so that I could ascribe them to an accessible account that was not only correlative but as well valid. Before I had departed the scene in Paris during the year of 1942, I had managed to inadvertently bring a beret with me that had been lying on the ground that was from that era. My fingers had touched the wool and crocheted cotton that it was fabricated from. I had wanted to feel something that was a tactile sign from another time.

I finally had evidence of my time travelling, but who would believe me? When I had shown the beret to Professor Moreau and had explained to him my strange occurrence in 1942, he was extremely baffled and uncertain of what to reply. When he had pronounced an utterance of words that were intelligible, they were more questions than answers. The beret had not exactly convinced him, but he was interested in knowing about the Germans' intrusion into Paris. Unfortunately, I was not able to give him further details, except those that I had sparingly known and supposed. We had discussed the experiment with the clock, and he had wondered whether or not, I had mistaken the episode for a subconscious dream that had manifested to me. I had assured him that it was no dream at all.

02 May, 1926

I had decided to visit Dr Charbonnier to see whether or not he could solve the mysterious conundrum. He had previously offered to hypnotise me. This time, I was willing to comply to his hypnotic session performed. Once there at his office, I had proceeded to explicate the nature of my visit, which was the practice of hypnosis. Dr Charbonnier was a man of reason and had a genuine skill of hypnotism. He had concluded that whatever was affecting me was because of the unbalance of my mind and the nature of my surroundings. In my prior visit it was not established yet, how far the mind could exceed its maximum threshold permitted. Therefore, I had to prove my theory on time travelling, and he was willing to assist me in that fascinating endeavour.

I lied on a canapé, listening to his instructions, as we had started the session. Gradually, I was under the anodyne effects of his hypnotic words uttered. The session would last for more than half an hour. In the end, what the doctor would admit to me was that I had believed in my mind that I was in the distant or near future of some sort of vivid reality. According to him, I had convinced myself of these abnormalities I was experiencing. Furthermore, he had revealed to me that perhaps I was suffering from a tumour that had caused these bizarre illusions in my brain to appear. He had recommended a reputable doctor in the Rue de la Chausée-d'Antin that was a good friend of his, and more importantly an expert on tumours of the brain. I had left his office and returned to my residence, with the conviction that I was not hallucinating.

08 May, 1926

There was no one that I could convince particularly with my admission of the truth, or that of which I had assumed was the basic truth. To those that I had confided the versions of my account, with the exception of Madame Garnier, they had doubted whether or not the surreal nature of the events that were transpiring were not concocted in my head from the beginning. This had only disquieted me even more, because I was incapable of demonstrating with undeniable proof that I had indeed been time travelling. Perhaps I was displaying more of an erratic behaviour on my part than necessary. Illusions could they be nothing more than just that in their construct? No—I could not resign to accept that deceptive feasibility. The things that I had seen and began to remember were realistic in their quintessence.

There was a feckless rage of insurmountability towering inside of me. I had never before felt so powerless and uncertain. I was a scientist and had always prided myself in my acumen and discoveries. Is it possible that I am losing my mind at this point? But what about the distinctive evidence that I had found? Certainly, that was convincing enough. What if it was only convincing to me? Had my mind conjured the dramatic images that had stirred my perception and observation of time and its events? If this manifestation was true, then my mind was succumbing to the horrendous eventuality of my self-destruction. That was a daunting realisation that I was not comfortable with its quandary. However, I could not simplify the matter, with just physics alone. I needed assistance, and the only one that I could trust was Madame Garnier.

10 May, 1926

I went to visit the home of Madame Garnier in the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Prés. I could not sleep for the last few days, and I was troubled by what Dr Charbonnier had related to me. I began to think that the reality that we knew, in the mortal sense was merely a created illusion of the real façade of time. Was it really inconceivable to fathom such a detailed anomaly? If it did exist as the doctor had suggested, then this deception was fabricated by my mind superbly. Madame Garnier was eager to speak to me as well, when I had knocked and then entered her home. When she spoke to me, I could see the sheer intensity in her eyes. She handed over to me a journal that she wanted to give to me personally. It was no ordinary journal, for it was my own written in my original handwriting.

I was shocked, and when I began to peruse through it, I had discovered that it was my journal. Its last page was torn. But how could that be remotely plausible? What Madame Garnier had divulged to me was that in the near future, I had given her this journal with the instructions to keep it. She had told me that it was on the 18th of May, some eight days from now. There was not much else in her revelation, except to confirm that we had that destined encounter. I had the intuitive sense that she knew more, but she was hushed on providing me futher details. Was what she knew portentous or too damaging to my reputation? Was she seized with trepidation or intimidation? We had agreed to stay in touch with each other. My intention was to assist her with the understanding of the episodes of time travelling.

13 May, 1926

I was experiencing horrid nightmares that had caused me to suddenly question the state of my mind even more than before. I had thought about what exactly was written as my last entry of my private journal that was torn? It must have been something of a hideous and chaotic nature that Madame Garnier was reluctant to disclose to me in an overt manner. I was more surprised by what I had discovered than by what I had understood. Were these nightmares connected to the rudimentary essence of my subconsciousness? Had my subconsciousness prevailed over my consciousness? I had felt this queer feeling that I was treading over the realm of reality, and I could not accept that I had an expanding tumour in my brain. The ceaseless cracks of fear were consuming me with a fitful irrationality.

I was advised by Professor Moreau to visit my doctor to see, whether or not I had actually a tumour in my brain. He tried to convince me, but I was against the idea. Simply, I did not want to know. I had preferred to believe that I had been time travelling than witnessing hallucinatory illusions. I knew that sooner than later I would discover the ultimate truth in one way or the other. I did begin to feel my physical strength wane by every passing day, and I was becoming more susceptible to the fragility of my body exposed to the turbulence of my torment. Hence, my days would be from that moment on, spent more on resting than being active. I also became more annoyed and frustrated with the noises from outside. I wanted to live in absolute silence, but I was unable to achieve that coveted desire. It was impossible to live a normal life. I was rendered to a pernicious shadow of myself, and I was quickly descending into the darkled abyss of the deterioration of my mental health and faculties. I no longer had possessed complete thoughts, and I was reduced to quasi thoughts that were often disjointed.

18 May, 1926

I had contemplated for a moment, the ineffaceable horror of my death in the succession of events that had not yet occurred. It was my vivid impression that reality in time compared to existential time in the universe was inevitable. In other words, time could not be comprehended by me, unless it had interacted with my reality that I could assume as actual. It made me think about Aristotle's theory on the topics of actuality and potentiality. If a thing that exists potentially does not exist; but, the potential does exist that would signify that it can be still existential. According to Aristotle it was connected to motion. What if time was encompassed by the existence of a revolving matrix that was in constant motion? Could such a thing even exist and be the instrument that enables my time travelling? If time was conditioned to only our perception, then it would be futile. But if it had formed the true shape of reality, this would mean that it manifested, as an existing element of a universal force that had coincided with our concept of reality. The contrariety of that notion would be rendered dilogical.

From that day on, my episodes with time travelling were less in occasions. Had the time warp that had adhibit me to travel into time begun to be closed? It was driving me mad just thinking about the endless possibilities that were unimaginative and still unexplored. I would have one more memorable episode, and it would be exactly as Madame Garnier had told me before. This time, I found myself at her residence. When she had greeted me, she knew instinctively, why I had come to visit her. She had seen the wretched pallor that had converted my countenance into a spectral shade of a man. Immediately, I had confessed to her that I had come to give her my private journal for her to keep in secrecy. There was something in me that was compelling me to confide in her. I had no one else to share these engrossing experiences with. Nor could I explain to someone else the perplexity of the situation that had no reasonable solution. I left her and had returned to my home afterwards.

24 May, 1926

Professor Moreau had visited Duval. He had found him in a deplorable state of mind, laying on the floor. His mind had drifted into the timeless passage of no return. There was no one in the home, except the two of them. For brief moments, Duval was rational in his consciousness. When he tried to make him, react to his persistent questions, Duval could only pronounce what he had felt that he was slipping away, into the recesses of the obtenebration of his mind. The rest of his words was of complete incoherence that Profesor Moreau had failed to comprehend. What Duval had described to him was analogous to electrical shockwaves that were bursting, through the interstices of his brain. His memory had started to fade as well. The only thing that was constant in his thoughts was the realisation that he was gradually dying.

The following text that you shall read, is an excerpt from Professor's Moreau's journal.

Professor Duval had become too unstable and intractable to treat, with an intellectual discourse or prescribed medication. He was uttering that particles of the myriad of the thoughts of his brain had manifested consistently, within the fleeting passage of the flowing ripples of endless time, forming into the seamless shapes of his drear and forsaken isolation that were his apparent illusions. He was a prisoner of the metallic twirling circle of solid and oval despair that was dictated by the horrible clock in his corridor. He had plunged deeper into the chasm of a piercing madness engraved, as the haunting hands of the mechanical clock resounded a tick tock, tick, tock with such a sonorous sound clanging in his tormenting head then. He could hear the noise drowning him in a mosaic pit of eternal echoes.

He had uttered in a frantic desperation seen in his discomposed face, "I am trapped inside the sloping outer walls of my pain and the broad barriers of my condemnation. I can see the surreal images of events floating into space, as I observe the visible faces of the daunting future. My silent screams burst through the frame of the clock, shattering the old glass and the curved edges of the dented prison, like a full force of a sonic bang of such an exploding deafness, tumbling the cracked walls of my subconscious realm. I shout to the world the clamour of my liberation. I am free at last— but the world outside is nothing more than the hollow and hoary guises of doom professor. I am trapped in the illusions of time. I am not dreaming, for I am a part of a revolving matrix that has not yet been recognised. Whatever my fate be to my existence, I shall either be a memory or a life form. I tell you—I am free at last".

He kept on repeating the same phrase, "I am free at last!"

That was the last dramatic thing that he professed, before he had finally yielded to the hysteria of his excruciating death. He died with his eyes wide open and dilated. His pallid skin was blanched, with the debilitating effects of his terrible illness. I had never seen a man die in such a vivid manner of broken delusions. As a personal friend and compeer of his, I was deeply disturbed with his shocking outcome. I had felt a certain amount of guilt for not taking him to see his doctor sooner, to treat his probable brain tumour. I had alerted the police by phone. Before I had left the residence, I had noticed something queer that was an object that was lying next to him. I did not see this object at first, when he had died. The object was a newspaper that had dated the year 1945, with the headline of the end of World War II. In the lower right-hand corner was an article with a picture of a man, who was no other than Antoine Duval.

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