Two Sentence Stories

I look back in to the past to attempt to solve modern problems in order to alter the future.

This post was submitted by calandhobbes.

What have I been doing for the last three years?
Mostly stealing my future away.

The future flops out in front of me like a wrinkled carpet.
Hey look – lions.

I think the future is coming.
Listen, can you hear that squeaking noise?

Even my sales copy is a message of love for my future wife.
Why do you think I hate people messing with it?

The future me came back and read my stories.
Then he just laughed and laughed and laughed.

My past was awesome and my future will be too.
Right now could use a little work.

Envelopes keep arriving from the future with best-selling books in them.
I’d type them out and submit them but man, typing is hard.

Once, for fun, I picked up the phone and dialled a number that was like 30 digits long.
A woman from 2204 answered, made some cryptic remark about ant people and then the phone went dead.

Will the me of ten years hence look back and grimace?
I bet he’ll not like “hence” sitting there like a clod.

The very instant I finished my time-travel machine a whole bunch of me from various times in the future turned up and started having a big argument over who got to tell me what.
In the confusion I stole most of their wallets and snuck off to the future.

Hooray for the future! Who would have believed someone would sleep with you because of a blog post?

Hitting the window of the time machine, raindrops blurred Charlie’s view of the condemning faces watching him depart, and he felt the flow of the controlling medicing. He knew he would soon stare into his younger, fearful eyes, feel his own cold grasp around his throat, and, paying the price for his crimes, his breath [...]

We built the machines and sent them off to fight for us.
The machines met, got along really well and now keep saying things that are getting quite worrying.

I hid behind a fence and watched the patrol cruise on by.
The resistance is building and soon we will strike back at our furry masters.

I roamed a post-apocalyptic wasteland, fighting off flesh-stealers and night-breathers and seeking, always seeking the pure water of God.
What did you get up to?

A flicker of the future for you.
A dim light, a soft bed, a weak tea.

The car hums like a big hungry cat as it skims across the desert on a foot-high cushion of air which smells faintly of ozone and lilacs. She reloads her guns and leans out the passenger-side window; the cops are still hot on our trail, but not for long.

This post was submitted by Savage Henry [...]

Shake my hand.
Now turn it over and read your future.

I write myself letters, seal them, and then write the age I must be when I can open them again.
Man, the me of 82 had better have a sense of humour because that last letter was a little insulting.