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littlewickedthings · 7 months
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ELOI
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89n · 1 year
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skippylynn · 25 days
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Eloi
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ghostiezone · 8 months
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*hands you character designs for a 120 year old story* i just needed to get these out of my brain
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kekwcomics · 2 years
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THE TIME MACHINE (1960)
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chronivore · 2 years
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The Time Machine
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St. Eloi Church in Dunkerque, French Flanders region of northern France
French vintage postcard
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The Time Machine by H.G. Wells
Chapter 10
When Night Came
“Now, indeed, I seemed in a worse case than before. Hitherto, except
during my night’s anguish at the loss of the Time Machine, I had felt a sustaining hope of ultimate escape, but that hope was staggered by these new discoveries. Hitherto I had merely thought myself impeded by the childish simplicity of the little people, and by some unknown forces which I had only to understand to overcome; but there was an altogether new element in the sickening quality of the Morlocks—a something inhuman and malign.
Instinctively I loathed them. Before, I
had felt as a man might feel who had fallen into a pit: my concern was
with the pit and how to get out of it. Now I felt like a beast in a
trap, whose enemy would come upon him soon.
“The enemy I dreaded may surprise you. It was the darkness of the new
moon. Weena had put this into my head by some at first incomprehensible
remarks about the Dark Nights. It was not now such a very difficult
problem to guess what the coming Dark Nights might mean. The moon was
on the wane: each night there was a longer interval of darkness. And I
now understood to some slight degree at least the reason of the fear of
the little Upperworld people for the dark. I wondered vaguely what foul
villainy it might be that the Morlocks did under the new moon. I felt
pretty sure now that my second hypothesis was all wrong. The Upperworld
people might once have been the favoured aristocracy, and the Morlocks
their mechanical servants: but that had long since passed away. The two
species that had resulted from the evolution of man were sliding down
towards, or had already arrived at, an altogether new relationship. The
Eloi, like the Carlovignan kings, had decayed to a mere beautiful
futility. They still possessed the earth on sufferance: since the
Morlocks, subterranean for innumerable generations, had come at last to
find the daylit surface intolerable. And the Morlocks made their
garments, I inferred, and maintained them in their habitual needs,
perhaps through the survival of an old habit of service. They did it as
a standing horse paws with his foot, or as a man enjoys killing animals
in sport: because ancient and departed necessities had impressed it on
the organism. But, clearly, the old order was already in part reversed.
The Nemesis of the delicate ones was creeping on apace. Ages ago,
thousands of generations ago, man had thrust his brother man out of the
ease and the sunshine. And now that brother was coming back—changed!
Already the Eloi had begun to learn one old lesson anew. They were
becoming reacquainted with Fear. And suddenly there came into my head
the memory of the meat I had seen in the Underworld. It seemed odd how
it floated into my mind: not stirred up as it were by the current of my
meditations, but coming in almost like a question from outside. I tried
to recall the form of it. I had a vague sense of something familiar,
but I could not tell what it was at the time.
“Still, however helpless the little people in the presence of their
mysterious Fear, I was differently constituted. I came out of this age
of ours, this ripe prime of the human race, when Fear does not paralyse
and mystery has lost its terrors. I at least would defend myself.
Without further delay I determined to make myself arms and a fastness
where I might sleep. With that refuge as a base, I could face this
strange world with some of that confidence I had lost in realising to
what creatures night by night I lay exposed. I felt I could never sleep
again until my bed was secure from them. I shuddered with horror to
think how they must already have examined me.
“I wandered during the afternoon along the valley of the Thames, but
found nothing that commended itself to my mind as inaccessible. All the
buildings and trees seemed easily practicable to such dexterous
climbers as the Morlocks, to judge by their wells, must be. Then the
tall pinnacles of the Palace of Green Porcelain and the polished gleam
of its walls came back to my memory; and in the evening, taking Weena
like a child upon my shoulder, I went up the hills towards the
south-west. The distance, I had reckoned, was seven or eight miles, but
it must have been nearer eighteen. I had first seen the place on a
moist afternoon when distances are deceptively diminished. In addition,
the heel of one of my shoes was loose, and a nail was working through
the sole—they were comfortable old shoes I wore about indoors—so that I
was lame. And it was already long past sunset when I came in sight of
the palace, silhouetted black against the pale yellow of the sky.
The Time Traveller paused, put his hand into his pocket, and silently placed two withered flowers, not unlike very large white mallows, upon the little table. Then he resumed his narrative.
“Weena had been hugely delighted when I began to carry her, but after a
while she desired me to let her down, and ran along by the side of me,
occasionally darting off on either hand to pick flowers to stick in my
pockets. My pockets had always puzzled Weena, but at the last she had
concluded that they were an eccentric kind of vases for floral
decoration. At least she utilised them for that purpose. And that
reminds me! In changing my jacket I found…”
“As the hush of evening crept over the world and we proceeded over the
hill crest towards Wimbledon, Weena grew tired and wanted to return to
the house of grey stone. But I pointed out the distant pinnacles of the
Palace of Green Porcelain to her, and contrived to make her understand
that we were seeking a refuge there from her Fear. You know that great
pause that comes upon things before the dusk? Even the breeze stops in
the trees. To me there is always an air of expectation about that
evening stillness. The sky was clear, remote, and empty save for a few
horizontal bars far down in the sunset. Well, that night the
expectation took the colour of my fears. In that darkling calm my
senses seemed preternaturally sharpened. I fancied I could even feel
the hollowness of the ground beneath my feet: could, indeed, almost see
through it the Morlocks on their ant-hill going hither and thither and
waiting for the dark. In my excitement I fancied that they would
receive my invasion of their burrows as a declaration of war. And why
had they taken my Time Machine?
“So we went on in the quiet, and the twilight deepened into night. The
clear blue of the distance faded, and one star after another came out.
The ground grew dim and the trees black. Weena’s fears and her fatigue
grew upon her. I took her in my arms and talked to her and caressed
her. Then, as the darkness grew deeper, she put her arms round my neck,
and, closing her eyes, tightly pressed her face against my shoulder. So
we went down a long slope into a valley, and there in the dimness I
almost walked into a little river. This I waded, and went up the
opposite side of the valley, past a number of sleeping houses, and by a
statue—a Faun, or some such figure, minus the head. Here too were
acacias. So far I had seen nothing of the Morlocks, but it was yet
early in the night, and the darker hours before the old moon rose were
still to come.
“From the brow of the next hill I saw a thick wood spreading wide and
black before me. I hesitated at this. I could see no end to it, either
to the right or the left. Feeling tired—my feet, in particular, were
very sore—I carefully lowered Weena from my shoulder as I halted, and
sat down upon the turf. I could no longer see the Palace of Green
Porcelain, and I was in doubt of my direction. I looked into the
thickness of the wood and thought of what it might hide. Under that
dense tangle of branches one would be out of sight of the stars. Even
were there no other lurking danger—a danger I did not care to let my
imagination loose upon—there would still be all the roots to stumble
over and the tree-boles to strike against. I was very tired, too, after
the excitements of the day; so I decided that I would not face it, but
would pass the night upon the open hill.
“Weena, I was glad to find, was fast asleep. I carefully wrapped her in
my jacket, and sat down beside her to wait for the moonrise. The
hillside was quiet and deserted, but from the black of the wood there
came now and then a stir of living things. Above me shone the stars,
for the night was very clear. I felt a certain sense of friendly
comfort in their twinkling. All the old constellations had gone from
the sky, however: that slow movement which is imperceptible in a
hundred human lifetimes, had long since rearranged them in unfamiliar
groupings. But the Milky Way, it seemed to me, was still the same
tattered streamer of star-dust as of yore. Southward (as I judged it)
was a very bright red star that was new to me; it was even more
splendid than our own green Sirius. And amid all these scintillating
points of light one bright planet shone kindly and steadily like the
face of an old friend.
“Looking at these stars suddenly dwarfed my own troubles and all the
gravities of terrestrial life. I thought of their unfathomable
distance, and the slow inevitable drift of their movements out of the
unknown past into the unknown future. I thought of the great
precessional cycle that the pole of the earth describes. Only forty
times had that silent revolution occurred during all the years that I
had traversed. And during these few revolutions all the activity, all
the traditions, the complex organisations, the nations, languages,
literatures, aspirations, even the mere memory of Man as I knew him,
had been swept out of existence. Instead were these frail creatures who
had forgotten their high ancestry, and the white Things of which I went
in terror. Then I thought of the Great Fear that was between the two
species, and for the first time, with a sudden shiver, came the clear
knowledge of what the meat I had seen might be. Yet it was too
horrible! I looked at little Weena sleeping beside me, her face white
and starlike under the stars, and forthwith dismissed the thought.
“Through that long night I held my mind off the Morlocks as well as I
could, and whiled away the time by trying to fancy I could find signs
of the old constellations in the new confusion. The sky kept very
clear, except for a hazy cloud or so. No doubt I dozed at times. Then,
as my vigil wore on, came a faintness in the eastward sky, like the
reflection of some colourless fire, and the old moon rose, thin and
peaked and white. And close behind, and overtaking it, and overflowing
it, the dawn came, pale at first, and then growing pink and warm. No
Morlocks had approached us. Indeed, I had seen none upon the hill that
night. And in the confidence of renewed day it almost seemed to me that
my fear had been unreasonable. I stood up and found my foot with the
loose heel swollen at the ankle and painful under the heel; so I sat
down again, took off my shoes, and flung them away.
“I awakened Weena, and we went down into the wood, now green and
pleasant instead of black and forbidding. We found some fruit wherewith
to break our fast. We soon met others of the dainty ones, laughing and
dancing in the sunlight as though there was no such thing in nature as
the night. And then I thought once more of the meat that I had seen. I
felt assured now of what it was, and from the bottom of my heart I
pitied this last feeble rill from the great flood of humanity. Clearly,
at some time in the Long-Ago of human decay the Morlocks’ food had run
short. Possibly they had lived on rats and such-like vermin. Even now
man is far less discriminating and exclusive in his food than he
was—far less than any monkey. His prejudice against human flesh is no
deep-seated instinct. And so these inhuman sons of men——! I tried to
look at the thing in a scientific spirit. After all, they were less
human and more remote than our cannibal ancestors of three or four
thousand years ago. And the intelligence that would have made this
state of things a torment had gone. Why should I trouble myself? These
Eloi were mere fatted cattle, which the ant-like Morlocks preserved and
preyed upon—probably saw to the breeding of. And there was Weena
dancing at my side!
“Then I tried to preserve myself from the horror that was coming upon
me, by regarding it as a rigorous punishment of human selfishness. Man
had been content to live in ease and delight upon the labours of his
fellow-man, had taken Necessity as his watchword and excuse, and in the
fullness of time Necessity had come home to him. I even tried a
Carlyle-like scorn of this wretched aristocracy in decay. But this
attitude of mind was impossible. However great their intellectual
degradation, the Eloi had kept too much of the human form not to claim
my sympathy, and to make me perforce a sharer in their degradation and
their Fear.
“I had at that time very vague ideas as to the course I should pursue.
My first was to secure some safe place of refuge, and to make myself
such arms of metal or stone as I could contrive. That necessity was
immediate. In the next place, I hoped to procure some means of fire, so
that I should have the weapon of a torch at hand, for nothing, I knew,
would be more efficient against these Morlocks. Then I wanted to
arrange some contrivance to break open the doors of bronze under the
White Sphinx. I had in mind a battering ram. I had a persuasion that if
I could enter those doors and carry a blaze of light before me I should
discover the Time Machine and escape. I could not imagine the Morlocks
were strong enough to move it far away. Weena I had resolved to bring
with me to our own time. And turning such schemes over in my mind I
pursued our way towards the building which my fancy had chosen as our
dwelling.
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tenth-sentence · 7 months
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'(...) It was plain that they had left her poor little body in the forest. (...)'
"The Time Machine" - H. G. Wells
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witxhykaite · 2 years
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zonewaylee · 1 year
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ART POST (#1)
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REPOST FOR FORMATTING. I PAINTED THIS FOR ELOI. IT WAS HIS BIRTHDAY AND HE TURNED 20. THIS WAS A SCREENSHOT OF STUDIO GHIBLI’S NAUSICAÄ THAT I SAVED TO MY PHONE AROUND THANKSGIVING. I HAD LIKE 3 OTHER SCREENSHOTS BUT THIS WAS MY FAVORITE. I’M PROUD OF THIS PAINTING. IT IS ACRYLIC. IT TOOK ME 4 HOURS.
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littlewickedthings · 7 months
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ELOI
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my-brodie999-fan · 2 days
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blueheartbooks · 2 months
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Unraveling the Fabric of Time: A Journey through H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention"
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H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention" catapults readers into the fascinating realm of speculative fiction, offering a gripping narrative that transcends the boundaries of time and imagination. Originally published in 1895, this novella has solidified its place as a classic work of science fiction, exploring profound themes and propelling readers through the cosmic corridors of time.
At its core, "The Time Machine" is a tale of scientific curiosity and its consequences. The protagonist, known simply as the Time Traveller, constructs a machine that enables him to traverse the temporal landscape. His first-person narrative unfolds as a dinner party yarn, where he recounts his astonishing adventures to a group of skeptical friends. Wells masterfully employs the frame narrative, immersing readers in the suspense of the Time Traveller's extraordinary tale.
One of the novella's strengths lies in its imaginative world-building. Wells introduces the reader to the distant future, a world divided into two distinct races—the Eloi and the Morlocks. The Eloi, frail and childlike, inhabit a utopian surface world, while the subterranean Morlocks, eerie and industrious, lurk in the shadows. This stark dichotomy serves as a social commentary on class division and the potential consequences of unchecked technological progress. The novella acts as a cautionary tale, urging readers to contemplate the long-term implications of societal choices.
Wells' writing style is both engaging and thought-provoking. The vivid descriptions of the futuristic landscapes and the Time Traveller's encounters with strange beings evoke a sense of wonder and curiosity. The author skillfully weaves scientific concepts into the narrative, challenging readers to grapple with complex ideas surrounding time, relativity, and the consequences of scientific advancement.
Beyond its scientific and social commentary, "The Time Machine" delves into the existential and philosophical dimensions of time travel. The Time Traveller's experiences prompt profound reflections on the nature of existence, mortality, and the inexorable march of time. Wells invites readers to contemplate the fragility of human civilization and the transient nature of life itself.
The novella's enduring appeal lies in its ability to resonate with readers across generations. Its exploration of time as a narrative device and its examination of societal structures and human nature continue to captivate audiences. Wells' legacy as a pioneer of science fiction is cemented by "The Time Machine," a timeless work that invites readers to contemplate the mysteries of the universe and the consequences of tampering with the fabric of time.
In conclusion, "The Time Machine: An Invention" is a literary gem that transcends the boundaries of its era, offering a timeless exploration of scientific, social, and existential themes. H.G. Wells' narrative prowess and imaginative vision make this novella an essential read for those eager to embark on a thought-provoking journey through the corridors of time.
H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention" is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.
Number of pages: 129
Language: English
Rating: 8/10                                           
Link of the book!
Review By: King's Cat
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blueheartbookclub · 2 months
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Unraveling the Fabric of Time: A Journey through H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention"
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H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention" catapults readers into the fascinating realm of speculative fiction, offering a gripping narrative that transcends the boundaries of time and imagination. Originally published in 1895, this novella has solidified its place as a classic work of science fiction, exploring profound themes and propelling readers through the cosmic corridors of time.
At its core, "The Time Machine" is a tale of scientific curiosity and its consequences. The protagonist, known simply as the Time Traveller, constructs a machine that enables him to traverse the temporal landscape. His first-person narrative unfolds as a dinner party yarn, where he recounts his astonishing adventures to a group of skeptical friends. Wells masterfully employs the frame narrative, immersing readers in the suspense of the Time Traveller's extraordinary tale.
One of the novella's strengths lies in its imaginative world-building. Wells introduces the reader to the distant future, a world divided into two distinct races—the Eloi and the Morlocks. The Eloi, frail and childlike, inhabit a utopian surface world, while the subterranean Morlocks, eerie and industrious, lurk in the shadows. This stark dichotomy serves as a social commentary on class division and the potential consequences of unchecked technological progress. The novella acts as a cautionary tale, urging readers to contemplate the long-term implications of societal choices.
Wells' writing style is both engaging and thought-provoking. The vivid descriptions of the futuristic landscapes and the Time Traveller's encounters with strange beings evoke a sense of wonder and curiosity. The author skillfully weaves scientific concepts into the narrative, challenging readers to grapple with complex ideas surrounding time, relativity, and the consequences of scientific advancement.
Beyond its scientific and social commentary, "The Time Machine" delves into the existential and philosophical dimensions of time travel. The Time Traveller's experiences prompt profound reflections on the nature of existence, mortality, and the inexorable march of time. Wells invites readers to contemplate the fragility of human civilization and the transient nature of life itself.
The novella's enduring appeal lies in its ability to resonate with readers across generations. Its exploration of time as a narrative device and its examination of societal structures and human nature continue to captivate audiences. Wells' legacy as a pioneer of science fiction is cemented by "The Time Machine," a timeless work that invites readers to contemplate the mysteries of the universe and the consequences of tampering with the fabric of time.
In conclusion, "The Time Machine: An Invention" is a literary gem that transcends the boundaries of its era, offering a timeless exploration of scientific, social, and existential themes. H.G. Wells' narrative prowess and imaginative vision make this novella an essential read for those eager to embark on a thought-provoking journey through the corridors of time.
H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention" is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.
Number of pages: 129
Language: English
Rating: 8/10                                           
Link of the book!
Review By: King's Cat
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chronivore · 2 years
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Illustrations for H.G. Wells’ Time Machine By Florian Bertmer
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