Science Fiction Stories

Written by Anakin McFly

February 1950
Hill Valley, California

12-year-old George McFly sat in a corner of Lou's Café, slowly twirling his pencil in his right hand as he stared down at the topmost of the sheets of paper before him, his mind searching for a way to write the next sentence of his newest science fiction story. Every now and then, he would glance nervously up to survey he other occupants of the café, surreptitiously hiding the words on his paper with his hand if any were to come too close.

Few did, however, and George soon lowered his guard. That was one of the main reasons why he chose to write in the café in the first place. There, at least, he would not be disturbed, and Lou Caruthers didn't mind the boy as long as he ordered something. Whereas at home, his stories had too often suffered the fate of the dustbin; torn up and chucked there by his angry father. Arthur McFly had no patience for his son's writing aspirations. All he wanted was for George to get a good education that would in turn secure him a good job in future... and in his opinion, writing was a total waste of time. It didn't help matters much either that George Douglas McFly happened to be his only child.

But nothing his father said could ever stop the boy from dreaming. At night, in class, during any spare time he had, George dreamt: dreamt of far off planets waiting to be discovered, dreamt of aliens, dreamt of mysterious beings that existed only in his imagination. And his imagination was by no means limited.

It was not long before his teachers and classmates began to notice times when he would be staring ahead at nothing in particular, his eyes glazed over and his mind clearly somewhere else. It was this that earned him the title of 'slacker' – one that would follow him all the way to high school. And it was this that made him a favourite target of the local school bullies, Biff Buford Tannen and his gang.

So many were the times when they had beat him up and tortured him over anything and everything, always with jeering looks on their faces as they laughed, delighting in his whimpers of agony and pain. George was at their mercy. Whatever they wanted, he did for them, and in the end it was always him who got into trouble instead as a result.

He did not dare tell anyone. He knew his father would only make it worse, for Arthur had been telling him ever since he could remember that if he did not stand up for himself, people would take advantage of him. As for his mother, her first reaction would probably be to march straight to the principal's office and tell him that her son was being bullied in school. George definitely did not want that to happen. He could imagine all too well Biff's reaction if he were to tell his mother about it... and the principal, Mr. Coleridge, didn't exactly like him either, such was his reputation for slacking in class.

Somehow, George managed to get by, attributing his bruises to miscellaneous accidents whenever his mother asked about them. He dreaded school, he dreaded coming home. Everyday, the only moment he looked forward to was that period of time between the end of school and the time he was expected home, the period of time he would spend in Lou's Café taking refuge in his writing. It was his only escape. It was the only time he could feel anywhere near happy, forgetting for a moment the harsh reality of live as he immersed himself in his stories. There, for once at least, he was in control.

Of course, that didn't mean that he was any safer from his troubles. The café was a public place, open to all of Hill Valley, and anyone could come in...

George yelped as his papers were suddenly yanked away from under his nose.

"Hey McFly, what're you writing?"

...including Biff.

"Give that back!" George cried, reaching out futilely to try and grab his story back.

"Oh yeah? And what if I don't? What're you gonna do, run and tell your mummy?"

Biff's three friends sniggered, surrounding George so that he could not escape.

"What's this?" Biff continued, smirking as he turned the paper the right way round to read.

George unsuccessfully tried to get out of the human barrier the three boys had created around him. "Don't!"

"'They know where we are,'" Biff read off the first sheet, a mocking grin on his face. "'It's only a matter of time before the aliens come and get us. Perhaps that's why some of us left for Earth and set up lives there, away from all this. They know they're safe there, safer than us here in space. But when an attack comes... there'll be no escape.'"

Biff snorted derisively. "Aliens, McFly? And I suppose you're going to be the hero and save us all? 'When an attack comes'?"

His friends chortled.

"Give that back!" George repeated, his face considerably redder than before.

Biff Tannen waved the story in the air. "You want this, McFly? This trash?" A sly grin crept across the boy's face. "Let him go, Match. If he wants it... he can come and get it."

With that, Biff turned and dashed out the door with the papers, as George stumbled away from the table after him.

"Give it back, Biff!"

"Why should I? You didn't say 'please'."

"Please!"

Biff stopped running, turning to watch as George approached him, panting away. He grinned. He had power. He liked power. "You really want this?" he called out. "If you do..." Crushing the papers up into a ball, Biff threw it as far as he could into the Hill Valley pond. "...go get it!"

George's face fell. He had four whole chapters in there... a whole week's work...

Suddenly, without knowing what he was doing or why, George leapt into the pond after his precious writing. Biff stared after him with an almost amused look. "What d'you think you're doing, McFly? You can't even swim!"

George didn't care. Thrashing his arms and kicking wildly, he somehow managed to stay afloat. In the several times he did go under, he pushed off the bottom of the pond and surfaced again, gasping for air as he emerged. He could see the ball of paper sinking slowly down just out of his reach. Blinded slightly by the water in his eyes, George lunged and grabbed out at the ball, only to push it slightly further away instead. He fell under the surface again, swallowing an unpleasant mouthful of pond water as he did so.

Up on shore, Biff shook his head and walked away, muttering something and looking very pleased with himself.

A crowd had begun to gather around the pone, and a man ran up to Biff.

"What happened?"

Biff shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. The stupid kid just jumped in there."

George almost had it. He lunged out another time and finally secured the ball of paper within his grasp. Now the problem was... how was he supposed to get out of there? His legs were exhausted from kicking so much; but just as he felt that he could not go on, strong arms lifted him up and brought him safely to shore.

"Hey kid, you all right?"

George nodded a weary reply as he coughed up more water, his rescued story held tightly to his chest. A voice suddenly called out.

He saw his mother push her way through the crowd to him. "George! What... Oh my goodness! Are you all right? What happened?"

"He fell in the pond," George's rescuer replied. "He'll be fine."

"Oh, George..."

"I'm fine, Mom," the boy said nervously, all too aware of the people around him.

Sylvia McFly shook her head and sighed. "Wait till your father hears about this." Her eyes narrowed. "What's that you're holding?"

"Homework," George lied.

"Oh."

#

All three sheets of paper had been soaked through, but most of the handwriting on it was still legible. George's mother had told him to rest until his father got back; the latter would be late home from work that day. George was definitely not going to waste all that time sleeping. Getting out fresh sheets of paper, he proceeded to painstakingly copy his story out before throwing away the wet copy and stashing the new one into his locked drawer.

Climbing finally into bed, he stared up at the ceiling and at the patterns the sunlight was making on it.

And George dreamt. Dreamt of far off planets waiting to be discovered, dreamt of aliens, dreamt of mysterious beings that existed only in his imagination. One day, maybe, he would be famous. He was going to write. He was going to write his stories and show the world just what he could do. No more would he be the victim to Biff or anyone else. One day they would see who he, George McFly, could be. He was going to write his stories and no one could stop him. He was going to write his science fiction stories.

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