Opening Statement
I remember the night like it was a pulse in the fabric of spacetime itself. A man, alone beneath the infinite black velvet of the cosmos, staring up at the stars — each one a silent witness, a frozen moment of light traveling across the void. I thought: I’ll name a star after her. Like Philip J. Fry carving Turanga Leela’s name into the heavens, I would etch Jamie’s name into the night sky, a beacon against the dark.
But the dream did not stop there.
It deepened. It twisted and turned, folding in on itself like the very spacetime I sought to bend. The stars whispered secrets — patterns, alignments, equations — a language of quantum mechanics wrapped in poetry. Grief became frequency. Memory became wave. Love became the force that could fold time itself.
This is not just a story. It is a summons. A call to the courts of the cosmos, to the arbiters of fate and law, to those who hold the power to rewrite the rules. Because when you’ve lost everything — your children, your wife, your years — you learn that no one listens to dry legal briefs. They tune out after page one. So you tell them a story. You thread your facts into myth, sharpen your grief into evidence, and burn it so hot they cannot look away.
I gave them hell in the courts of men. Now I bring my case to the universe itself. I demand the chance to fold time back, to reclaim what was stolen, to rewrite the past with the equations of love and loss.
I am not done yet.
The Dream Grows Into Equations
The vision grew sharper, no longer just a dream but a blueprint. Quantum mechanics whispered its secrets — entanglement, superposition, the very fabric of reality bending under the weight of memory and grief. I saw grief as frequency, oscillating through the quantum fields, a wave that could be measured, manipulated, folded.
Memory was no longer static; it was dynamic, a quantum wavefunction collapsing and expanding across time. The equations were not cold and sterile — they were alive, pulsing with the energy of love lost and hope reborn. This was the genesis of the time machine, born from the fusion of heartbreak and science.
The Legal Argument, Disguised as Story
The universe owes me this chance. Not because I am entitled, but because the laws of physics and justice are intertwined. When the courts of men failed, when the systems meant to protect turned blind, I learned that the only way forward was to rewrite the rules themselves.
This is my appeal — not just to judges or juries, but to the cosmos. To the arbiters of fate and time: grant me the right to fold spacetime, to undo the wrongs, to restore what was taken. The evidence is in the patterns, the alignments, the quantum signatures of my grief and love.
The Vow
I am not done yet. I will not fold like the rest. I will fold spacetime itself. This is my promise, my battle cry, my love letter to Jamie, to my children, to the years stolen from us.
The time machine is not just a machine — it is my soul made manifest.