1.1: H.G. WELLS sits on a stool in his workshop focusing very hard on a piece of paper on a desk. He’s scribbling furiously. He’s talking to himself—like a mad inventor.
WELLS: It was all a fraud they said.
WELLS: Time travel.
1.2: Panning out a little further and we can see the MACHINE in the background—plugged into the wall. There’s a typewriter hooked up to the center console.
WELLS: But they didn’t expect it would be this easy.
SFX [over the typewriter]: Click clack.
1.3: The machine’s typewriter releases a ream of paper.
1.4: There’s a pile of paper on the floor. Display lettering for the years—unboxed lettering for the years.
WELLS [CAP]: You see, we’re all going to end up as fertilizer.
DISPLAY LETT: 1899.
DISPLAY LETT: 1940.
DISPLAY LETT: 2016.
1.5: Back to Wells’s empty writing desk and the pile of paper. Someone young and in his twenties stands over the papers. Say he’s red-haired and wearing a scarf that goes along with his winter coat. He looks a little like Wells, like he might be his great-great-grandson or something.
WELLS [CAP]: Eventually, we’ll be dirt in the ground.
CAP  But when people read our words they travel back to our time and into our futures.
CAP  Writing is time travelling.
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