Student Work


by Zoe Rogan / Jul 20, 2011

Part of the Time Traveler Disaster Aversion: Your Personal Journey to Save Science and the World Series.

Mission #5: Osbourne Dorsey

“Not again!” screeched Osbourn Dorsey as he sat down at his desk. He had accidentally locked himself in his room–again.

“Uhh! I just hate those tricky door handles! I ought to invent a doorknob of some sort…” he said.

Suddenly, Dorsey’s door creaked open. Dorsey stared out, shrugged his shoulders, strolled out of the tiny room and forgot everything about the doorknob.

But, in his surprise, he didn’t notice a particularly large white glove that was far too nice to be from 1878 (the present time) lying next to the wooden door.

. . .

“BYE ,MOM!” Charlotte screamed as her mom left for work.

Charlotte groggily stepped out of her bed into the 2011 air, which smelled like burnt toast. She ran her fingers through her almond brown hair. And reached for her glimmering doorknob.

But before Charlotte could open her door, the knob disappeared before her two green eyes.

“WHAT THE HECK!?” Charlotte screamed. “Where’s my door…”

Charlotte attempted to say “knob,” but just couldn’t.

Since she was very confused, Charlotte began to panic instead of calmly thinking of a solution. She was trapped. She banged on the cream colored walls, wiped knickknacks off her pink desk, tore books off her shelf, and crawled under her pink quilt.

After calming down, Charlotte casually climbed out the window, scolding herself for FLIPPING OUT.

Charlotte then saw something. Not just any something, like a rock, leaf, twig, or insect.

She saw a tiny person, about as tall as her pinky, who was bald and who was wearing metal attire.

“Mrs. Johanson! DOWN HERE!” he squeaked.

Charlotte bent down. “Hi,” she said while thinking, it’s just a tiny man who knows my name, totally normal.

“Mrs. Johanson, I’m sending you on a mission,” said the tiny man. “You will save all door… knobs.”

So he was having trouble saying doorknobs too! “How can I help you, tiny man?” she questioned.

“You can call me Mr.,” he replied. “You will save all door… knobs by going back in time.”

“Alright, Mr.,” Charlotte said uneasily. “When do I begin?”

“Now!” Mr. yelled excitedly. “Just say ‘when’ when you have to come home.”

And just like that, Charlotte landed in 1878.

She appeared in a tiny bedroom, where an African-American man was quietly sleeping. He looked happy, and certainly NOT like the inventor of doorknobs.

But, she figured he probably was the inventor of the doorknob, so she decided to wake him up.

Hello? He-llo, Mr. Door…knob guy!”

Eventually, Dorsey awoke.

. . .

“OH. MY. DEAR. LORD.” Was all Dorsey could say after letting out a blood-curdling scream.

“Have, uh… you invented the door… knob yet?” Charlotte asked.

“Get out! And no! I only thought about inventing the doorknob!” he yelled.

“Well, I think you…” Charlotte began, but couldn’t finish before being pushed out of the room by a drowsy Dorsey.

Great. Now the door… knob guy hates me, Charlotte thought angrily.

Just then, Charlotte heard heavy breathing. Mr. was behind her, panting.

“Sorry,” he said. “Teleportation isn’t very accurate. I teleported you far too late in the past, and I teleported myself,” He stopped to catch his breath, “Downstairs. I don’t do stairs very well.” Once he finished talking, he and Charlotte both disappeared.

Charlotte appeared outside Dorsey’s room and she could hear him muttering about a doorknob idea. Suddenly, a black shadow with two white gloves appeared. It tried to open the door, but Charlotte had the urge to keep it closed. She pushed the door closed and kept it that way. The gloved shadow disappeared and Charlotte heard Dorsey coming up with ideas for the doorknob.

“When!” she yelled, and was teleported back home.

. . .

“Great job!,” Mr. said, obviously overjoyed. Charlotte was in her room with Mr., waiting for her doorknob to return. After a few minutes, her shiny, prettier than ever doorknob appeared.

Mr. smiled at her, said goodbye, and vanished.

“Bye, Mr.!” Charlotte said while thinking, was he wearing white gloves?….