No one could really pinpoint it; the feeling of Time running away. They tried as best they could to keep themselves twelve steps, seconds, minutes, hours, days ahead in an attempt to slow it down. As though filling Time up as much as they possibly could, would cause the hand to pause and look back on its journey. But Time would tell, the more you fill it with things the more it slips away.

Striking its definite hour, Time’s silent bell swam through towns swallowing the ears of adults and pushing trains along their journeys. As the devoted headed for mass, the masses headed for work, and the night workers clocked off returning home to the ghosts of bowls of cornflakes, their children running freely to school. Time poured into single persons’ flats pinging their microwave meals and tapping their shoulders and wombs as though it were made of bricks and mortar. Office dwellers watched it meticulously dragging at its heels at every opportunity, calling it to the office to give it its final warning.

By night, Time wandered the streets looking for a note or bottle to hold. But grubby palms and sweaty foreheads pushed it away to dance with substances and narcotics. Time had no place in the darkness, blamed for decay and wrinkles. For the most, people wanted to forget they were growing old. Except for once a year where Time was met with fireworks and banners.

Frustrated by city life, Time took a trip to the beach and expanded itself out against the shoreline melting with ice creams and their sprinkles and hiding under half trampled sandcastles; their creators splashing in the ocean. Still, the bathers and beach dwellers seemed uninterested in the story Time had to tell. So it sat, its face nestled into the sand, running its hands through each grain. Pealing its face upward and out toward Ocean, Time grumbled… “You. Win.”.

“anD WhaT DiD I Win”, the ocean sprayed back.

“You. Won. Their. A.tten.tion.”

“anD YOU no lONGer haVE IT?”

“How. Can. I? They. Are. Loo.king. At. You. Not. Me.”.

 “arE WE So diFFErenT?”

 “We. Are. Se.pa.rate. Things.”

A thick salty wind flew in from Ocean spinning Time’s hands off of its hinges. “CoMe”, Ocean instructed. Time rose, stumbling over stones and half-opened oysters, tough seaweed getting tangled in its numbers. Walking to the shoreline, it passed a boy licking a rock wondering if it tasted how it felt, a middle-aged floral bikinied woman with her sun hat dialed, a crab waiting for the sun to attack.

Dipping its numbers in first, a six soaking wet, the horizon rose and Time fell further in it. 0’s gulped the seawater, choking as its saltiness ran down the necks of 1’s and 7’s. Time panicked.

“I’m. Run.ning. Out. Of. My.self.” Time gurgled. A hot sour feeling filled its belly. Never had it thought about all of it being gone, some of it being lost or there not being enough of it to get home.

“caLM, You’ll bE Free sOON” the waves whispered, soothing Time as it turned into the tides. At first, it was afraid, but as it melted Time felt less sour bellied. As though this was how it was meant to be all along, passing by unnoticed.

In time,
Charlotte