The Strings of Time

There is nothing I can do. I can only watch him drown.


1. The Reality of Time


I watch him drown.

I don't try to help him, I don't try to save him.

The water drags him down, down, down.

He struggles and tries to fight against it, but it's more than just water, it's a force of nature.

I stand among the shadows of a weathered-down bridge, a phantom of what it once was, watching him.

The man trashes and swings his arms in the water, trying to stay afloat. It's no use. It's a mesmerising thing, to watch someone die; a thin line between reality and illusion, of what is there and what isn't. This is more than the death that he deserves, water is meant to cleanse whilst fire is meant to destroy.

I have observed him and I have waited - waited for the right moment to strike.

I am like a star, you see me now but in reality I am a thousand light years away.

I don't belong here. I don't belong now. 

They will never find me; tomorrow I will not exist, I would've been plunked from space and time and return to the only now that I belong in. It's a rather unpleasant experience. The past, the present and the future all wound up together into the uncanny strings of time. Time slows down as everything around you unwinds; a wave of blurred vision and time, an infinite measure of time. The strings of the grand instrument pausing to take a break, to switch a note, that is my chance, my chance to change the note before it is played. 

I watch him drown.

I don't try to help him, I don't try to save him because I know that in the future he will be responsible for the death of millions.

Instead, I watch him vanish into the unknown deepness, the water engulfs him, swallowing him like the black hole that it is. At first there is only chaos and then there is nothing, only eternal silence, as it was always suppose to be. 

The mist hangs lowly over the murky water, giving it an eerie glow. It's the type of mist that turns the sharp silhouettes of pine trees into ghostly figures and the flutter of leaves into haunting echos. I glance at the still water one last time before I turn away and walk into the mist of dark descent.

My work is done.

It is not death, only a promise.






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