Time – Part 1


The golden, analogue clock, perched subtly in the corner of the time master’s workshop, with the intention of no one seeing it, spun for the first time in one hundred years. The time master wiped the oil off his hands, propped up his wired glasses, and stared in amazement at the grandfather clock, now proudly singing along to midnight.

The girl’s Victorian gown swept up the dust on the wooden floor as she rushed into the workshop. She moved swiftly; her thoughts  so consumed that she forgot to unlock the door. The time master rolled his eyes at the thump that soiled the clock’s chime. “You’re late,” he told his apprentice.

She flicked the sweat off her brow. “This was never supposed to happen.” Her defenses were up and ready for the forthcoming attack on her character.

“I still work because this could happen. I never took you for one who didn’t believe.” The grandfather pulled open the raggedy door. He flipped the iron switches, spun open the curtains around the electrifying platform, and waited.

“It’s a fluke,” the apprentice insisted. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

“Mora.” The time master lifted his aging hands into the air. “They’re coming.”

Amazement and fear meshed together, creating an unknown emotion of something one never experienced before.

They were coming.

An illusion of lightening surfaced. The champagne glasses spilled, the clocks bumbled, and the copper pipes surged with energy that hadn’t been witnessed in one hundred years. The platform, vacant silver that once collected blood and excitement and love, was full once more, contaminated for the first time in one hundred years.

The five men and women were not the same as they were the last time they breathed in the dusty workshop. They didn’t hold themselves the same way they did all those years ago when they last graced the aging platform. Physically, they were frozen in time with the gifts of the universe. Mentally, it’d been nearly one hundred years.

Blood lingered over the redhead’s darkened fingers. He clapped his hands and broke into an enthusiastic beam of relief. “We saved the world, welcome.”

Mora rocked on her heels. He looked exactly how her mother described: tall, handsome with a darkened air and mischievous genes, standing with misguided confidence. But most of all, he looked just like her father. She was fascinated by the way genetics popped up every once in awhile, how doppelgangers flourished. She’d admired that face for years. She’d worshiped a pair of arms similar to his that used to tuck her in every night. Her throat clogged and she willed herself to not lose herself in the memories.

The redhead hopped off the platform with a grace learned long ago, acquired from interacting with  fascinating, historical figures. He lifted the Victorian styled hat off his head and gave Mora a slight bow. “Have we met?”

The time master knew better than to interrupt this upcoming conversation. He scrambled the rest of the time travelers off the platform before something wrong occurred. He willed them to follow him to the tea room, where he would hear the stories he dreamt of imagining since he was a little boy, not much younger than Mora, who first learned of his family’s peculiar legacy.

The time travelers brushed off the time master’s pleading. They were not leaving a valued member of their intimate team behind to battle whatever the universe decided he would soon encounter, alone.

Mora admired the ticking alarm clock from afar. She wished her father was here to see this, to experience what she once believed was nothing more than a tall tale grown from a stormy day in the attic. “We haven’t met before,” she cautiously explained, pulling in her arms. “But I know you.”

“What a fascinating mystery,” one of the women on the team replied.

Mora ignored the sarcasm. “My father.” She sucked in as much air as her tiny lungs allowed. “My father was your son.”

The woman spitted out words. “He doesn’t have a son.”






The Park

pexels-photoThe boy darts around the park. At the moment he’s a superhero protecting London. Soon he’ll be a doctor like his aunt. He kicks up leaves as his stubby legs attempt to run.

He’s adorable, Ella thinks, and most importantly he exists. They all exist.

The park is crowded, yet Ella and her son have an empty field to run in. She glides along beside her son, waiting for him to smack clumsily into the leaves. To her surprise, his unusually proportioned body keeps him upright.

The weather is just right. It’s not hot enough to apply sunscreen and all she needs to wear is a light sweater to keep comfortable. Her blackberry is back in the car and she feels liberated from the buzzing she knew would never stop. Work could wait. The rest of her non-important life would be put on hold for this day, in this park, where all the dogs enjoyed to be pet.

“Mommy,” his tiny voice sequels. Dimples erupt, and Ella whips him into her arms, showering kisses. He giggles and basks in the attention.

Her son and his beautiful smile let Ella know anything she ever doubted was absolutely incorrect. This unconditional love could not be replicated or released. Her whole world had shifted, both slowly and as imminent and immediate as the big bang. But she wasn’t just coping, she was thriving.

“Luv ou,” he whispers in her ear as if it’s the best thing he could ever say, and it is.

Once upon a time she had rejected life. Swore it off and claimed it wasn’t her. The decision to be a mother wasn’t right for everyone, but it was right for her. After all the pain and sorrow she had seen, surrendering herself to uninterrupted joy was the way to live.

“I love you too,” Ella replies. The three words come off her tongue easily now, naturally.

And so with her son ruining his new white shift, they continue blissfully into the next stages of life.