Illustration S18

My Chosen Text:

A Short Story by Chris Eicher

A Timely Death

This ability had changed everything for me, and not in a good way. I loved it at first. Eat, drink, and sleep whenever you want, with no consequences? Never worry again about being late to anything? Figure out how to solve a problem *while* that problem is happening? I read every book I'd ever wanted to read, as well as many that I didn't. I watched every movie that I hadn't had the chance to see. I learned another language, and then another, and then I watched the movies and read the books that *they* had to offer. You're damn right I enjoyed it, for a time at least. As time went by, or didn't in my case, I started to change. I had complete control of every situation, at all times, and truth be told...I was bored of it. Life really starts to lose its luster once nothing is a challenge. Not having a finish line trivializes the race; you're not longer running to get somewhere, you're just...running. I never much enjoyed running.

It had been two years since the near-accident and the onset of my ability, but many more had passed for me while everyone else was still; I didn’t seem to age anymore. I was sitting in Paris, enjoying real-time for the first time in a long while. Birds chirped, natives chatted, tourists gawked over the architecture. I simply sat, eating a sandwich and listening to the life of them all. Suddenly, a horrendous screech sounded off from my left, farther down the street. A car veered off of the road and onto the sidewalk, dragging a street sign behind it and heading directly toward two terrified, screaming people- a mother and a small child. I watched until just before the car impacted, and then I paused it all. Frozen in time, the mother cowered over the child, her hands hovering over his sandy-blonde hair and trying in vain to protect him from 2,000lbs of metal. Still, she was trying. I set my sandwich down- it wasn’t very good, anyways- and walked over to the car first. The driver’s window was down, so I reached in and pulled the emergency brake, turning his wheel so that the car would steer into the stone wall ahead. Hopefully his car wouldn’t go much farther than that. Next, I picked up the woman, her entire body stiff and unmoving, to move her behind the car. *Christ, she’s heavy*, I thought to myself as I set her down. As I did, goosebumps rose along my arms and neck. I was being watched. I turned around slowly to find the child sitting cross-legged on the ground, to the side of the car and only a few feet away from me. He smiled as I gaped, his teeth preternaturally straight and white. His gray-blue eyes glinted in the sunlight, less because of the light than because of the mischief I saw there. He reached up to brush his sandy-blonde hair out of his eyes before speaking.

“Hello, Michael.” His words carried a weight and grace far beyond a child’s, far beyond my own, even. His voice didn’t sound like a child’s either, not quite. There was a depth to the way he spoke that only accompanied age and experience.

“Who are you?” I asked, and was ashamed to hear my voice quake. He looked at me for a long time before he answered, and I found that I could not maintain eye contact with him.

“I’ve watched you for many years, Michael. Ever since you first used your gift, I’ve kept an eye on you. I do not know how you came to be, but I think I know your purpose now.”

“My purpose? I don’t even know who you are.” I had pushed back some of the tremors in my voice, at least.

“Call me what you will, but I am responsible for the passing of all things.”

“Like- Like Father Time? You’re a little younger than I imagined.”

“You may think of me as such, yes, but my responsibilities go beyond simply carrying a clock. I am the caretaker of your race.”

This was a lot to take in, all at once. I sat down on the ground myself, all the while with this child-not-child smiling at me.

“So, uh, Father Time-”

“Please,” he said, holding up a hand, “call me Tim.” I stared at him a moment, trying to decide if he was serious or not. I decided he was.

“Okay, uh, Tim...What do you want with me? What am I supposed to do?” His smile faded.

“Michael, you are to replace me.”

“*Replace* you? Replace Father Time? How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Your gifts,” he said slowly, drawing the words out as if they were painful to him,” will only continue to grow. Someday they will rival my own, but for now, there are many things you must understand.”

“Why do I need to replace you at all? Can’t you just...I don’t know, carry on doing what you’ve been doing?”

“I am not the first, Michael, and you will not be the last. Sometimes, it’s simply time.” He stood up, grimacing as he did so. “I do not look it, but I am very old. And I am very tired. I will pass on my knowledge to you, everything that I’ve learned over many long years, and then you will eventually do the same for your own replacement. Come, give me your hand.”

He held out the small hand of a child and, after a moment’s hesitation, I took it. The world immediately blurred around me. Sights and sounds and smells overwhelmed me as entire eras flashed past. I saw the earth as molten rock, watched life bloom from its crags and crevices to cover its surface, then watched as nearly all of it was destroyed again and again. Life pushed back and persevered through all of it. I saw the wars I had read about, watched as great temples were built up and destroyed, mourned the deaths of billions over the millennia, and then suddenly it was over. He smiled up at me, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

“All things must pass, Michael. It is your job to ensure that they do.” Then he was gone without another word, without offering me a chance to ask more questions or express any doubts. I didn’t have any more, though, and perhaps he knew that. I knew who and what I was. I turned around and walked back to the woman I had moved just a short time before. I picked her up once again, moving her back in front of the out-of-control car, where she originally was- sans a child, of course. I reached into the car again, undoing the emergency brake and turning the steering wheel to its original position. I stepped back, double-checking to ensure that I had completely undone my own actions from earlier. “All things must pass.” I wasn’t sure if I was telling the woman or myself, but I supposed it didn’t matter.

I started time again, allowing events to transpire as they would have without my intervention.

I am responsible for the passing of all things.

I am Time, but I am also Death.

PROJECT BRIEF

Quick Sketches for Narration

Rework to just six pages.

Might add one or two more.

*Time lapse reference from the graphic novel of The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, adapted by Peter B. Gillis and illustrated by Renae De Liz and Ray Dillon .

I enjoy how the images capture and tell a time lapse in a clear gorgeous way that I would like to play with in my illustrations- believing it retains to the story.