In retrospect, she should not have made the bargain.
She believed she'd gotten the better end of it. Time was, she thought, linear. But it is not. It is not a line, but a circle, or a sphere, or the shape of a wiggly straw.
The promises, for things in the future, for more time, for a space outside of time, are as strong as damp paper. They fold and fold and collapse under pressure.
She keeps out of time, now. Running from clocks. She fears clock towers, jumps at the sound of an alarm. Runs from the rising sun. If she cannot avoid time here, she will avoid time there.
She did not think it would take so much work.
She did not think it would involve falling from day into night, from earth into sky, from old into young.
She is sure that space and time, whatever strange creatures they are, are laughing at her. She wonders over the strange creature that she is now, leaping between times and spaces, while the universe dances on, along the circle or sphere or wiggly straw, giving little consequence to a foolish girl who made a bargain for more time and space.
Art by Anonymous
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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