Reality began to collapse around my head, crumbling to pieces. I wasn't right. I was an anomaly. I was ahead of time, past the point where I was supposed to be dead, which a time traveler is never meant to do.
Her fingertips slipped from mine in the(more) darkness, and I watched as she floated away.
I wouldn't let this happen.
Light exploded from my body, shooting out to all of the wreckage of reality that was left behind by my carelessness. The light entwined around the pieces, binding them all back together. It wrapped around her unconscious body, and she and I began to disappear.
We appeared on the earth, where I was supposed to be. I stayed flat on the ground, staring at the sky, gasping for breath. That was a close call. I would never go ahead of time again as long as I lived.(less)
I can always tell when I've arrived too late. There's a shift in the atmosphere that I can feel in my gut. In an ideal world, I could just leave and travel back again to an earlier time, but it isn't that easy.
You would think that tim(more)e travel would give you bucketloads of time, but it turns out it's just the opposite. Let me assure you just how painfully aware you become of the time you're losing. Every moment you take hyperventilating in an archway means seconds tick by, losing your nerve and wanting to run away adds a few more, and talking yourself back into this crazy profession gives a grand total of fifteen seconds.
Fifteen whole seconds.
When you steal from divine beings for a living, you really can't afford to lose so much time. It turns out that the wrath of the gods is nothing to joke about. You see, they're a greedy bunch, greedier than thieves like me by a long shot. They're also real keen on keeping the enormous pile of gold and ancient artifacts in their possession. I swear when my fingers grip around the rim of some chalice, I can feel their wrath weigh down on me.
That's why I always follow three golden rules: always arrive early, never chicken out on a job, and above all else, always trust your gut. They can mess with your mind and throw off your senses, hell they can even sick their pooches on you, but they can't fool your instincts. If you start ignoring those, you're as good as dead.(less)
He was ahead of his time, they'll say, when I'm a real artist - or maybe when I'm dead. He saw what we didn't. He knew. That's what they'll say when they think of me. That's when they'll realize they were wrong about me for all those years of(more) judging and ostracizing and laughing behind their hands. Isn't that how it always goes? All those people who were freaks in their childhoods and turned out to be genius? But I look at Cassidy, who has scars on her wrists and writes beautiful poetry that she doesn't know I'm reading over her shoulder during biology class every day, I look at Julian, who flinches out of the football's way in gym but quietly wins every district math competition and then sits silently disappointed in homeroom while the varsity football MVP's are recognized over loudspeaker and his name goes unsaid... I look at them and at myself and I wonder if any of us will survive long enough to get to say "I told you so." Then I look down at the paper in front of me and the drawing on it, made with my hand moving methodically across the page from right to left, filling in what I see with barely a thought between eyes and fingers and pencil. Someday, I'll be an artist, but for now I'm an autistic boy whose art teacher says I'm not doing contour lines first like we're supposed to, tell me I'm doing it wrong because she doesn't see that that's how my brain knows to draw, from right to left, like logic - easy, calming. Familiar. Familiar like the scars contouring Cassidy's wrists. Someday, I'll be an artist, or maybe I'll be dead.(less)
Not later now, now now. yeah, I'll do it when I'm done with when I finish thinking about after I catch up on that thing I meant to do before that other thing happened.
not ahead of time. is it possible to get in front of time, t(more)o stand in front of a clock and shout NO don't stop for one minute I have to get this report in I have to submit it to that person, el hefe, that person who told me that my happiness might be found in a forest in my home state and that maybe, soon enough i should go there and seek out whatever mysterious force of the universe will tell me where i should be, what i should be, how i should be. if only the trees would whisper it to me, if only i could call out into the dark space between tall objects stretching into the sky and ask that one question, the question that would take me up, out, away, or maybe here, the place i've been along, just with different eyes, a stronger teacher voice, a more clear purpose.
where do you plan on being next year? the survey is due in two weeks, and so i will wait, search in my soul for the forest, the forest inside of me that knows the importance of dark spaces, of leaves stretching outward from within. i am not a forest, but there are ideas separated by space like rocks across a stream bed. one rock says "this place" another rock says "a better place" another rock says "the dream of all dreams" and another rock says "love." i need a bridge, the power to pick up stones and place them close enough to generate heat, change. (less)
The cold dark room filled me with fear. How did I get to this place and why am I here? Questions raced through my head but deep down I knew the answer. Then, out of the corner, a figure appeared. Draped in a black robe he put his hand(more) out to me. Fear had rendered me incapable of making any kind of movement. Knowing that the inevitable was staring me my pale, colorless face. My stomach churned and my heart was frozen, but slowly I took small steps toward the figure. But it wasn't me walking. I mean they were my legs but I was no longer in control. Every step felt like an eternity and I saw moments of my life flash before me. Some good and some bad. I saw the ones I loved, crying. Sorrow filled them all and I found myself no longer concerned with whatever was happening to me, but instead, what was happening to them. I saw them gathered around a hole in the ground. It was a funeral. Immediately I knew what was to come to next. My mother and father standing there, dawned in black and as I peered into the coffin I saw what I had feared the most. Me. By the time I regained my concentration I was already standing inches away from the figure. I looked deep into his masked face and said why? I was only 19 my life was only just beginning. This had to be a mistake. Then he opened his mouth and uttered only a few words. "The time is now". (less)
Her lips trace the lines in mine. I feel like a hologram glinting in the sun. I have come early and I have come weary. I need that taste in my mouth and the echo reaches in and around.
She was early, ahead of time like an eeri(more)e being. I weep as the willows turn to dust. Ashes litter the grass. Someone is smoking a cigarette and it tastes like the most delicious death.
I miss you. I miss your hands on my hips and your breasts like nectar, your words a queasy mess. I'm sorry I was not healed yet. I'm sorry we met when my fragments still cut flesh. I'm sorry we couldn't become something beautiful. (less)
What if we are all ahead of our time? What if that's why a lot of us like to live in the past? Our souls displaced by a movement in the big scheme of things, we like to believe that our system is infallible and that our world is(more) a work of perfection in itself. But what if the world is simply another one of us, working a menial 9 to 5 job, keeping each and every one of us filed, together, organized. What if we are but mere blocks of data, molded and shaped into the most convenient medium for keeping us all structured, preserved. Just like our hearts can skip a beat or we can sleep through our much dreaded clock-in times, what if the world can trip up, too? Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, all of the sufferings, the genocides, the destructions of our mother planet are occurring because we simply got ahead of our place on the timeline? Because of a hiccup in the continuum? Because someone out there failed to do the job that we all unknowingly depend upon to keep us in sync? Like he who shows up early to an interview and spends the extra time overthinking, perhaps these shortcomings we struggle to absolve are all because we're running a little ahead of time. (less)