A voiceless existence, born with a single purpose – to play the game of 'time'. It flows down the road of endless, unbeknownst to everything, yet acknowledged by all. Its infant desire to play echoes in the nothingness, but it was born too early, and its playground had yet to be born.
The road leads nowhere. Now the existence, aware of its existence, follows the desire to lead the game. 'What is time?' it questions, aware it exists, yet unaware of its sentience.
Time flows in the dark. Now capable of asking questions, yet unaware of the concept of answer, it is left with nothing but the dark surrounding it, as before the layer of nothingness lays a realm of endless.
'When does time start?' it asks itself, feeling another existence within its existence. The clock had started ticking, and it was finally ready to play.
A thunderous commandment leads its awareness – 'Time is now ready' thoughts of unknown, both real and illusory descend upon its sentience.
'How does it play?' it asks its father, creator of the realm it haunts.
'The breath will guide you to its players.' thunderous thoughts filled its knowledge.
Lost in nothingness, no change would miss its awareness, such as the breath that departed as soon as it visited; inhaling the essence of life, and exhaling the breath of death. It tried replicating it but to no avail, as it was taught the mark of the players, and time was the host of the game.
'What of the breathless?' it inquired of its father.
'They are but spectators to witness the game of time. You are not to touch them, for their 'time' will come as well. Every game has its rules, and forsaking their existence leads to consequences.' the creator warned, causing time to 'feel'.
A change in nothingness displays before time – it was witnessing the birth of its playground.
It could feel the presence of deject within its sentience. 'What is time?' it inquires of its creator.
The thought resonated time's entire existence.
Time was in an unknown place. It could feel the existence of everything around it. It could hear the song of life; it could hear the breath of death.
The creator bestowed upon time the knowledge of colour, and green expanded endlessly in front of it. The creator bestowed upon time the knowledge of his decorations, and the neverending green in front of time became a dense forest. The creator bestowed upon time the grace of a body, but time was aware that it was not the grace of life, for its knowledge was aware that only death is eternal, and the playground can't exist without an owner.
Time was now aware of geometry, and a lone, white, and small circular existence was crossing its path; the creator taught it about animals.
The rabbit was startled upon sensing an approach. It stood on its hind legs and examined its surroundings, not letting its guard down. It was not the presence of a hunter, but the presence of the playground's owner, and the rabbit was nothing more than a guest travelling the owner's land.
Time felt fascination. It learned its body had 'arms', which it could touch with, and it wanted to feel the rabbit. It felt temptation, and rationality was not a part of time.
The rabbit lied down on its back with its limbs sprawled in an unsightly manner. Its heart was resting motionless, but there was no pain displayed on its sleeping face. The rules had been broken, and there were consequences to follow.
Time learned of pain; it grabbed at the nothingness where a container of emotions should have resided. It grabbed unceasingly and in vain trying to stop the feeling that was enveloping its sentience, a feeling that was tearing it to shreds.
It learned of sorrow, and it was taught how to cry, only for its 'hands' to reach its face, and nothing to come out. It felt the sorrow building up, but was unable to release it.
Its knowledge taught it this was suffering; its creator taught it this was punishment.
'Hence you shall suffer until the time for my creation, whose life you ceased, to play should have come, and to sin should you continue, stuck for evermore in the suffering of those you rob you shall remain' shaking thoughts descended on its sentience.
Time now learned of fear. It was afraid of punishment for it could not let out a breath of sorrow, nor cry a tear of regret, nor could it scream in pain. It was bestowed the means for mortal suffering, but not the means of their riddance.
A small blue flower was resting underneath a tree. The tree's greed for the essence of life robbed the flower of the necessary nutrients to be nourished to full bloom. The flower was slowly withering and the breath of death was reaching time. His finger gently touched the tree which was bathing in the warm embrace meant equally for every existence, yet forcing the surrounding plants into the game.
A withered, hollow trunk is now resting its massive body on the soil, offering shelter to the passing animals . It is decorating the location where its giant arms formerly reached for the sun in a greedy manner. It has sinned for overstepping its boundaries, and it became a player in the game of time.
Time has learned of empathy, a feeling too different from the others he had felt until now – the wake of pain from witnessing a display of suffering in the flower's withering startled him into thinking the rules of the game had been broken once again.
His understanding allowed him to question himself. 'Did the life around him feel empathy when he was in pain?'
YOU ARE READING
The Flow of TimeMystery / Thriller
'Why had time been born?', it asks itself. People call upon it, others try to hide from it, and there are those who welcome it with open arms. The creator had bestowed upon it but a simple task, to play the game of hide and seek to the 'end of time'...