skonen_blades (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skonen_blades) wrote2009-07-12 11:07 pm
skonen_blades) wrote2009-07-12 11:07 pm
Entry tags:
- fiction,
- time,
- time travel,
- trap,
- travel
Stopwatch
I’ve stopped time.
She’s right there in front of me. I can see the car leaning forward hard on its front wheel. The driver slammed on the brakes, see? The front of the bumper is nudging her thigh. She’s just turning her head to see where the honking horn is coming from as the driver runs the red light.
Her hair is fanned out and she is smiling. She’s been like that for thirty-three years so far.
If I hit play on time again, that car is going to plough into Diane and kill her. At the speed that car was going when I clicked the stopwatch, it’s going to break most of her bones and split a lot of her organs. If I press play, Diane will die.
I can’t ever start time again.
It’s a gorgeous day.
I’ve tried to push her out of the way of the car. It doesn’t work. I’ve tried to turn the wheel of the car. It won’t budge.
When I’ve stopped time like this, it’s impossible for me to interact with the world.
There’s nothing I can do. I don’t want to kill Diane.
The only problem is that time is still passing for me. I don’t need to eat or sleep but the cells in my body are still aging at a normal rate. I am getting older. I have grey hairs now. My heart isn’t doing so well. Sometimes I black out. I don’t have much in the way of medical training but even I can sense that the end is near.
I know that if I die without hitting play on the stopwatch, the whole world will die. I may be in love with Diane, but even I can see that’s selfish.
I’ve been sitting here on the curb watching her for six days now, prepping myself, willing myself to hit the ‘go’ button on the stopwatch.
The time is now.
I press the button.
The car slams into her. Her death is messy and instantaneous.
And old man that wasn’t there a moment before is sitting on the curb. The boyfriend that was with the girl before the accident has disappeared.
The old man slumps over against the lamppost, crying.
He’s dead by the time the ambulance arrives.
tags
She’s right there in front of me. I can see the car leaning forward hard on its front wheel. The driver slammed on the brakes, see? The front of the bumper is nudging her thigh. She’s just turning her head to see where the honking horn is coming from as the driver runs the red light.
Her hair is fanned out and she is smiling. She’s been like that for thirty-three years so far.
If I hit play on time again, that car is going to plough into Diane and kill her. At the speed that car was going when I clicked the stopwatch, it’s going to break most of her bones and split a lot of her organs. If I press play, Diane will die.
I can’t ever start time again.
It’s a gorgeous day.
I’ve tried to push her out of the way of the car. It doesn’t work. I’ve tried to turn the wheel of the car. It won’t budge.
When I’ve stopped time like this, it’s impossible for me to interact with the world.
There’s nothing I can do. I don’t want to kill Diane.
The only problem is that time is still passing for me. I don’t need to eat or sleep but the cells in my body are still aging at a normal rate. I am getting older. I have grey hairs now. My heart isn’t doing so well. Sometimes I black out. I don’t have much in the way of medical training but even I can sense that the end is near.
I know that if I die without hitting play on the stopwatch, the whole world will die. I may be in love with Diane, but even I can see that’s selfish.
I’ve been sitting here on the curb watching her for six days now, prepping myself, willing myself to hit the ‘go’ button on the stopwatch.
The time is now.
I press the button.
The car slams into her. Her death is messy and instantaneous.
And old man that wasn’t there a moment before is sitting on the curb. The boyfriend that was with the girl before the accident has disappeared.
The old man slumps over against the lamppost, crying.
He’s dead by the time the ambulance arrives.
tags
no subject
Nice, though something about the tense/point-of-view moving about seemed off. Jorge Luis Borges has a story about a man facing a firing squad, who realises he has not completed the novel that was to be his life's work: he prays to God to spare him and so God stops time with the bullet an inch from his head. So he stands there in front of the bullet, tied to the post, and spends several months composing his novel in his head... anyhow, this reminded me of that.
no subject
I can totally see how this story reminded you of that other Borges story.
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Huh. Wonder what would happen if the old man were to get in-between the car and the girl, despite the bumper. He could also wrap his body around hers. Perhaps with limited success, though.
no subject