When Time Slips Away

When Time Slips Away

As young Jennifer's eyelids flutter open, she's met with the familiar glow of her bedroom clock displaying 1:11 a.m. in its soft, green digits. The room is shrouded in darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through her curtains, casting gentle shadows across the floor.

Her mind, as always, seems to be operating at full throttle, even in the wee hours of the morning. Ideas swirl and dance in her consciousness, eager to be captured and given form. With a surge of excitement, she propels herself out of bed, fueled by the creative energy pulsating within her.

Sliding across the room in her cozy socks, she settles in front of her desk, her sanctuary of inspiration. The cool cherry wood surface welcomes her touch as she arranges her materials: notebooks, pens, and her trusty laptop. Each item holds the promise of bringing her thoughts to life, of weaving them into the tapestry of her latest literary endeavor.

As she begins to write, her fingers fly across the keyboard with a fervor born of passion. Words spill forth like a rushing river, flowing effortlessly from her mind to the screen. She loses herself in the rhythm of her writing, the outside world fading into insignificance as she dives deeper into her creative trance.

But even as she immerses herself in her work, a small voice in the back of her mind whispers words of caution. "Don't burn yourself out," it urges, a reminder of the delicate balance between passion and self-care. Jennifer acknowledges the voice, knowing that it speaks wisdom, but for now, she is consumed by the intoxicating thrill of creating her newest novella.

Hours pass in a blur, the passage of time unnoticed as Jennifer becomes lost in her writing. The sky outside gradually lightens, heralding the arrival of a new day, but still, she persists, determined to capture every fleeting thought before it slips away.

Finally, exhaustion begins to weigh heavy upon her eyelids, her body craving the rest it so desperately needs. With a reluctant sigh, Jennifer closes her eyes and stretches, the knots of tension in her muscles protesting the hours spent hunched over her desk.

As her head falls gently to the desk in front of her, the last vestiges of consciousness clinging to her weary mind, she smiles contentedly. Despite the exhaustion, there is a sense of fulfillment that comes from knowing she has chased her passion with unwavering determination. And as slumber claims her at last, she drifts off with the promise of new ideas waiting to greet her in the morning light.

As Jennifer stirs from her deep slumber, her senses gradually awaken to a world that feels subtly altered. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she sits up and rubs them, attempting to clear away the remnants of dreams that cling to her consciousness.

But as her vision focuses, she realizes that this is no mere figment of her imagination. The room around her has transformed, bathed in an otherworldly glow that casts everything in a surreal light. Gone are the familiar furnishings and décor she had grown accustomed to. In their place stands a tableau of antiquity, as though she has been transported back in time to an era long forgotten.

Her gaze falls upon the centerpiece of the room – the clock. It no longer bears the sleek, modern design of her digital timepiece but instead commands attention with its vintage charm. Crafted from polished brass, its intricate gears tick away with a rhythmic precision that seems to echo in the silence of the room.

But what truly sets this clock apart is its face. Where once there were twelve numbers denoting hours, now there are one hundred, stretching in a circular array around its circumference. And beneath them, another set of numbers marks the passage of minutes, also numbering one hundred.

Jennifer's heart quickens with a mix of confusion and curiosity as she takes in the sight before her. What strange twist of fate has brought her to this moment, she wonders. Is this a dream, or has she truly crossed into another reality?

Shaking off the tendrils of uncertainty that threaten to engulf her, Jennifer rises from her bed and approaches the enigmatic timepiece. She reaches out tentatively, her fingers tracing the contours of its face as though seeking reassurance of its reality.

But as her hand comes to rest upon its surface, a strange sensation washes over her, a tingling warmth that seems to emanate from the very heart of the clock itself. It is as though it pulses with a life of its own, beckoning her to unlock its mysteries.

With a mixture of trepidation and fascination, Jennifer decides to heed the call. She settles into a nearby chair, her gaze fixed upon the clock's face as she contemplates the enigma before her. What secrets does it hold, she wonders, and what adventures await her on this unexpected journey through time?

Suddenly, Jennifer hears a faded knock at her door.

Jennifer's breath catches in her throat as she opens the door to reveal a figure unlike any she has ever seen before. Standing before her, no more than 3 and one half feet tall is a hobbit, his cheerful countenance framed by a shock of unruly curls and a thick beard that cascades down his chin in a riot of nonsense. He beams up at her with twinkling eyes, his expression one of genuine warmth and goodwill.

"Good morning, miss!" the hobbit chirps, his voice as melodious as a babbling brook. "I couldn't help but notice your front door here, and I just so happen to have a collection of the finest watches in all the land!"

Jennifer blinks in astonishment, her mind struggling to make sense of this unexpected encounter. Watches? In a time when the very concept of time seems to have been reshaped before her eyes, the idea of purchasing such a mundane object feels strangely incongruous.

But as she gazes down at the array of watches displayed in the hobbit's outstretched hands, she cannot help but feel a spark of curiosity ignite within her. Each timepiece bears the same unique design as the clock in her room, with its one hundred hours and one hundred minutes, their faces shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

The hobbit's eyes twinkle with anticipation as he gestures toward the watches, his enthusiasm infectious. "Go on, miss, take your pick! These watches may seem unusual, but I assure you, they're as reliable as they come. And who knows what adventures they might lead you on?"

Jennifer hesitates, torn between the pull of practicality and the lure of the unknown. But as she looks into the hobbit's earnest gaze, she feels a sense of trust wash over her. With a smile, she reaches out and selects a watch, its weight comforting in her palm.

"Thank you," she says softly, her voice filled with gratitude. "I have a feeling this watch will be more than just a timepiece."

The hobbit nods approvingly, his smile widening. "Ah, you're a wise one, miss. Trust in the magic of time, and it will never steer you wrong."

Jennifer's curiosity burns brightly as she gazes at the hobbit, her mind buzzing with questions about the peculiar timekeeping of this strange land. With a crooked brow, she gestures toward the array of watches in his hands, her voice laced with wonder.

"Excuse me, sir," she begins, her tone polite but tinged with curiosity. "I couldn't help but notice that all the clocks here seem to have one hundred hours and one hundred minutes. It's quite... unconventional. Can you tell me why?"

The hobbit's eyes twinkle mischievously as he settles himself more comfortably on his heels, as though preparing to regale her with a tale of wonder. "Ah, you've got a sharp eye and a keen mind, miss!" he exclaims, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "The reason for our unique timekeeping is quite simple, really. Here in our land, we've found that by stretching time to one hundred hours and one hundred minutes, we can accomplish so much more!"

Jennifer was filled with confusion, her mind struggling to grasp the implications of such a concept. "But how is that possible?" she asks, her voice tinged with incredulity. "Surely time is... well, time. You can't just... make more of it, can you?"

The hobbit chuckles softly, his laughter echoing in the crisp morning air. "Ah, but you see, miss, time is a wondrous thing indeed," he replies, his tone tinged with a hint of wisdom. "In our land, we've learned to bend time to our will, to stretch it and shape it to suit our needs. And with one hundred hours and one hundred minutes at our disposal, there's no limit to what we can accomplish!"

As he speaks, he gestures grandly toward the bustling streets beyond, where citizens go about their daily routines with an air of purpose and efficiency. From the farmers tending their fields to the artisans crafting their wares, everyone seems to move with a sense of purpose that belies the constraints of traditional timekeeping.

Jennifer's eyes widen in amazement as she takes in the scene before her, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. Could it be true? Could time truly be so malleable, so adaptable to the whims of those who dare to dream?

With a sense of wonder coursing through her veins, she turns back to the hobbit, her heart brimming with newfound curiosity. "Tell me more," she implores, her voice filled with a hunger for knowledge. "Tell me of this land where time knows no bounds, and dreams are limited only by the imagination."

The hobbit's eyes sparkle with amusement at Jennifer's eager request for more information about their extraordinary land. But before she can press him further, he raises a finger to his lips in a gesture of secrecy, his smile playful yet enigmatic.

"Ah, miss, a curious soul you are indeed," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of mystery. "But some secrets are best left to unravel in their own time. Only time will tell, as they say."

With that enigmatic reply, the hobbit gracefully sidesteps Jennifer's inquiry, his deft evasion leaving her both intrigued and bemused. Before she can muster a response, he bids her a cheerful farewell and swiftly moves on to the next home on his route, his feet barely touching the ground as he goes.

As Jennifer watches him disappear down the winding path, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. Though she may not have received the answers she sought, there is a sense of anticipation building within her, a feeling that there are wonders yet to be discovered in this extraordinary land where time marches to its own beat.

As the years passed in the land where time stretched to one hundred hours and one hundred minutes, Jennifer found herself swept up in the ebb and flow of life's currents. What had once seemed like an abundance of time now felt like a fleeting whisper, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

Minutes turned to days, each one blurring into the next in a relentless march forward. Jennifer failed to embrace the opportunities that stretched before her, eager to explore the endless possibilities but procrastinating each until a never ending later. So, as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to years, she began to sense a subtle loss of herself.

Time, once her ally, now felt like a weight upon her shoulders, pressing down with an oppressive force. She found herself caught in a cycle of routine and monotony, her days blending together in a haze of familiarity. And as the years slipped by unnoticed, she realized with a pang of regret that she had let life pass her by. 

Old and gray, Jennifer found herself reflecting on the choices she had made, the paths she had taken, and those left unexplored. In these last quiet moments of reflective sadness, she came to understand that it was not the abundance of time that had held her back, but her own reluctance to seize the moments as they presented themselves.

With a heavy heart and a sense of finality, Jennifer closed her eyes, allowing the weight of regret to wash over her like a tidal wave. She laid her head down on her pillow, the soft embrace of sleep beckoning her into the darkness of the unknown. For a fleeting moment, she lingered on the threshold between life and death, her mind awash with the echoes of time lost.

But just as she began to slip away, a sudden jolt of energy surged through her weary limbs, pulling her back from the brink of oblivion. With a gasp, Jennifer's eyes flew open, her chest heaving with the shock of newfound vitality. She sat up, her heart pounding in her chest as she took in the sight before her.

In the mirror, she beheld not the aged visage of her final moments, but the radiant glow of youth restored. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her eyes bright with the spark of life renewed. Filled with a sense of exhilaration, Jennifer leaped from her bed, her spirit buoyed by the promise of a second chance.

With a newfound determination coursing through her veins, Jennifer resolved to embrace this unexpected gift of life with open arms. She vowed to make the most of every precious moment, to seize each opportunity with a fervor born of gratitude and joy.

As she dressed and prepared to embark on her journey anew, Jennifer's eyes fell upon the watch resting on her bedside table. With a curious tilt of her head, she picked it up, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of its face. And there, amidst the intricate gears and shining brass, she saw it – the dial displaying one hundred hours and one hundred minutes, a reminder of the boundless possibilities that lay ahead.

With a smile of anticipation, Jennifer fastened the watch around her wrist, its weight a comforting presence against her skin. And as she stepped out into the world, her heart brimming with excitement, she knew that this time, she would not let life pass her by. For she had been given a second chance, and she intended to make it count.

The End

Jimi Bush