When Time Slipped Through Her Fingers


There were times when Ceri thought she understood this world. There were times she could take a moment out of the stream of time and keep it precious. She could hold a moment, a second, a minute, in her hand and turn it to catch the light. She could set it down, crouching on the sun-warmed grass, breathe a breath of her life into it and set it into motion once again. She could take that moment, that instant, and turn it again to change the way it moved on from there, spreading itself out into space and time.

The world to her was graspable, malleable. Ceri could – mostly – turn it and shape it into the ways she wanted, she desired. She could have the world in any shape she liked.


There were times, instances, which evaded her grasp. Moments that slipped from her hand. No matter how she reached, no matter how tight her grip, she could not keep them. They slipped through her fingers like darting fish grabbed in a fast flowing stream. They were there in her hand, long enough for her to feel the squirming moment, feel the living heartbeat, then they were gone. Each swimming free down the time stream, never caught by her again.

Although, Ceri could take other moments from that stream too, she could grab the wriggling seconds in her hands and tame them to follow her commands and desires.

However, she could not go back. The time stream flowed only one way. The past was there behind her, disappearing into the mists of memory around the river’s bend that led back into long ago.

She’d tried walking back along the bank of the time stream, but she could not. Like memory, Ceri could look back along the river but some force she called the Now Wall kept her from going back. The Now Wall was always there at her back, pushing her forward, like a strong current in the river. She could only ever reach out to grasp the passing moments as the river took her always onward into the future.

However, it was a future Ceri could bend and shape as though the time river wasn’t following a course, not heading inexorably towards the sea on the route it had carved from the centuries. She could twist those moments; turn that river to take her on towards some destination.

Ceri, though, did not know what lay beyond the horizon what lay beyond. She could only twist the river of moments and hope that one day in the far future she would reach that waiting sea and discover why the river flowed there.


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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