Title: Finite Creatures

Time sits, stretching her limbs, elongating over these hot summer days. Until her joints crackle in their sockets, air pockets stale from her presence. She is of always; she is of this moment as she is of any other. This is no more new or different or strange to her. These cars not any more impressive than the horse-carriages were or the space-ships will be. She moves and it all goes on, moves on, because of her; the traffic winding down the road; the temperature increasing; the growing sleepiness of boys in the backseat; the steady drip of petrol from the cracked tank.   

She sits beside this little car, its metal burning hot. It’s smaller than most of her quarries, but she does as she will. She needs no justification; she is as big and as small as she wishes to be. She may or may not have a secret though. It’s a secret you may know if ever watched her closely, held her precious, and lamented her swift departure. She slips into these boys minds, delves into their dreams, spooling each one into its own eternity.

She is not linear. She is not bound by one reality. She passes differently through every mind’s eye. The air is shimmering. Temperature is rising. There’s a pool of petrol waiting for a spark. All she needs do is do as she does; carry on. This car and these boys will cease, as billions before do, as billions do to come.

She stops.

She has a secret.

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