Aquacorde
♫ following where my arrow goes ♫
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Time floats on warm thermals, high above her domain. All is well while she sedately glides, over mountains and valleys grown and worn under her pressure, until on a whim she swoops and darts and dives for those who have too long ignored her aerial displays. She can be so much faster than they think- a blink of an eye and she's in range. To listen to the shouts and curses of prey meeting the harsh reality of the Present's vice-grip talons- her favorite game, one of the few she is able to play. She has her duties, after all, and though she revels in the power her subjects attribute to her, such magic meets its end past surface level.
Shadows her closely does the stone-faced Past, forever immutable, carefully taking in the cries, the pleas, the resignation of Time's chosen playthings. Her giant tome absorbs it all via fine ink and precise lettering; no record is too trivial for the one who chronicles the universe's entirety. Always caught up to the moment, but never in the moment- that is for the Present to deal with. Here and there and everywhere, always working, always choosing- torn between studying the stone-etched Past and leaping ahead to catch up to the Future; the whirling, teasing Future, imperceptible but clearly echoing the past in lilting tones of both sorrow and joy. She is all colors of light, all shades of darkness, both peaceful and chaotic, everything and nothing all at once, and constantly, barely out of the Present's insistent reach.
All the while Time marches on, to the beat of her own drum, set in her role and her duty: to turn Future's possibility into Present's reality into Past's history. There is no course but forward, there is no aim but motion. The earth turns, the seasons change, creatures are born and live and die and Time marches on. Her pace is steady, despite her games, despite beliefs. Her pace steady, her Future mutable, her Present constant, her Past written in stone-ground ink. They are all hers, they are all her. They are all Time.
And Time flies.
Shadows her closely does the stone-faced Past, forever immutable, carefully taking in the cries, the pleas, the resignation of Time's chosen playthings. Her giant tome absorbs it all via fine ink and precise lettering; no record is too trivial for the one who chronicles the universe's entirety. Always caught up to the moment, but never in the moment- that is for the Present to deal with. Here and there and everywhere, always working, always choosing- torn between studying the stone-etched Past and leaping ahead to catch up to the Future; the whirling, teasing Future, imperceptible but clearly echoing the past in lilting tones of both sorrow and joy. She is all colors of light, all shades of darkness, both peaceful and chaotic, everything and nothing all at once, and constantly, barely out of the Present's insistent reach.
All the while Time marches on, to the beat of her own drum, set in her role and her duty: to turn Future's possibility into Present's reality into Past's history. There is no course but forward, there is no aim but motion. The earth turns, the seasons change, creatures are born and live and die and Time marches on. Her pace is steady, despite her games, despite beliefs. Her pace steady, her Future mutable, her Present constant, her Past written in stone-ground ink. They are all hers, they are all her. They are all Time.
And Time flies.
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HELLO
this was written as an entry into Get-Together 2022's Small Writing Competition, where it picked up second place with a score of 85/90. the prompt was "Past, Present, and Future" and we told we could use one, two, or all of those prompt elements. clearly i did all. judges scores and commentary are as follows:
Spoiler:
thank you all for the kind words! i'm glad you enjoyed it~
my original idea for this prompt was not in any way shape or form this; this appeared after i had a small tantrum about not being able to execute my intention and decided i was not doing SWC this year. and then i wrote this in the next hour or whatever. i guess that means if it ain't working, just chuck it in the bin. or something. doing that was freeing, at least. my original idea was extremely technical- i would have been jumping between past and future tense, with an end sentence in present. i think it could have been very cool. i just could not pull it off over these weeks! i couldn't find the right story to do that with, i think was the main issue.
anyway, thanks for reading :) as with every year, i'll be linking other entries below as they make their way into being posted in the FFW section.
The Words He Never Said by Juno [Winning Entry!]
The Aftertaste of a Future Past by Shooting Star
The Tiki Man by 5qwerty
Auld Foundations by Venia Silente
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