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The Competition of Time

Stories that have not been written,

Memories not yet made,

What is it for, all this waiting?

A future we can not evade,

Do you spend your time loving or hating?

Maybe it’s all just the same,

We may think we know what we’re doing,

But it’s all just one twisted game.

The stories are being told,

The memories are in the making,

What will the future hold?

Are there better paths worth taking?

Choices were made and more are coming,

No wait, what’s that alluring sound,

That I hear someone softly humming?

Perhaps Life’s answers have been found

If so, it’s the End you’re summoning.

The stories are now complete,

The memories fresh in our minds,

Do you smile or hang your head in defeat?

Are we still caught in Life’s slicing binds?

I suppose there’s no future left,

Time stole it all away,

The clock yells ‘robbery’, the hands strike ‘theft’,

But all that remains is rot and decay,

Don’t listen to the siren’s song,

Life’s answers will lead you astray,

What is the difference between right and wrong?

What happened to make us this way?

The girl stood still as rain softly fell from the clouds. It delicately landed on her messy hair and tear-streaked face. She was stuck in past memories while also fretting about the future. An awful conundrum she found herself regularly imprisoned in. The girl grimaced when she remembered the fresh cuts and scratches on her already bruising fist. She tilted her fingers toward the sky and inspected the damage. All the while, relentless raindrops washed away the trail of blood that slowly snaked down her forearm.

The girl shifted her attention to the ground. Her gaze landed on her broken clock. Crimson blood still clung to the shattered glass frame from where she punched it square in the middle. She despised that clock and its endless reminder of Time’s escape.

Alas, the girl knew that breaking the clock did nothing in the long run. Time would never stop moving despite how many timepieces she destroyed. So, she took a deep breath and walked away from the stilled hands of the wrecked clock. The clocks maimed, unmoving hands would remain stuck in the past. However, the girl was determined to keep pace with Time. She would do her best not to view it as a race but as a partnership to keep her in line.

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