Tim and I

I came down from the histories to write you a love song
An ancient branch in the forgotten libraries
It’s annals had covered miles under the thick rock
It was here and neverwhere
It existed solely in time. There wasn’t the possibility or chance, it very bluntly said
“God wasn’t wished upon this Earth by humorless folk. In fact they weren’t that nice either, but they had a soft spot for the color green, the color red, and Gold in all it’s forms. The greatest necessity to man.”
I didn’t much believe him, as I was fairly certain we were speaking openly in a particular space, and fairly certain we were consuming time. Precious time, my face lit up as I announced in a Clockwork brogue “The silveriest tongue doth not breed many children of action. You’ve got to stick your dick in it.”
He unclogged his nose and retorted “I’ve had just about enough of this you brigand.”
“Name calling are we?”
“I haven’t any other name to call you. You gave me just the one.”
It was an obvious lie and I’d been a rude gentleman up til now. I decided a lesson was in order. I made to slap the fellow, who had neglected to give his real name too. The fool, didn’t he know I was on to him? Tim? Really, that’s your name? A likely story for one whom professes to be a non space occupying time essence. Perhaps his real name could not be understood or sensed by humans. But still probably just a big lie, the phony.
Back to the punch, he drifted
And swung back
His hit connected
As his fist Atomized along with the rest of him I realized he hadn’t been lying (well perhaps he had been lying about his name…), that, or I have super powers and with great power comes great responsibility. But I might atomize everything around me. It was possible that both were true, but atomizing non space occupying time essences is about as useful as the ability to staple papers together at light speed- extraordinarily useful in an incredibly specific area and otherwise almost entirely useless, perhaps utterly so.

Brigand, or Tim (which happened to be the real name of “Brigand”) never learned the truth of the matter but allegedly died some time later at the hands of a man he thought rather familiar and quite rude. His remains were never found. He is survived by his wife Eric, and their sons Benedict and Arnold. He was 42.


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