I am two thousand six hundred and forty one years old. I have walked this world, and others, for a seeming eternity. There are beings older than I, of course, but they have long since abandoned the passage of time and left to sit in crystal encasement, unconcerned with the reality around them, seeing only their memories, a civilisation long.

In my long years and memories and realities, there has been only one constant truth, one inescapable fact, one thing that always comes to pass, irrelevant of circumstance and person. This one universal truth, is that everything must eventually end. Even my time will end. The suns will die, the vast expanse of space, filled with little glimmers of light shall become cold and dark.

People will die. Civilisations will fall. Happiness will end.

No one can run from the all pervasive reach of time, its whittling power or its devastating blows. Mountains will fall to dust, kings shall be toppled and seas will dry and become deserts.

I have stood and watched, the ever impartial scribe, to the only true power in existence. Some believe in gods, some in God, some in fate and others yet believe in nothing. Some believe in death, others believe death is insignificant. But nobody can escape Time. Every god in existence has faded because people no longer believe, and this is the power of Time. So vast it is, that even the greatest of changes in the present is the most insignificant of events in the greater scope.

You, dear friend, shall experience the power of time. As it passes you, your friends will grow old, your lover die. Your bones will grow brittle, and to death’s gate you shall come. Invariably. Inescapably. Your happiness shall end, your challenges shall end, your peace shall pass. Your culture shall adapt.

That is what I have seen, and it is what I shall see. For time is repetitive. What has happened before shall happen again. Mistakes are made over and over, and nobody can ever prevent that from happening.

I once thought that time does not ever really pass, but that the characters may change and the setting too, but the actions are always the same. Some may view this as true, but I no longer do. I look at the world, and once where I saw the unescapable, unseeable Time, now I see people, and actions, and leaders and heroes. Where once I saw the determined, now I see the spontaneous. Where once I saw the repetitive, now I see change. I am avoiding the grander pattern, and looking at the minute an the hour. It may appear to be change to me,min this moment, but when I look at every moment in my long life, I see that change is not new to a time. The specifics of the change, perhaps, but the essence of change is like Time itself: constant. It is intuitive in our hearts to see other hearts, and to avoid the brutal scope of reality. And it is this amazing feat within us all that allows us to humanise that brutal scope, and to affect it and to change it for the better. And for the worse.

Evil does not exist in the realm of Time’s domain. Evil exists from us, it is of us, and it is only the power of affective thought that allows to commit evils. In times scope, there is only being. Things are, or they aren’t. They come to pass or they do not. There is no determinism, simply luck and choice. Time doesn’t command evil, nor does it influence it to cause a certain series of events. That lies within the blessing and the curse of choice. For while we may choose to improve our reality, to make it better for us, we may also choose to annihilate.

That is the beauty of time, and the horror of people that I have borne witness to. We are not the measure of time, we do not control it, we cannot defeat it. Time is our judge, jury and executioner. As it passes us, we shall be either good or evil, and only we shall know, for only we understand good and evil. Time does not understand respect and courtesy, just as it doesn’t understand our brutality and our terror.

And this, my dear friend, the reader of my ramblings, the person in the future, whose name I shall never know, brings us nicely to my original point, and my final point.

Time is life. It is birth and it is death, and it is the complications in between. It is also before our birth and after our death, but those are stories for different lives.

Author’s Note

This is the story I entered I to Time To Write. I know it seems very narrated, and that is kinda what I was going for when I wrote it. Anyone have any comments?

Cheers for reading,

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