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wisdomeagleTitle: "Time, Only Time"
Fandom: Harry Potter
Featured Characters: Hermione's Time Turner
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Timeline: Through PoA.
Notes: For a![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hogwarts_elite contest. (Write from the perspective of a non-sentient character).
Wordcount: 651
Summary: Eternity should never have been trapped in time.
Time, Only Time
Father Time begat them in the Before; they are begotten (in the Now), by human hands that seek to hold them. They drip through human fingers in gushes, delighting to dive from Now to the Not Yet and further, racing each other to Eternity, where they will once again belong to Father Time, who begot them, not only in the Before but in the Beginning, not only in Then but in the Never, which will meet Eternity when time ceases its manic, racing plummet towards Not Yet and becomes, forever thereafter, Eternal Now.
But the human hands stop them, stopper them in bottles, and they race each other ceaselessly through the contours of gilded glass, watching their brother times fall freely forward. They plunge blindly into the glass that traps them, which is itself wrought from the ceaselessly flowing sand of the shore and from magic, which was meant to roam free, like lightning in Eternity, catching humans unaware and freeing them from the Everyday, the ceaseless flow of time: magic ought to mirror Eternity, but in human hands it only traps its masters in mundane Moments.
They are trapped against a human heart, which beats doubletime with anticipation, thrilled at the opportunity to own time, to be no longer their slave but their possessor. They are warm with her flushed excitement the first time she spins them, dropping them back into the time they were never meant to inhabit, Then Again.
Time, repeated, decays; they feel the edges of the universe are tattered with constricted possibilities, atoms and beings smaller than atoms whose freedom is diminished by the repassage of time that was once past, which now recurs. The cage is well-wrought, winks at them, and they, flustered, can only fall, only watch helplessly their brothers, blind to the heresy within the glass of hours lived again. They run quickly, not a marathon but a sprint, no wasting time, no lingering to watch the movement of the sun. Every time the warm fingers of their girl grip them, turn them, plunge them into the darkness of Before, they see a little less, are blinder to changing seasons, the gold leaves that turn brown and die, then grow again. Days and seasons are only time that moves in cycles, around and around, over and over, dizzying, no path towards enlightenment, no hope of Eternity.
They can have their revenge, in the night hours, scampering, fretting, stealing time from the sleeping girl who thinks she owns every time. Their brothers on the outside join the race, gleeful and innocent, and morning sneaks into the castle reassuringly quickly, awakening the girl who curses and fumbles to dress in time for a spot of research before breakfast. This time, too, they steal, as sister time (who moves through human bodies in regular cycles of sleep and waking, hunger and satiation, cramps and bloodflow, boredom and renewal) brings the girl more sleep, and lets them run away from the trap of this morning, towards the Ever-Morning that will come when days cease to be days and become one day, Forever.
They almost escape from her small clutched fist when reliving an iteration that fizzes over with impossibilities, with contingencies aching to be realized. Fate (who is Father's consort) gropes in vain to snip two threads from her carefully woven plan; they move forward, back thrice, and then forward again in a plunge that's like a riptide, following paths they already ran, running again, towards Not Yet, Not Yet, Not Yet. They rise with the girl above the earth, and they, who are bound by earth's rotation to an ever-flowing cycle of days, feel the girl's terror and their own when gravity releases them for a moment to unfettered flight, forward into a time Fate did not plan. For a moment, under the full moon, they see, as if by magic, the first moments of Eternity.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Featured Characters: Hermione's Time Turner
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Timeline: Through PoA.
Notes: For a
hogwarts_elite contest. (Write from the perspective of a non-sentient character).Wordcount: 651
Summary: Eternity should never have been trapped in time.
Time, Only Time
Father Time begat them in the Before; they are begotten (in the Now), by human hands that seek to hold them. They drip through human fingers in gushes, delighting to dive from Now to the Not Yet and further, racing each other to Eternity, where they will once again belong to Father Time, who begot them, not only in the Before but in the Beginning, not only in Then but in the Never, which will meet Eternity when time ceases its manic, racing plummet towards Not Yet and becomes, forever thereafter, Eternal Now.
But the human hands stop them, stopper them in bottles, and they race each other ceaselessly through the contours of gilded glass, watching their brother times fall freely forward. They plunge blindly into the glass that traps them, which is itself wrought from the ceaselessly flowing sand of the shore and from magic, which was meant to roam free, like lightning in Eternity, catching humans unaware and freeing them from the Everyday, the ceaseless flow of time: magic ought to mirror Eternity, but in human hands it only traps its masters in mundane Moments.
They are trapped against a human heart, which beats doubletime with anticipation, thrilled at the opportunity to own time, to be no longer their slave but their possessor. They are warm with her flushed excitement the first time she spins them, dropping them back into the time they were never meant to inhabit, Then Again.
Time, repeated, decays; they feel the edges of the universe are tattered with constricted possibilities, atoms and beings smaller than atoms whose freedom is diminished by the repassage of time that was once past, which now recurs. The cage is well-wrought, winks at them, and they, flustered, can only fall, only watch helplessly their brothers, blind to the heresy within the glass of hours lived again. They run quickly, not a marathon but a sprint, no wasting time, no lingering to watch the movement of the sun. Every time the warm fingers of their girl grip them, turn them, plunge them into the darkness of Before, they see a little less, are blinder to changing seasons, the gold leaves that turn brown and die, then grow again. Days and seasons are only time that moves in cycles, around and around, over and over, dizzying, no path towards enlightenment, no hope of Eternity.
They can have their revenge, in the night hours, scampering, fretting, stealing time from the sleeping girl who thinks she owns every time. Their brothers on the outside join the race, gleeful and innocent, and morning sneaks into the castle reassuringly quickly, awakening the girl who curses and fumbles to dress in time for a spot of research before breakfast. This time, too, they steal, as sister time (who moves through human bodies in regular cycles of sleep and waking, hunger and satiation, cramps and bloodflow, boredom and renewal) brings the girl more sleep, and lets them run away from the trap of this morning, towards the Ever-Morning that will come when days cease to be days and become one day, Forever.
They almost escape from her small clutched fist when reliving an iteration that fizzes over with impossibilities, with contingencies aching to be realized. Fate (who is Father's consort) gropes in vain to snip two threads from her carefully woven plan; they move forward, back thrice, and then forward again in a plunge that's like a riptide, following paths they already ran, running again, towards Not Yet, Not Yet, Not Yet. They rise with the girl above the earth, and they, who are bound by earth's rotation to an ever-flowing cycle of days, feel the girl's terror and their own when gravity releases them for a moment to unfettered flight, forward into a time Fate did not plan. For a moment, under the full moon, they see, as if by magic, the first moments of Eternity.