Author: incongruent PM
"The dream must have existed." —If Ethan Kairos had kept the Hollow Pen.—Rated: Fiction K - English - Words: 473 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Published: 08-18-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6248981
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
disclaimer - Time Hollow (c) Konami
warnings - none
author's note - This is terribly terribly incomplete, but it seems the more I meddle with it, the more confusing and self-contradictory it gets...
Comments and concrit very much welcome, as always~
At eighteen Ethan Kairos is an old old man, bent with the weight of Time that hangs asymmetric over his heart, hands stained with the blood ink of the Hollow Pen; as the silver pocketwatch ticks away minute by hour he has exchanged one life for another until there is no one he knows left that he has not already seen die.
Forever is the fairytale of children who live tomorrow in today, eternity a dream-whisper on mayfly wings. The moth knows not to fly close to the sun after having once been singed by the flame, but only if it does not forget the crippling injury and the pain- these people know nothing of the pasts he has changed, remember nothing. They fall back into the same routines over again, back into the same traps only he can see.
Sometimes he fears that keeping the Hollow Pen had been a terrible mistake. These days the air is thick and viscous where it comes into contact with the Pen, the nib no longer cutting as easily as it did before; it is a terrible fatigue that overcomes him then, and the Portals are broken where he falls. Sometimes when he wakes up the flashback is hazy as the next memory but nothing has changed, and now he knows that perhaps nothing can change. Sometimes he wakes to blood on his lips and hands and what seems like days lost and is afraid, perhaps, that he had left the trance too long and the dream unfinished; he fears that this would be the time someone would remember it is not forever they have, but a series of here-and-nows that were given back and then taken away.
This is a town of people who wish and hope and love and live, who have too many dreams left unfinished and too many promises left to keep. And so he will draw the portals and turn the clocks, drawing all the misery of the world into himself until his Time runs out and the sadness has long stopped flowing in his veins, withered away alongside the last vestiges of a faraway forgotten youth. And then with the last of his strength he will see the Hollow Pen returned to the past and the loop complete―so that his seventeen-year-old self might follow the same footsteps in the sand, doing nothing that has not been done, every second passing having passed before.
Because there is nothing left for him to give, now, save the Time that was never his to keep.