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Father Time(Comment and Critique welcome) - Writers Nook

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(Short little story I wrote I guess. Don't really know what to Classify it as.)

Some say life is too short, for others it’s too long… for me it just never seems to end. I don’t remember the last time I laughed or smiled, or when I wasn’t in pain. I'm chained to this time with unbreakable irons. No matter how hard I pull or how furiously I try to wrench myself free, I can’t get anywhere. Here I rest, head bowed, chains wrapped around me tightly as I watch time flow on and the light dimly brush across the sky.

Day by day, night by night, I can feel my shackles tightening around me, holding me in place. The essence of my existence seems to fade with every painful strike. Deteriorating from the inside out, like a rotting oak. The outside seems so strong and durable, but when the wind blows it collapse, to reveal its broken heart. Cut and sliced, stabbed and diced, it is nearly unrecognizable, a minced pulp of broken pieces, completely broken beyond repair.~~ They say everything heals with time, but if this is true, then why is it that with time I become more injured? Why is it that the tree falls and not heals? Why does the elderly woman pass on? Time doesn’t heal, time doesn’t heal, it only inches closer till it can sink its blade deep onto your heart.

Father Time calls to us; he says to praise him, to follow him, unquestionably and undoubtedly. He claims to be a part of us, to be within our hearts, to always be with us. How couldn’t he always be with us? He is breathing down our necks waiting for us to make a mistake. I can feel him next to me, his weightless presence, just behind me. He lurks waiting, holding his blade against himself. He’s waiting, watching, waiting, completely in control with his withered hand clasped around your hourglass. Just waiting for that last grain of sand to fall, and then you will fall. As he Says “Grow Old with Me, The Best has yet to be.”


wow. very profound, darkly beautiful and morbidly poetic.
my favorite part, i must say, was "a minced pulp of broken pieces".
gorgeous! that's how i feel sometimes.
this reminds me of something i heard in Angels In America.
the part when Prior is visited by the Messenger and she tells him that it was within us that "the virus of time began". i LOVE that! the "virus of time"? how true is that?
love ur short story or whatever u wanna call it. to me, it feels like a poem.


Hehe Thanks, Poem short story whatever ^^ You all can vote on it.

Never seen Angels In America, but "the virus of time" sounds like a great analogy ^^

That gave me another idea too -goes to write more-


y should watch it! it's a very beautiful miniseries (based on a play) about a man with aids who, like i told ya, is visited by an angel who tells him he's a prophet.
check it out.


this is beautiful. the image is striking, really captured how time's the bad guy pretending to do good... like a frenemy or something. nice.

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