|Musings of a Man
Author: MacBear PM
I am simply a man, and Time is but Time, there is nothing else that needs worrying about. That is my way of thinking, and so these are simply the musings of a man.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Fantasy - Words: 715 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 03-28-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2902896
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A/N: Well, here's another story, though this one isn't horror, oddly enough...I haven't really been writing as much horror lately, but then again, I'm starting to again, so... Anyway, I hope you like this, and I would really appreciate it if someone, ANYONE reviewed, so I know whether it's any good or not, thanks :D
Summary: I am simply a man, and Time is but Time, there is nothing else that needs worrying about. That is my way of thinking, and so these are simply the musings of a man.
This belongs to me, and no one else.
Musings of a Man
What is Time? Is it the beating of the drums to which we march? Is it the timing of the music to which an orchestra plays? Could it be the ticking of an old grandfather clock, perhaps? Truly, it is an odd question for one to ask; what is Time? Why does it pass? Why does it feel the need to lead us further through our lives and into the waiting arms of Death? Really, Time is nothing more than Death, just in a different form. All time must come to an end, all time must die, must it not? It can't go on forever, can it? It's not as though it would matter, neither you nor I will be here to see how it ends, will we? Then again, who is there to say that it will not all end tomorrow? Will it even end? Once again, who knows?
If I were to ask, "what is it that you believe Time is?" how would you answer? Would you simply stare at me as if I were wrong in the head to ask such a question, or would you splutter and gaze around uncomfortably, trying to find an answer to such an absurd question? No matter how you would take it, you would not have a real answer, would you? How can there ever be a real answer as to what Time is? If someone were to ask me I would simply say, "Time is but Time, there is nothing else that needs worrying about." So why is it I sit in my study, writing this out? You see, I fear that Time and Death have caught me up.
I am running a fever, I am shaking, and I feel as if I am already dead. Who is to say that I am alive, anyway? The doctors? Bah! We could all be dead, they too, could be dead already! Time controls our fates, and all fates lead to Death. They are but one, they are the same. I am to see to the end of my road, and I am to see whether my theory is true. Is Time Death, and is Death Time? I believe so. I also believe that there is nothing, nothing anyone can do to change it. It is written in the stars, what will happen to us. There is no changing that.
In the end Time wins all and loses all to Death, as if in in a never ending trade. Oh! I can see them now, standing in the dark abyss that is the universe, whispering to each other! Death asks, "whose time is up? Whose time is up?" And Time must simply reply, "why his time, his is up." And so they stand, trading the glowing lights which are our souls as if they were nothing more than mere currency.
You fancy me mad, don't you? I do not blame you, only a mad man may think of the things I do. Or maybe it is because Time and Death are really coming for me? I do not know, you do not know, at least, not until it actually happens. I believe that my time is up, nonetheless.
My hands are shaking now as I write this. It is about time I went to sleep, is it not? Though, before I go, I shall toast to the pair, Death and Time, Time and Death, as I will soon be seeing both. Until then, until the moment the celestial drums strop beating and the orchestra stops playing. Time will find me, though not at this moment.