As Time Goes By Book Novels & Stories

Pulling the hood further up, I hold the book that was handed to me by Time had a prop, pretending to leave up against the wall and read it. Does Time really think this will work? Glancing to my right, I watch what looks like younger Time and a girl stumble down the hallway, laughing animatedly between each other. I try to swallow, but my throats is arid dry. The closer they get, the better look I get at the two.

“What do you think?” Turning slowly back as her eyes gaze back to the monitor and her fingertips start to type fast, creating the words in each page of the book that she is writing. She looks and scans then stops, starring wary. Now with sympathy and worry as each page is coming to the life of the ones from those thousand years ago is knocking the curse and salvation, they are seeking but blinded to see. “Time is runnings fast, as no one can change the past, yet, here they are repeating the same mistake.”

I'm in my room sitting on the bed reading To Kill A Mockingbird, required reading for English 101 when they walk in. "Hey, Babe. Are you ready to go?" Dane asks while bending down to kiss me. "Go where?" I ask confused. "We are going to help Tammy pack up her apartment. She's getting evicted, remember?" Ant said shuffling through my closet. My everyday wardrobe is jeans and t-shirts, Ant decided my collection of men's graphic t-shirts is community property. "Just let me shop at Foley's first." I roll my eyes, "Who's Tammy?" trying to go over all the conversations from the past few days to remember who this Tammy person is.

Elara ------- Four months passed the way sustained things do — not quickly, not slowly, but with the particular texture of time that is full rather than empty. She wrote. Every day, in the library, the book taking shape beneath her hands the way the city had taken shape beneath the original architecture — slowly, with false starts and revised structures and moments where the whole thing needed to be pulled apart and reassembled from a different angle.

"I am sure." "What is it." "It is a book. A memoir. The one I started writing. The one Dr. Cross suggested. I finished it. A few weeks ago. I have been carrying it around. Waiting for the right time." "And now is the right time?" "I do not know. But I am tired of waiting for the right time. The right time does not exist. There is only now. And now I am asking you to read it." I look at the house. The study window is dark.

" The flames rose again. This time, what burned was the letter. In the next life, would we still have that beginning? I did not know. At least Emily Miller, in this life, would not say yes. The End

It was followed by a flash of white light. Hannah's figure became increasingly blurry. It was as if she were being scattered by the wind. She quickly shouted at me. "Evan, you have to live well. Wait for me. I'll come find you." When she opened her eyes again, she had returned to her senior year of high school. She looked at her phone. The date had gone back to the 21st of February. It was the day the time-space distortion first appeared. But this time, my voice no longer came from the empty space.

After searching every corner of the house, I finally found my phone in the refrigerator. Clearly, my condition was worsening. I took my medication and lay in bed, feeling my eyelids grow heavier. I comforted myself, thinking, "Just sleep. Everything will feel better when you wake up." In my hazy state, I felt someone sit beside me, and the familiar cologne scent comforted me. Suddenly, I was back to when I was 18. Theodore and I had just graduated high school and were accepted into our dream colleges. However, my family was poor, and I had a younger brother to think about. So, my parents had planned to send me to work in a factory to pay for my brother's education.

I wanted to open the door for her, but then I remembered how she had chased me with the beef that afternoon. Just as I hesitated, the phone rang. I thought it had to be Dad calling, but I heard the young man's voice again when I picked up the phone. This time, he was very anxious. Without waiting for me to speak, he immediately asked, "What year is it over there?" “What do you mean?” I asked. “What year is it now?” "It's 2002,” I replied in confusion. “Today is July 3rd, right?” "Yes," I answered.

I teach a group of children to read numbers by turning them into games no one quite agrees on the rules for. At night, we sit near the water and let conversation drift. “I used to think the world would fall apart if I stopped paying attention,” Arthur says one evening. “And now?” I ask. “And now I think it was falling apart because I was,” he says. I laugh, soft and surprised. “Yes,” I tell him. “That sounds right.” Time does not behave the way I expect anymore. It stretches when nothing happens. It compresses when something matters. Days slip past without leaving marks, and then a single afternoon will settle into memory like it intends to stay.