Fragments Of Time Novels & Stories

The cake he'd surprised me with in the morning before we left to work had brought tears to my eyes and the surprise he was planning for later was uncalled for, really. Kayden had given me a second chance of making everything right and I was not going to screw it up. I was still trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and piece them back together, five years later. I may have fallen to the ground but I trusted myself to get up too. "... Isla?" An irritated voice snapped me from my reverie and I turned around to meet Maeve's signature frown. She raked her manicured fingers in her hair which was too blonde to be true and stepped closer, her expensive perfume suffocating me.

It was the news report from the year I won the award, and the edges were already frayed from wear and tear. A gust of wind swept past, and the dandelions disintegrated and began to drift toward the Camford River, like a late snowfall. I held the crystal dome and walked back to my office. Behind me, I heard the sound of David giggling. I did not look back, but I knew that there was a figure standing at a safe distance and watching me. Some stories did not have to have a happy ending. Like the ripples on the Karnell River, there were some things that could never come together again.

I coldly stared back at him and finally uttered the words I had held inside before dying, "I'll never forgive you for what you did to me, Devin." It felt as though my soul hadn't faded away just to unleash this last ounce of bitter resentment. And the moment the words left my mouth, the resentment shattered, and my soul finally felt light.

With small hands pressed on the glass, she moved forward into the mirror. "You weren't supposed to pick a path and win the game." A pause. "You made the decision, so the door won't open," she added. "When you remember why you sealed it, it will open." The mirror wavered. The kid was gone. And the world's fissures started to scream. Like glass, time broke. Not broken, but revolted. The heavens throbbed. The stars turned around. Like paper, buildings folded in on themselves. Timelines that had long since crumbled screamed.

--- I extract the fragment in forty minutes. It is easier than Cael. Not easy — easier. The power from the coronation has more dexterity now, more precision, like a hand learning to hold something small without crushing it. I find the fragment, I feel its edges, I pull carefully and steadily and when it tries to flee I am ready for it. I contain it.

I ask, my breath hitching. " Then we edge," he promises. "And we stay there until I figure it out." He turns back to the screens. He cracks his knuckles. "Timer starts now," the fragment announces. Alex starts typing. Clack-clack-clack. I wait. The toy inside me is silent, a heavy presence. The leather of the chair is cool against my bare skin, sticking slightly to my thighs. "Got one," Alex mutters. "Fragment 12 isolated." Pulse.

Twenty-two years of accumulated life condensed into fragments and the lived reality of the present and no framework for connecting the two. "I stopped trying to connect them," she said. "After the first year. I just — stopped. I let the fragments be fragments. I let the present be the present. And I waited." "For what?" Nyla said. "For someone to come," she said. "I didn't know who. I just knew that the fragments were not only for me. That I had come back carrying something that was meant to go somewhere." She looked at Nyla. "And then I read the profile. The Ellison piece. And I understood where it was meant to go."

My hands are unsteady, but the night is not. I pretend to be ready. I pretend. The watch is heavy. The watch is a loud reminder, a reminder of the night, of the time, of the time and the time and the time. I know how soon it is. I know. I know. My skin is warmer than I expect, warmer than I want, warmer than I can hold. It is warm and it is fragile. It is fragile and I pretend not to notice. It is fragile and more fragile than I am ready for. It is fragile like my hope, like the heat of my breath, like the heat of my resolve. It is fragile and loud and quick and raw. It is fragile like my fear, like the night. I pretend not to notice. I pretend it is not too late, not too late for this, for

The god of times words echo in my mind, urging me to embrace the truth and learn from it. As the scene plays out, I see a glimmer of understanding dawn within me. I realize that my failures were not just moments of weakness, but opportunities for growth and transformation. With this newfound clarity, I reach out and grasp the threads of time, weaving them together to mend the fractures within my soul.

The universe erupted. It was not a sound of violence, but of pure, crystalline destruction. The café’s large front window did not crack; it disintegrated. A million shards of glass suspended in the air for a breathtaking second, a chaotic, beautiful, and deadly galaxy born from a single, precise point of impact. Time didn't slow. It simply broke into a before and an after.