They call it "split-second". Have you ever stopped to think about that? A single clock-hand tick, cleft in twain. Maybe it's the same as shivering an atom.
When I pull the word apart, I think of drawing out one minute into two, like stretching taffy. Or I think of the Mad Hatter, cartoon knife slicing a cup into halves. Someone pouring an agreeable half-hour into his 60-minute cup.
There was a girl I used to know. It's hard to say how long ago. Every memory I have of her is badly distorted, sequentially.
I remember her as some kind of chronomancer. Able to shave the flanks off a month, to make a neatly trimmed a fortnight. Or able to stretch a single shake into a tiny eternity.
But what I remember the most, was the way even an Olympiad was nowhere near enough time together with her.
7:03 p.m. - 2015-05-06
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