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Text by fractaldust
My grandfather hated clocks.
Clocks, he said, were deceptive in their construction. They mapped time onto a circle, and told us that every hour, minute, second repeated itself once every day. Around them, we let our guards down, slipped into the easy comfort of repetition, and closed our eyes to the truth: Time was no circle.
On his death bed, he recognized none of us and stared listlessly into space. I think he was looking back on the winding spiral of his life, lingering on every moment he longed to revisit; perhaps in his youth, young brave and stupid, he dared to believe that he could.
He exhaled his very last sigh of regret, and as I closed his eyes, I opened mine: Every second, once passed, was lost forever.
DayGlo (Text Curator) writes:
I love this! Short, bittersweet, insightful, and thematically rich. It is, above all else, beautifully written.
Illustrators could imagine some conceptual clocks, or perhaps what the grandfather looked like on his deathbed; maybe even a timeline of his life, spiralling back into the past.
i have never had my writing featured before… i am still reeling from how huge of an honor this is. thank you so very much, DayGlo and hitRECord. this feature means more to me than any other. <3