Duality of Man; All the Time We Have Left

Time is an illusion, created and controlled by those in power. A tool of manipulation that consistently works. This device relied on the sun in the beginning, however, the nature of man drove that need for light away. Technological advances created clocks, watches, and even electronic pocket computers that portrayed the time in delicate colorful numbers, making even technology made by other men obsolete. As the floating orb of life continued to rotate endlessly in the expanse of space, time would move, and everyone relied on that. What time they would eat, what time they would sleep, even how much time they had been cycling O2 into CO2. Man would go so far with time that they desired to control something that they had invented. When man created the first machine of tomorrow, the last machine of yesterday rose up.

Humanity fell not with a mighty cry, nor a whisper. Humanity collapsed with the soft click of a watch hand.

Maliciously, all forms of timetables would pause immediately. From the first Grandfather-Clock to the newest smartphone's electronic glow of time, the final click came with a soft twang. The duality of man was and still is, to panic when the unknown begins. That is what happened when the time left. Panic overwhelmed the world in what was assumed to be minutes, however, no one was able to tell. Rather than finding a way to fix the issue or finding the cause of this bizarre turn of events, humanity went to war. There would be no way to tell what time the weapons of mass destruction screamed their songs through the sky, menacingly radiant as they soared forth to end the life of billions. Beautifully, the flash blinded those who saw it, and the plumes of radiation blacked out the sun.

Humanity had peaked at the understanding that mutually assured destruction would happen, for the clocks had all but ran out of time. Those who were destined to survive the jamboree of WMDs did so thanks to the mountains and the hills. Those who didn’t stand and fight ran for the hills, and they were able to survive. Still, time did not work, and the sun had left the earth to grow cold and dark.

Anything beyond the mountains became explicitly forbidden. The few dozen families all accepted that their lives would be chained to their statutes of limitations, deep within their rocky homes, which had been dug deep into the mountain's heart. As the large iron doors sighed their way into closing, everyone said their goodbyes to the outside. This is what man had to do in order to survive. The crypts were sealed and for nearly a century would remain that way. With no sun, and no time however man was unable to truly track the time beyond that of who was born and who had died.

The powerful got their power through deceit and control. Their sciences spoke of the inhospitable climate that the outside held. Timeless and blinded in the dark crypts of the mountain the occupants merely accepted their fates, forever they would live in the hill, and forever they would die in the hill.

Youth is a mysterious thing, something that has always broken the confines of time, with no time left there would be no confines to defy. Curiosity was an illicit resource that only the young ever tried to partake in. The young weren’t as controllable as their adult peers, however, their innocence led to the ease of fearmongering. The powerful deceitful men who held no desire for curiosity would use the natural abundance that children possessed to control them; weaponizing youthful ignorance into a tool of terror, and control the young would become the old, and so forth the cycle of fear would continue.

Rebellion would always find its way through to one child of every generation. Education would take care of that in most cases, and the ones that couldn’t be educated simply went missing.

Rebellion found its way to a petite blonde child. Eyes bluer than the ocean, with curly locks that fell past her shoulder blades. A child of the darkness full of color and light. Wit controlled the girl's mind, and she was always the quickest on the draw when it came to talking. Her height and intelligence aided in letting her go under the radar of her superiors. Long enough to grow curiosity in the one main law.

Anything beyond the crypt in the mountain did not exist and was not habitable.

To the petite-lass that was perceived as a blatant lie. With no time left, it was impossible to track and see how long she planned for. However planning always comes to a head where it goes from being a daydream to an active journey. A journey that would lead down the veering path of betrayal, as many often did.

Soft bare feet curled toes against luscious moss. The large metal doors of the crypt would sit open behind her as the fresh clean wind dusted the long blonde curls amidst a sight of freedom. At the entrance, a pile of human decay would long be taken over by the regrowth of life. However, glistening in an outstretched skeletal hand would be the soft glisten of a heart-shaped locket.

A giggle of glee would pass the youthful child's lips. A sigh of excitement would trace through the entire frame as she took the heart-shaped locket. A jump of joy would land gracefully back on the moss as the innocence of discovery overtook the child.

For the world was alive, and at that moment the definition of beauty was the clear blue skies, the gurgling brook in the distance, the wind through the brilliant green leaves. Browns and greens merged on a pallet of pure ecstasy with the reds and blues of wildflowers. The elegant hum of bees lofted its way through as the peak of spring showed how the earth healed.

The duality of man is to panic, time no longer existed and those who craved curiosity were deemed a threat. No matter who it was. The song of a healing earth would go quiet, and all in once man would destroy itself again. The birds would stop singing, and the bees would stop buzzing. The last sound was not a scream, nor was it a whisper; the end of innocence was that of a firing pin releasing doom from its chamber. The end of curiosity was the collapse of a petite blonde child, falling loosely from pale hands would be the radiant charm of a heart-shaped locket. The reds of blood began to soak and mix with the soft green moss.

With a creak and a click, the large crypt doors would be shut. Youth would perish at the hands of deceit again, and the quick-witted blue-eyed girl would be added to the list of missing rebels.

Time may have ended, history would only repeat itself. It is the duality of man to panic at the unknown nature of things, it is the process of humanity to destroy itself to maintain a facade of control.