6 weeks -- it had taken a whole 6 weeks, but finally they were done. It was an odd sensation -- combing through 40 years of someone's life -- it wasn't a particularly enjoyable one either, but an educational one none the less.
The boy remembered vividly the fateful day two months ago, the tangible tension that effortlessly filled the apartment as he entered, the foreboding aura emanating from the room at the far end of the tiny apartment, the nervous fidgeting of the boy's father; the old man's son.
Ultimately the boy could not bring himself to peer into the far room, allowing only small glances at the doorway, through which socked feet attached to the beginning of legs, to which the rest lay hidden under an aging bed sheet. The boy felt that that was enough -- any more and his mind wouldn't be able to hold it's shield of composure. Ultimately, none of it felt real, even if he knew it was, and that feeling was what he clung to, a feeling he knew would shatter if he stepped foot in that room.
In reality, the tactic the boy employed served no purpose. It did not rewind time nor did it change the outcome of the situation, but for then, it was what he needed. It was also what the apartment needed.
The calender hung stubbornly on the green age-stained wall. The room's attempt to stop time had ultimately been unsuccessful, as evidenced by the now otherwise bare walls and empty rooms; the world had once again triumphed in it's fight to keep turning. However, where the calender failed the apartment had managed, in some small part, to succeed; twice a week for 6 whole weeks it transported the boy back and forth through 40 years of time -- a journey that was rarely pleasant but one that will never be forgotten.
Ultimately the boy could not bring himself to peer into the far room, allowing only small glances at the doorway, through which socked feet attached to the beginning of legs, to which the rest lay hidden under an aging bed sheet. The boy felt that that was enough -- any more and his mind wouldn't be able to hold it's shield of composure. Ultimately, none of it felt real, even if he knew it was, and that feeling was what he clung to, a feeling he knew would shatter if he stepped foot in that room.
In reality, the tactic the boy employed served no purpose. It did not rewind time nor did it change the outcome of the situation, but for then, it was what he needed. It was also what the apartment needed.
The calender hung stubbornly on the green age-stained wall. The room's attempt to stop time had ultimately been unsuccessful, as evidenced by the now otherwise bare walls and empty rooms; the world had once again triumphed in it's fight to keep turning. However, where the calender failed the apartment had managed, in some small part, to succeed; twice a week for 6 whole weeks it transported the boy back and forth through 40 years of time -- a journey that was rarely pleasant but one that will never be forgotten.
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