"The Man Defeated by Time."

On that day aboard the airplane, I concocted a story in my mind titled "The Man Defeated by Time," which I now recount to you. It's about a child wandering the world, constantly working for time, hence dubbed a labourer for time. He confessed this wasn't the life he desired, tirelessly hustling for time—wasn't it exhausting? He complained, despising time, accusing it of unfairness. "Why always look at me with such cold indifference? Am I not human too?" he asked in resignation. But the cunning deity of time shook its head, telling the child, "Please, this isn't heaven after all; blame it on your ill-fated destiny!" The child envied time travellers, often perplexed by the disparities among people. An elder once cautioned him against rage. So, the child frequently found solace in a corner, quietly weeping to himself. He began to disbelieve in fate, even more so in time, despairing in his defeat by time. He changed afterward, realizing that time, in fact, didn't exist in this world. God found the child's sudden enlightenment rather endearing. At a certain moment, the child abruptly awoke, stating blankly, "Fortunately, none of it has become reality." He then swallowed his prescribed medication. The attending doctor at the clinic, after reviewing the child's medical report, lamented, "What a pity." Only a second had passed since the doctor's remark. "Tick, tock, tick, tock," two seconds passed. Years later, at his funeral, "Strange, is no one else here? Just me?" the child marvelled. The epitaph read: "The Man Defeated by Time." In the story that followed, there was no time, no peculiar gazes, no whirring machines, no conformity—everything was anew. The man defeated by time finally vanished into the elapsed timeline. This marks the end of the story. Time, perhaps, is egalitarian, as serene in departure as in arrival.

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Mar 12, 2024


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