Time's Up

[Paige Turner]

Clouds hid the sky behind a curtain of silver, leaving the streets to bask in a cool shade. Little covered the streets beyond the vibrant leaves of elm and maple. Every house down the lane was neat and tidy, with shingled roofs, chipping paint, and an inviting front porch. Stagnant were the trees and the breeze this day. No one walked the streets, and no one played in their driveway. None cared to interrupt the world's silence, leaving it to bask in the forgotten pleasures of life. Not the people, not their pets, not even the birds up in the arbor. All was still.

Then, suddenly, a door slammed at the end of the lane. “I'm outta here!” Some man in a leather jacket stormed out to the sidewalk. A teenage girl in a light orange hoodie and ball cap stood out in front of the door, her expression unflinching. 

“Wait, Allen! Where are you going?” Another boy, lanky and unassuming, squeezed past her and chased his companion.

“I don't need to put up with this garbage. Ten spaces in a row- IN A ROW- were mine, and that douchebag passed all of them without a care in the world!”

“It's just Monopoly, though, no need to get worked up...”

“I'm outta here, Tim. No hard feelings, but I ain't putting up with that jerkoff any more today.”

“What's your problem with her, anyway? What did she ever do to you?”

Allen attempted to explain, but hesitated. “Well, because she- er... Because... Ugh, it doesn't matter!” He threw his hands down in a fit. “All I know is that ever since her birthday, I've been getting awful vibes from her.”

“That's not fair-”

The girl called out. “It's not worth it, Tim, leave him alone.” Tim was disheartened by the denial, but no objection was made. Thus, Allen went on, stomping down the street in a bout of rage.

Tim walked back onto the front porch, his hands settled in his pockets. “I'm so sorry, Paige. I don't know what's gotten into him.”

“Eh, he'll be fine soon enough. Probably too late to continue the game, though.”

It started to rain, little droplets falling onto the pavement. “Er, actually, I think it's time to head home.”

“Oh, do you need an umbrella?”

“No, I'm good, but, uh, thanks though! I'll see you later, Paige.”

“Later, man.” It was probably best that Tim left when he did. There were amends to be made and friendships to rekindle, with Allen being the next target. Trust was a tricky mistress to please, but with all the time in the world, it was mostly a matter of patience. With this, Paige walked back indoors to continue her work.

Her workshop was nothing short of a disorganized garage. The metal door was never opened for privacy's sake, so the machinery behind it was taken down and recycled. Against the walls were gears the size of tires. Materials, tools, and gizmos of all sorts lined the shelves. Etc. The desk, drenched in lamplight, was covered in numerous pencil markings and splotches of ink and paint. Lying on its surface was a small action figure. A man with slick cream hair and a leather jacket, it was one of those greaser types that Allen held respect for, albeit unfinished. Also on the desk was a book, worn down with various cuts and scuffs.

Paige walked over to the desk, grabbed a paintbrush and began filling in the facial details. Allen's outburst was by no means unjustified.  What had happened to him was certainly cause for concern, but it was baffling how he remembered what happened at all. Before, she could do whatever she wanted. In those days, her friends might have reacted poorly at the moment, but it would all be forgotten in the blink of an eye. Now? Every action had consequences- real consequences- and she had learned it the hard way. Thankfully, these consequences were small at first, and had not yet grown significant enough to cause alarm. So perhaps she could still win him over before he really understood what had occur-

“Augh- dammit!” She flung her paintbrush across the room, snapping it in half upon smacking into the wall. It was too late; the eye and nose were engulfed in pitch black paint. “It's ruined. Great.” Her head slumped into her palm. She reached for the book and started flipping through. “And I didn't sign my name before now, did I? ...Of course, I did not.” She placed the book back down, receding into her thoughts. Perhaps the figure can still be fixed? No, the paint has dried by now, that wouldn't work.  Plus it would take too long to make a new one. “Oh well, let's just go back. It's one game of monopoly, after all.”

The book's cover portrayed a land of orange skies, falling sand, wooden beams and giant cogs: the Clockworks. It beckoned to her, almost glowing through the cracks in its seams as she reached out to it. Upon opening it, she turned to a page with her signature on it. It possessed an image of her kitchen just a few minutes before her guests had arrived.  Paige muttered some phrase in an archaic language. In response, all the gears on its cover began to turn.  Sand shifted across its leather front.  Cuts in the tome glew an eerie light orange, brighter and brighter as the wheels turned ever faster. Instants in time flashed before Paige's eyes as the world turned back to that moment recorded on paper...

And then nothing.