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Ripples In Space Time

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The Fountain Of Time
by Touchpad

I stand all alone in deaths garden looking. It is a dark a dreary place with the skeletal forms of leafless trees, the haunting hanging arms of weeping willows, and the dark hues of flowers colored in navy, violet, and black. Amist this dark garden fountain of pure white bisult stands calling me to it.

The waters in the fountain are calm and still, and this scene contain not a hint of bird, or other wildlife that my occupy it time bathing there. The urgee overcomes me to see some movement in its gental surface, as if daring me to change it.

I take a moment to inspect the orcids, roses, and violets that stand beautifly at it slender base, and there I find a lost petal, long since discarded from its proper place of adorning a former flower in its beauty. I gentally grasp it between my forefinger and thumb, a raise it to the level of the pool of water, inspect it closely for a moment, and then drop it in.

The fountain is time itself, something death has all to much of. He's able to stare into it and see all the has been, is, will be, and even could be.

The disturbance of the petal makes dancing changes in the cool clear surface of time extending from its point of orgin (where I dropped the petal in the pond), rippling outward from its center.

It is not a simple exchange, time attempts to rights itself by rippling to preserve what it can of it peace using it elstic nature to try to snap back into place. Thou, its to late; the damage has all ready started, as change extends along all verticies of space, period in time, and realms both know and unknown.

Where the ripples of change touch effect takes place, and causes are left to sort themself out, and things are left different: Many who live die; many who are dead live; some are born, and some are not; choices are made differently, and so on...the lives of people change under there feet and beyond there awareness, and funnier yet the do not care. They do not grieve the loved ones they never new they had, and they do not begrudge enemies that no longer exist.

Towards the center the ripples where small, but as they moved forward they gained force causing great change, and by proxy damage, as water/time splashed out of the edge of the sallow pool.

Wet drops of displaced time comes to rest on the prized flowers that adorn the foot of the fountain, and where the waters touch them they wilt and die.

I stand in the new silence, questioning my trangression, as the waters of the pure basult foutain calm, and receed back to the serenity of stillness.

As I am Fate, I was always at least half-aware of the result of my action of with the shallow waters of the fountain of time, but I had to do it I was fated to, but I doubt that Death will be quite as understanding with me.

I find the result of my play as both disgusting and whimsical. In but moments I altered all of casuality and wrecked Death's flower bed.

For all the infinite freewill lausy about the universe, as Fate I have little to do with my freetime, but the one thing I will not be able to due is have tea with Death, for I doubt very much that I will ever be invited back to deaths garden for tea.
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© 2009 - 2024 touchpad
Comments2
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DrAkOrAs's avatar
Love it!

Great background story to go with an awesome pic.

When I first saw the picture, I though of The Wheel of Time and 'Channeling'.(My favorite series)

The poem a little more made me ponder some sort of simularity.

But its great none the less.