The Players: Pt 1- Time

Father Time is not old, for to be so, he would have to be a patron of his own cycle. He is, has always been, as long as there has been anything in existence. Which is to say forever, because if there is not something, there is nothing, and time is not relevant.

He is constant, relative to each realm of existence, and yet unyielding to conscious woes. A compilation of heat, space, and development; never dictated; yet never fully understood. Sheer comprehension is impossible without perspective, and within perspective, lies restriction.

Time bears no emotion. That would equate to limitation, and thereby “humanity” as it will so superfluously be named. In a constant superposition of interpretation, simultaneously faster or slower when compared to the varying observer. Yet on each scale a distinct tempo is unchangeable, as if he does control every realm to some degree. The beauty of parenthood; to create and guide a life, through an environment specific to each being, and yet remain completely powerless to the choices made by said creation.

Where our story begins, Time is no stranger to the eternal cycle in which he plays such and integral part. He “lives” in constant seclusion, knowing of the importance of his fortune, and accepting of the isolation that that requires. He lies in wait, which is not to say expectation, of his call to action, in each reset of the universe back into One, so as to renew and perpetuate the continuation of Life and Death.