With sweat dripping down his strong face, Lawrence made an effort to identify the time on the nightstand clock. A pounding itch reverberated in his ears… a perturbing sound made it difficult to execute something as simple as reading the time on the analog clock. It took him a while to figure out it was already noon. Morning was no more. Morning. Breakfast. The neurological impulse generated by his exhausted brain crossed the synapse as fast as it could, trickling down the long highway of axioms of his spine, until it found a hitch right around Lawrence’s stomach. Hunger, his brain reported after the impulse returned from its ephemeral journey.
Time. It simply felt wrong. His life, the lives beating around him, all ticking hours, minutes and seconds away. Crowds, people, strangers… yet everyone still hangs by the same thin line of time. How he despised time. It had been a handful of years since he first started doubting – and finally despising – the idea of time. It was halfway through high school, right when Philosophy and Logic came along. The Philosophy and Logic professor from Dove High was truly one of a kind. At first glance, he would look like the typical church choir guitarist – carrying his guitar and songbooks everywhere he went. Yet when the professor talked, Lawrence conscience shot up looking for the infinite. Every word said in class, Lawrence took it as a challenge prompt and thought about it, deeply. Right before next class, he forgot. His subconscious rusted locker still hung on to the developed thoughts.
It was that random class when the professor touched the topic of time. From Aristotle to Einstein, every single figure had a different theory for the idea of time. Lawrence, who liked to see things from an abstract perspective, he concluded that time as a human invention. Being that time was invented, it technically didn’t exist before people started to implement the idea of time in their activities. He seldom talked about his discovery; Lawrence kept his theory “safe”. According to him, there was a time where humans actually lived, not by the ticking of a clock, but by good actions and memories. People changed because they felt they needed to, people grew wiser and saw more of the world. Time, however, became an obstacle for the normal transition of humans in this world. Lawrence truly believed – at least his subconscious did – that humans were born and merely transited this world. Death was simply a sign that the individual felt the need of finishing; a journey, that both starts and finishes. Time basicallyaccounts mathematically the human life. Call it hamburgers, sections, or seconds; it’s a system of logging a past and a future. Lawrence specifically proved himself by stating that only the present can possible exist. However other humans embrace the past, it still cannot be lived. However other humans embrace the future, it still a speculation of what could happen – thus cannot be lived. Therefore, Lawrence states, time does not exist. The present transition had to be lived. The present, he thought out loud. A strange feeling still shook his subconscious loud thoughts, a perpetuating tremble from outside his spaced-out void. Now.
It immediately clicked. Not necessarily immediately, but it clicked. His dogs. Those canines were the only remainders of his short-lived relationship. He had not fed them breakfast. The itch came again, hammering as hard as ever did. Lawrence was sure it was the distinctive of barking sounds of his two adorable idiots. Making his way out of the bed, Lawrence shoved his slippers on and dug for clothes in his treasure chest closet. His heavily damp body demanded rather thick clothing; the rest of his apartment had a peculiar chill every morning. Lawrence also despised the peculiar chill that ran down his spine. He was pretty sure his dogs didn’t like it either. If those dogs ever felt anything. Putting a white robe on, he took lethargic strides towards the kitchen. I really need to wake up. His body had been begging for coffee for what seemed an eternity. There goes the damned time once again.
superficial words journal 