Tick. Tock. Came the sound of a clock that wasn't there. Tap. Tap. The response of its fingers against the park bench it sat upon, presently alone. Time moved forwards at a crawl. In front of the dubious, raven-haired outsider a most horrible thing was taking place. For those inside the flow of time, it would be over within seconds. A knife plunged into some wayward, nameless soul’s gut in the end result of a heated argument over some trivial affront. Some would react in horror; others would hurry on their way to avoid getting drawn into the wicked happenstance. But the witness on the bench? It sat unmoved. Unnerved. Where horror or pity would inhabit the eyes of another, it watched on with sick wonder. Had it truly been one of them, once? So violent and mortal? Yes, of course it had. It remembered a family, a loving wife with hair of chocolate and paper-white skin, and two boys of three and four. But the names, including that of the witness’s own name, never came to him.
They had met a similar end. One by its hand, recalled the witness. A blaze of bright light, followed by every moment in time ripping them apart to claim sacrifice for the folly of the witness. But that was long ago. So long ago. Or was it? It may have been just a week past. Time passed differently when its flow became part of one’s being. As the witness contemplated this, the flow of time resumed at its regular pace. Knife met heart, and a man died. With a blink of its eyes, the scenery changed. On the way to some conflict, though, things... changed. Violently. Suddenly, the witness was jarred from its intended destination to somewhere else entirely.
The White House. Where so many would-be regents settled for the comfortable throne of democracy, presiding over the governance of the United States of America. The witness should not be here, and something was very wrong. Taking a moment to contemplate, he realized that the fabric of reality had been altered. Distorted by a malcontent with dreams of authority and power made true through a willful twist of the super-powered knife. Where reality was altered, time suffered as well. Someone sat upon the throne of the “free world” who should not be there. The witness was not the only one who knew, though, albeit its knowledge was... much more explicit. Some had little more than a feeling itching at the back of their brains, telling them that this new president wasn’t quite right. The witness could act on its suspicions. Perhaps do some distortion of its own; but that wasn’t how it operated. Since its past self died, it took the mantle of a witness seriously.
No, there would be no retaliation from the witness. It would simply watch as things played out. This Clarice Michelle, now President of the United States, was one of many dominoes that would fall. After all, with time, all things fell to their knees and withered away. Even the witness itself would one day vanish into nothing. The only difference is it would never know the loving embrace of an afterlife. Just the harsh, cold winds of time. And as it returned to the park bench moments before the brutal murder took place, it held back the winds just long enough to alter the path of the knife before sitting down once again.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clock that wasn’t there toned on once again.
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