Life Uncertain, excerpt
A bit of original fiction. The title comes from the latin phrase Mors Certa, Vita Incerta Death is certain, life uncertain.
The place was a bank or a government building, maybe, big and echoing and official, polished sheetrock and stone benches. If I took off my shoes, it would have made an excellent sock skating rink. I wondered how far I could coast with one push. Not very professional, Teresa. You're a responsible adult now, remember? I allowed myself a sideways slide on my bench, in tribute to lost innocence, and only just grabbed the edge of the seat in time to prevent an inelegant dismount. Well, an adult, anyway.
I wondered what was taking so long. I’m not a particular person, not really. It wasn’t like I had much to do. I just don’t like people wasting my time. After all, there was no reason for them to think I had nothing better to do. It was too damn cold, too. And what was with that clock? It had to be a clock, I had decided. It sat in the center of the room, one of those curved ones that looked like tombstones, or extremely stylized owls, but it was at least eight feet tall, and made of some shiny black stone which shone like a mirror without actually acting like one. It also didn’t tell the time. No hands. It ticked though. Not very loud, just enough to register, like a dripping tap in the middle of the night. After God knows how long (It’s not blasphemy if it’s true, Mãe), I decided to take a closer look, thinking I must have missed something. It was even taller than I thought. No numbers, no letters, not even little hash-marks where the symbols should be.
What’s the point of a clock that doesn’t tell time?
“Oh, but there’s no such thing.”
I turned. Standing behind me was a slim, dark-eyed woman.
I swear she wasn’t there a minute ago.
“I told you, there’s no such thing. A minute is an arbitrarily determined unit, dependant on an artificial structure which itself depends on the point of view of the user. Where it stops, or begins, what it means, is a shared dream which breaks down under the most basic analysis”
I stared at her. Damn, this woman knew how to dress. Cream skirt, black top, cream jacket, and black pearl choker, sheer stockings, and three inch heels. With a skirt that short and a blouse that low cut, she could have at least had the courtesy to shiver.
She smiled, the bitch.
“Ms. De Alemo.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t bother to answer it.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“I’m afraid that’s not my department”
I don’t have time for this.
"You don’t have time? She laughed. “ Of course you don’t have time. There is no Time, and therefore, you have all the time in the world.”