She was inexplicably happy. 

She was happy, the girl with the one eye, quick-draw stare and lips that turned up at the sound of the ticking second hand of the clock. Most people disregarded the thought of time as only a use for measurement and otherwise not to be tampered with. She, however, was constantly aware of the fact that time wasn't broken down into days or hours or minutes or even seconds, and that it was what made little Johnny kiss little Susie and the flower to bloom and wilt. 

This girl of hardly eight prided herself on the fact that she was perceptive of this time-driven word. Time was her one and only relationship, and as long it existed, it would always be.

The End

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