Child of Time

A magical child stolen from the womb of a dead woman by time itself discovers who he is and comes to terms with his powers.


             Time is something that cannot be seen except with itself. Time is something that is hard to hear, to taste to smell and to comprehend. And yet it is something very real. It touches everything and everyone. No one can escape it. It is a worst enemy and a treasured friend. Some people have lots of it and some have very little. Time does not discriminate or even choose, it just flows on. Almost all people on this earth attempt to fight, befriend or seduce time. It does not work because time is not a living being or sentient one. A cancer patient fights for time, pleads for time and hopes for time. The young child wishes to stop time or to speed it up. Time is pushed around but never varies.

 One summer day a long time ago time strayed ever so slightly from his path. A young woman, whose veins pulsed with something other than blood, called out a spell to time itself and paused the relentless flow of time for just a beat or two. That was all it took for several things to happen, the first was that time became able to feel for that second or two, the second thing that happened was time struck down the woman, causing her to die and the third is that out of remorse and regret he took from the woman her unborn child and placed the child upon his back. There the child rested as unaffected by time as time himself was.

May 12th 1996 the child fell from time’s back. Time reached out and tried to stop it but all he succeeded in doing was changing that baby from an infant that wasn't completely formed yet into an infant that was ready to begin life outside of the womb. And so on mother’s day of 1996 a young baby boy was found on the stoop of 123 Thompson Street. Inside the house was an exhausted mother who had just given birth to twins, unfortunately one of the twins had been strangled by his umbilical cord and had died. When the young boy on the stoop began to wail the mother inside the house burst into tears, believing the wail to be that of her dead son.

“I can still hear him wailing!” the mother sobbed. The midwife approached and put a hand on her arm.

“I can hear him too.” They both stopped and listened.

“It’s coming from outside.” The midwife said.

“Go quick and see what it is.” The mother instructed. When the midwife returned with the baby boy, the mother was ecstatic.

“My baby has been returned to me!” the mother took the baby boy in one arm and her sleeping girl in the other and held them both close.

“I shall name you Raven and you Time.” She murmured.

“Time? Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I name him Time for returning to me in time," she gazed at her two babies and said.

"And because they are my beautiful children, they will always celebrate their births on Mother's day." And that was that.


So you can see that both of my mothers were a little bit nutty. I never learned the story of my birth and my coming into this family for a long, long time but I was always aware that one of my mothers was a bit strange. Growing up as Time Grosbeak how could I not? Our story begins on mother’s day of 2010.

I was turning 14 years old and had about 50 nicknames. All of them annoyed me. I was called “Clock” by my friends and sister, “Spiceboy” by some wacko people at school (I don’t know why. My name was not spelled the same as the spice.), “Day”, “Hour, “Second” and “Minute” by people trying to remember my name, “Steven” by my art teacher (Don’t ask me why.), “Tim” by my English teacher and “Boy” by my dad. Today, however I was “Mommy’s boy”. It is not my fault my birthday happens to be on mother’s day. 

"Hey Mommy's boy, hows your birthday going so far?"

"Fine thanks." I said, determinedly ignoring the nickname.

It was lunch and I was attempting to get through it without punching somebody. It happened last year and so could happen again. For some reason my sister never got picked on. I guess it's okay for a girl to be born on mother's day, although I think it's a little stupid for boys to have to be macho and tough. The whole gender thing has never made sense to me.

Raven was sitting across the room from me, surrounded by her friends. Raven's friends were all what would be considered outcasts and I think they'd all given up on the popular dream. My friends and I were all still holding out hope that one day we'd be accepted but I think all of us knew deep down that the popular dream is a rather flat one.            

The End

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