I have always despised the passing of time. Many a night I spent wide awake, listening to the constant ticking of the wall clock on my bedroom wall. Tick, tick, tick, tick… Something so steady should be soothing, but instead agitated me as I tried desperately to fall asleep. One night, when I couldn't take it anymore, I ripped the clock off the wall and buried it in sock drawer.

Yet I could still hear the ticking, each second meticulously counted. The ticking was muffled, but it a way that made it worse. Like time was being cheated. But you can't cheat time.

Artemis did, though. Twice, in fact. But Artemis is a special kind of person, one who can outsmart anything, including time. I wish I could be half the man he was at my age. I cannot cheat time. I've tried so hard, but time always beats me, gloating and rubbing it in my face.

Time is our enemy. It always has been and always will be. Life itself is nothing more than a race against time. Our bodies have their own personal clocks to keep track of the time we have left to live. And the time we do have is spent worrying about being on time, spending our time wisely, making sure we get everything done in a timely fashion. So much to do, so little time… Time always wins in the end.

Perhaps that is why I hate time so much. Because it has spread its roots into everything. Nothing is eternal; eternity does not even exist. Nothing lasts forever. Especially not life.

I remember the crash, the memory still vivid in my mind. The screech of the car breaks, the thud of the body, my screams as I watched it all unfold. I was helpless; I could do nothing. If only there had been more time to warn the driver, if only he had seen sooner and stopped sooner. But alas, time would not allow that.

I remember the hospital, white upon white. I can hear the beeps and whirs of machines attempting to prolong his time left. I can hear the uneasy whispers murmuring, "...not much time...doesn't have long..." Time is once again the enemy.

I remember the funeral, the long procession of mourners clothed in black. I can see the gray coffin adorned with a single rose that I myself set on the cover as a small token of farewell. I can hear the quiet crying as the coffin disappears into the ground. I can hear the voices wishing they'd had more time to say goodbye. Time is to blame for all of this.

I wander the halls, finding myself continuously stopping in front of his room. The door is shut, and I dare not go inside. It holds far too many memories that are the only thing time has left me of him. No one else has gone inside either for the same reason.

One would think that time would help one forget the things better left in the past. Help heal the wound. But it doesn't. Time makes it worse, because you never forget completely. With each passing day, month, year, the ache dulls, but it never goes away forever. Forever doesn't exist, remember? Time lessens the pain, but it caused it in the first place.

Time is my enemy. Time took him away from me, and for that, I will never forgive time. Time took my twin brother. Time took Beckett.