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"Each generation should be made to bear the burden of its own wars, instead of carrying them on, at the expense of other generations."
Of all the things that do not truly exist in this world, time is perhaps the most duplicitous concept out there, not simply wielding the capacity to but rather utilizing in full the inexorable and destructive gift that it should in the first place be forbidden to posses. The ability to change the unchangeable and to move forward the very phenomenon that is life should not be entrusted to that which is neither corporeal nor ethereal—should not be entrusted to anything, either illusory or existing. Some might say that it was a mistake for such a thing to even at all be conceived in the first place.
Time is the very thing that quashes all that happens in the world, the universe; every little occurrence, every minor coincidence, every crushing disappointment, every earthshaking triumph are all, without exception, erased and rewritten interminably in the endless pages of time's book, and have been reworded and rephrased what has the potential to be perhaps even hundreds of thousands of times.
Time is itself both progress and regression, is both everything and nothing.
Because, you see, time—including its very notion—cannot exist only within itself. Standing alone, see, time is utterly nothing. Completely isolated from everything else, time fails to dwell within even just the outskirts of the boundaries that form the interface of existence. This is the very reason why time is but a concept, an idea, and is not in itself something real. In order to thrive, time must latch on to other entities, and whether those entities are real or unreal, living or nonliving, does not bear any importance whatsoever, so long as the entities are subject to change.
(Which, incidentally, most things are.)
If one allows his mind to look at too hard, to delve too deeply into or indulge his thoughts in any excessively curious musings or theories about the nonentity that is time, he just might find himself creeping nearer the borders of obsession, for time is a concept that has the ability to swallow up thoughts; it is capable even of consuming entire people, if they should happen to venture too near it. This is one of its tricks—one of its favourite games, for it is among one of the only times that a living being will ever willingly sacrifice themselves to it, asking to be rewritten even before their biological time is up.
There are to such people, of course, an antithesis. Indeed, there are those who come to hate time, some because of a fear of it and others for the reason that time creates change, and certain change can be perceived through the eyes of some people as antagonistic or frightful. And so they go throughout their short lives abhorring that which both is untouchable and does not exist to begin with, and it is not for anyone but them to decide which manner of living is more satisfactory.
Of course, there is not—as is the case with most anything—any real or truly beneficial reason to have just said all that was said about what might possibly seem like a slightly arbitrary topic to discuss. If these right now happen to be your very concerns, allow it to be expanded upon that the place to be discussed shortly is something time has changed perhaps even more drastically than it has other things of its same age, and that because time is both ubiquitous and absent, it is a thing that one is probably best to regard with at least a slight amount of awareness.
You have no idea how incredibly long I have been planning to write this fic, but continued to delay it because I felt I wasn't yet a good enough writer to manage it. This does have to do with the future Wammy's House, but most of that will be in the next chapter. This is a twoshot.
Also, I know that I've been writing a LOT of weird shit like this lately. If anyone has any ideas or requests for something lighter and/or comedic, I'd be happy to consider taking them. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review!
~Ratt Kazamata, 5/03/2012