Turn Back Time
Tick.
He grips the edges of the sink hard. His knuckles turn white. The pale marble countertop becomes streaked with scarlet rivulets. They trickle toward the drain, drawn to it by the gentle sloping of the basin.
Tock.
He looks at his reflection in the pristine mirror. Who cleaned it? It seems surreal that something as trivial as housekeeping continues in a time of war. Granted, this is a war that is being fought secretly, but it is still war.
Tick.
His visage is marred by grime and blood. His hair is matted with who knows what. He doesn't want to look closer, see everything the recent battle has wrought. He wants to forget.
Tock.
But how can he forget? Everything is so fresh. Even when he slips into sleep, his mind's eye whirls with images, exaggerated by new horrors. He will never have a proper rest, not since he's become an insomniac.
Tick.
Even if the enemy's white flag of surrender were to fly the very next day, he knows he will never be able to return to a normal life. He will never be able to resign himself to scheduled movements: an alarm to signal waking hours, darkened skies to indicate the end of the day. And yet, this is exactly what he wants.
Tock.
He cannot. It is upon him that the others depend. From day one, he has been their rock, their inspiration. If all else fails, he is supposed to unite them. He is supposed to lead them.
Tick.
How can he? He is seventeen. He is not a hero, whatever the gods may say. He is a normal boy (or was, before the fateful day on the water) with normal needs and normal wants. And right now he needs and wants to be with her. She is his rock, his inspiration. If all else fails, he knows she will be there for him. He could stare at her forever. Too bad they don't have the time.
Tock.
The door bangs open. He hurries out. Hermes rushes in – it's always Hermes – with helmet flaps trailing wildly behind him and winged sandals fluttering madly. Of course there's a new situation. His voice is frantic. The situation is dire. Of course.
Tick.
The others look at him expectantly. His musings vanish instantly and he looks each of them in the eye has he delivers commands. For just a moment his gaze meets hers. It's serious, but he senses her pride. Her love. This is why he does it.
Tock.
The team charges out of the room. The sounds of their footsteps against the hardwood floor fades. Maybe this will be the day they defeat the enemy. Maybe this is the day...
Tick.
The blood in the sink is beginning to dry. It stands out strikingly well against the cool stone.
Tock.
The second hand of the clock continues round. It is relentless in its motion, just has he and his friends are. They will not cease to act in the war, just as the clock will not cease to count down the seconds until the end of Time.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.