Time is a fickle and vicious mistress with the sense of humor of a pit viper.
P.H. Turner had never liked time. He had failed as a writer for years due to his inability to manage it. Never having enough when he needed it, or watching it slip through his fingers when he wanted it to freeze forever.
His wife seemed to have completely mastered the manipulation of time. It was only with her help and guidance that he began to publish his writings. Of course she wasn't his wife at first, but he realized on the day he held the first copy of his first book in his hands and couldn't take his eyes off her that she would be someday, all he needed was time.
She was gone now. Her memory was a constant reminder of everything time had robbed him of. Her voice was always there though, organizing and planning out the day, making sure all the proper sacrifices to time were made, even now after all these years, the bills got paid, the chores got done, time was methodically disarmed every day.
And there were the children. They had their own lives now and visited often. At first they moved around the house as if her memory were a piece of furniture that took up too much space. But time played it's little games and she slowly stopped being an oppressive absence and became for a fine layer of memory that coated everything in the house. A layer that wore down a little more each passing day.
He loved watching the children live their lives. They both in their own way had their mother's drive. Neither saw time as the enemy it so clearly was, and for that he was eternally grateful.
Eventually the river of his creativity dried up. Time had wounded him again. Robbing him of his desire to write, while maliciously leaving him alive. Nothing more than a burnt out light bulb fused into its socket unable to be removed. With the children so busy all the time, and his creative drive gone, he was left alone face to face with his oldest and most dedicated enemy.
Then the wave came, riding in on that pit viper smile. The children had plans within plans, and they filled him in with urgency. He cheered them on but told them with absolute certainty that he would be staying behind. He could not leave his wife, and he could not run away from time. It seemed like forever ago but he once again felt eagerness in his blood. He was ready.
But the rest of the world was not. They were short on everything from ships to food and fuel. The announcement of the shortages and the draft turned his eagerness to apprehension and dread. Suddenly there was not enough time and all he could hear was his wife's voice telling him to go, telling him how to use the time he had left.
