The White Dodo of Time


At some point in the not so distant past, Time ended. You wouldn't have noticed because like everyone else, you understand Time as 
subjective. Things happen here and now, things happened then and when, it's our involvement in them that gives validity and relevance.

It was your fault. I thought it important to 
clarify that, well, you people. Time had been going and existing and moving and 
contradicting very nicely and then you stopped all that. 

Time lived on the small island of Reunion, 
near Mauritius and made a quiet live for 
itself. Each day was passed foraging for 
fruits and scurrying between brush, looking 
for the perfect twigs for its nest. Time stood a healthy 3 feet or so tall, sported a splendid black, yellow and green beak and yes, it 
could be said, might have stood to loose a 
pound or so, such was its rounded belly. 

One day, sailors from a country far from 
Reunion landed and along with their dogs, made for the forest where Time lived. Time had 
been busy at the far end of the island and 
only upon it's return did it see the broken 
egg in the nest.

Time wept and stopped there and then. 
There would be no continuation, no forward and no back. Time stood still, Time finished.

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