I used to think time was simple.
You wake up. You live your day. You sleep. Repeat. That's how life works—or at least, that's how I thought it worked until the skipped days began.
Now? Now I knew better.
Time could slip. It could fold. It could vanish—taking parts of your life with it.
---
The morning after the old man's warning felt... heavier somehow. I wasn't sure if the weight was in the air or in my chest, but every step I took felt like I was walking through molasses.
"Not supposed to be here."
His words echoed in my head on repeat.
I tried to act normal. Went to school. Sat through classes. Ate lunch with Lina. But I wasn't there. My mind was elsewhere—running loops around something I couldn't quite grasp.
Lina noticed.
"Hey," she nudged me during history class. "You good?"
I blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, just tired."
She frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You're always tired lately."
I smiled weakly. What was I supposed to say? "Hey, so I'm skipping every other day and some random old man says I don't belong here." That wasn't exactly casual conversation material.
---
By the time school ended, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was... wrong. The sky felt too still. The wind too sharp.
I walked home the long way, passing the corner where the peanut stand should have been. Empty.
I waited.
Minutes passed. People bustled by. Nothing.
I almost gave up when I felt it: a strange tug behind my ribs. Like the world had skipped a beat. The air rippled—just for a second—and when I blinked, he was there.
The old man.
He stood across the street, hands buried in his coat, eyes locked on mine.
Without thinking, I crossed. "What's happening to me?" I demanded, breath fogging in the cold evening air.
He didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head. "Do you really want to know? Some truths," he murmured, "can't be untold."
I swallowed hard. "Yes. I want to know."
He exhaled slowly, then whispered: "Time is broken. And so are you."
I blinked. "What—"
Before I could finish, the world shivered. A sound like static filled my ears, and everything—people, cars, lights—flickered like bad TV reception.
When the world snapped back, the old man was gone.
And I was alone again.
---
That night, sleep refused to come.
I sat on the edge of my bed, scrolling through my phone, trying to find some clue—anything—that could explain what was happening.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number:
"Find me before time runs out."
My heart nearly stopped.
I texted back instantly: Who are you?
No reply.
I lay back, my pulse pounding in my ears. My room, usually my sanctuary, felt foreign. Strange. I kept hearing faint echoes—like whispers that weren't there.
I checked the date again. Tuesday. Always Tuesday.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew: I couldn't keep pretending this wasn't real.
---
The next day, or what I thought was the next day, I woke to find a scrap of paper on my desk. Not my handwriting.
Five words:
"The clock is already ticking."
---
To be continued...